Zaragoz Page 5

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  Zaragoz

  When the two noblemen had gone, the stools and tables which had been overturned were all set to rights. Orfeo heard resentful murmurs from some of the townsmen, who clearly had not liked Rodrigo Cordova's manner, but nothing was said aloud—which may have signified that there was more than the usual risk in expressing open resentment of the aristocracy of Zaragoz.

  The three soldiers left abruptly, taking their custom elsewhere.

  One of the women went after them, but the one who had landed in Orfeo's arms would not follow her. Instead, she drew up a stool to sit at the table with the story-teller and the priest.

  "I might have hurt myself," she said, "if you had not caught me."

  "So you might," replied Orfeo. "And we might all have taken a bruise or two, had it not been for that young man. Who is he?"

  "A distant kinsman of the Duke, and friend of the Duke's son.

  He is said to be a favourite, and might one day marry Veronique, the Duke's daughter."

  "A fortunate prospect, no doubt," said Orfeo.

  "Oh yes," she replied, "Veronique is a great beauty. But some say that the Duke would do well to look further afield for a suitor, to make an alliance with another city."

  Orfeo thought it undiplomatic to enquire whether rumour said that the Duke might need alliance with another city in order to quell a rebellious spirit among his own people. Instead, he asked a safer question: "And is this Cordova a lover of song and the dance? I hope I may look to him to treat me generously, for I am in sore need of a little coin."

  He saw that she took the hint, but he saw also that she did not really care about the state of his pocket.

  "If you play well, sir," she said, "I am sure that there are those in Zaragoz who will take pleasure in your playing."

  And this was a prediction which seemed to be borne out, during that night at least.

  Next morning, when the sun had attained a comfortable height in the sky, Orfeo gathered his belongings together before setting out in search of Rodrigo Cordova's house.

  He bid Arcangelo a pleasant goodbye, and apologized lest he should have kept the priest awake during the night. Arcangelo assured Orfeo that he had slept very well and wished him luck 37

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  in his dealings with Cordova. It seemed, in fact, that the priest liked his new acquaintance, for his manner seemed more open than it had been while they walked along the road together, and he asked if he might offer a word of advice. Orfeo said that he would be glad to receive it.

  "Zaragoz is a troubled kingdom," said Arcangelo. "That hill which you intend to climb is enmeshed by a web of intrigue whose complications you cannot begin to guess. Go carefully, my friend, and do not get caught by that web."

  "I thank you," replied Orfeo, gravely. "It happens that I have had some experience in the noble houses of Bretonnia, where webs of intrigue gather dust in every corner and corridor. I hope that I am adept in avoiding them."

  "I am glad to hear it," said the man of Law, "and I will be sorry if the trick of fate which brought us together on the road makes it difficult for you to follow my advice and exercise that skill."

  What the priest meant by this, Orfeo could not tell, but it caused him litle anxiety as he set forth on his journey, because he did not expect to see the priest again.

  Orfeo was not surprised to find that in order to reach the house where Cordova lived he had to carry his pack more than half way up the crag which loomed above the circlet of the city walls.

  Zaragoz was clearly a town where a family's standing in society was closely correlated with its elevation above the level of the plain. In noticing this, however, he could not help but observe that some of the houses which perched high upon the rock seemed precarious by comparison with those which were set below on baser ground. One or two, in fact, had fallen into ruins, and the wrecked towers had been given for nesting-sites to jackdaws, which clustered about them in noisy flocks, and to ravens, which soared above them in more solitary fashion.

  The road by which he climbed the mount was a narrow one, scarcely wide enough in some places to take a tradesman's cart, and though it had a wooden rail erected on the outer edge it seemed less safe than it might have been made. A man who tried to ride a horse full-tilt from top to toe would certainly be hazarding his life, and a drunkard with his senses fuddled might easily find a way to fall to his death. But Orfeo was very sober, and the horses which passed him as he walked were picking their way most 38

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  carefully, whether they were headed up or down.

  There had been a moment when he waked after dawn when he had asked himself whether he really wanted to remain within the walls of Zaragoz, or whether he might better set himself on the road again—but having seen a little of the realm he had fallen prey, as he often did, to a certain curiosity about its people. He was, after all, a collector of stories, and in what he had so far been told of the city and its dour ruler he could sense the seeds of a tale. In any case, he had greatly admired the way in which Rodrigo Cordova, despite his tender years, had quelled the riot in the tavern. In that youth, he felt, there was the promise of a brave and clever man.

  The person in question received Orfeo most courteously, and did not trouble to put his playing to any test, but immediately offered him the hospitality of his house for the day and the night, on condition that he would sing for his supper and play for the dance thereafter. To this Orfeo readily agreed, and Cordova asked his steward to see him safely lodged in the servants' sleeping-quarters, which were the attics beneath the roof.

  The room where he was placed was very tiny, but it had a real bed with legs instead of a straw pallet, and clean linen on it. A maid brought him warm water to wash himself, and when he had used it he put away the drab clothes in which it was his habit to travel, and put on brighter ones, more suited to the role which would be his that evening. Then—the steward having told him I hat he had the freedom of the kitchens and the narrow gardens around the house—he went downstairs again. He did not put on his sword, and kept his knife hidden beneath his tunic.

  He ate a hearty breakfast, with better bread than he had tasted tor many days—the grain imported to the mountain strongholds of Irrana was usually of disappointing quality, and the best of it had been reserved for men of better quality than he. Then he sat for a while and amused the kitchen boys with a joke or two, while keeping an appraising eye on the prettiest of the maids.

  In the afternoon, Cordova sent for him. The steward, whose name was Cristoforo, took him up to the room where he would play in the evening.

  The young nobleman was waiting for him, with three companions. One was a man of middle age, who wore his years 39

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  better than most. Though plain of dress he was a man of some dignity and station, and though he wore no weapon he had the carriage of a warrior and the sharp eye of a predator. The others were women, though one might as well have been called a girl, as she seemed no more than eighteen years of age. She was very beautiful, especially her hair, which was a most remarkable dark red colour—a hue which he had never seen before, even in the north, where ruddy hair was far commoner than it was among the darker folk of Estalia. The other lady, who was much older, must have been equally handsome in her youth, though in the ordinary mould of Estalian folk.

  "May I present the minstrel Orfeo," said Cordova to the three, with a certain pride. "I believe that I was fortunate to discover him, for he says that he is practised in playing for the dance."

  To Orfeo he said: "May I present the Lady Veronique, daughter of the Duke of Zaragoz; the Lady Marguerite Cordova, my mother; and Don Estevan Sceberra, a minister of the realm. The Lady Veronique is enthusiastic to hear you play tonight—she has promised that her brother will come, and that she will do what she can to persuade her father the Duke to attend. We shall have a good company, and a fine evening."

  Orfeo bowed to the lady.

  "You are a
man of Bretonnia, I believe," said Sceberra. "Which town is your own?"

  "I have been for some time in Bretonnia," agreed Orfeo, "but I do not belong to any particular town. Indeed, I was twelve or thirteen years old before I ever saw the wall of a town. Nor am I, begging your pardon Master Cordova, a minstrel. I could not presume to the skill of an elf, though my art serves well enough for the accompaniment of such songs as humans sing, and for the better forms of dancing, too."

  The Lady Veronique smiled at this, but the man who had asked the question leaned forward with seeming impatience.

  "How well do you know the spellcaster in whose company you entered the town?" he asked.

  Orfeo made some display of his astonishment, though he was not entirely surprised to be asked the question, in view of what the priest had said to him when they parted.

  "Why, not at all," he said, glibly. "I met him on the road by 40

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  a signpost to the east of the city. He had come from another direction, and was being chased by rude fellows who had some silly notion of robbing him. Though they ran away, we thought it safer to stay together until we were within the shelter of the city wall. Even here, we may have been in difficulties, had the young lord not come to our rescue."

  The dark man frowned, and said: "You have had a poorer welcome in our realm than we should like to give. We do what we can to discourage robbers and brawlers alike."

  "I know it," replied Orfeo, smoothly. "The measure of your discouragement was plain to see on the scaffold beside the signpost, on the very spot where the bandits tried their luck."

  The frown changed briefly to a scowl, but that expression was wiped away within an instant as the man controlled himself.

  "I will have inquiries made," he promised. "I am entrusted by l he Duke to maintain order in this realm, and the Lady Veronique will think me a poor minister if I cannot do something in this matter."

  "Don Estevan," said Rodrigo Cordova, mischievously, "is the master of our secret police."

  Sceberra did not seem pleased with the description, but did not dispute it directly.

  "It is my duty to discover the enemies of the realm," he said,

  "and to see that its bounds are secure. If a witchfinder comes to the town, the Duke is naturally interested to know his purpose, lor he has his own wizards to preserve his people from such evil."

  "I do not know that Arcangelo is a witchfinder," said Orfeo.

  "He said nothing to me of serving Solkan, though I believe that Solkan is the most widely-followed of the Gods of Law."

  "Then you know something of this worship?" said Sceberra, his voice like the crack of a whip.

  "I am a traveller," said Orfeo, evenly. "I meet many people, who worship many different gods. I know something of the Gods of Law, just as I know something of the Old Faith. I even know the names of such as Grungni and Liadrel, who are gods to other folk than human. Perhaps the priest is a servant of Solkan, but if he is, then good and honest men have no need to fear him.

  Perhaps he is in quest of Arianka's prison, despite what he said last night. I do not think he is a violent man—although he may 41

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  have been ready to use his staff on the road and in the tavern, it was only in his defence, and he did not attempt to repel his enemies with magic, as some priests might have done."

  The minister was no more impressed by this than by anything else that Orfeo had said.

  "Did he tell you where he came from?" he asked, coldly. "Or whether he had been in Zaragoz before?"

  "He did not tell me his birthplace," Orfeo replied, "but he did say that he had been in this city before, though not for many years."

  Having received this information, Sceberra straightened up, and then turned on his heel to walk away. He nodded briefly in the direction of the ladies, but did not favour Rodrigo Cordova with any such politeness.

  "My apologies," said Marguerite Cordova to Orfeo. "He is only serving the Duke in the best way he can. Ours is a quiet realm, where the order of things changes very little. There is always anxiety when an unknown spellcaster comes here, especially when he serves a god we do not know. I am pleased to receive you in my son's house, and bid you welcome. Go now and occupy yourself until it is time for you to play, and we will have such a merry time this evening that even Don Estevan will be brought to smile."

  Orfeo bowed deeply and left the chamber. He was not dismayed by what had happened, but he was not entirely sure that the Lady Marguerite's prediction was as safe as the last one he had heard.

  Don Estevan did not seem to be a man much given to smiling.

  But when they dance, he reminded himself, even the sternest men may forget themselves for a little while—and whatever it is that Arcangelo has come to Zaragoz to do, I have only come to illuminate dull lives with music and excitement.

  42

  Chapter Three

  While Rodrigo Cordova's guests ate their evening meal Orfeo sang to them, alternating ballads of courtly love with more lively songs whose narratives were a little bawdier, though he was careful to maintain the standard of politeness which was required of him.

  While they ate and talked Cordova's friends did not really listen to his playing or his songs, and for the most part they seemed almost oblivious to his presence, but he did not mind—while they did not deign to notice him it was easier for him to observe them, which he did with intense interest.

  Young Cordova sat at the head of the table, with his widowed mother at his right hand. The place at his left had been given to the Duke's son, Tomas, while the Lady Veronique sat beside the Lady Marguerite. Had the Duke himself been present he would have taken the head of the table, but if Veronique had actually made good her promise to ask him to come, her plea had not been heard. Estevan Sceberra, on the other hand, was not only present hut seemed to constitute such a powerful presence that he drew occasional anxious glances from almost everyone present. Master of secret spies he might be, but his own status was certainly no sccret, and there were evidently many there who wondered whether he knew their secrets, whatever they might be.

  The only other person Orfeo recognized was Theo Calvi, who 43

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  had a lower place at the table—but Orfeo was glad to note that of those present Calvi seemed to be paying more attention to the music than almost any other, and actually seemed to be straining his ears to catch the words. At least three times while Orfeo watched him he bid the chattering girl at his side to be silent, and cease distracting him.

  It was a compliment of sorts, and Orfeo was glad of it, for the only other person who was paying as much attention to his performance seemed not to be much interested in his tunes or his words, but only in his person. This was a lady seated close to Sceberra—above Calvi—whose considering stare had as much naked lust in it as Orfeo had seen in a woman of such quality.

  This too, he supposed, was a compliment for which he should be glad, though the lady was almost twice as old as Veronique diAvila, and not quite as comely in his eyes as the stately lady Marguerite.

  There was a change of manner when they moved from the dining room to the ballroom. Eating was something which noblemen and peasants alike had done for centuries, in much the same fashion, but dancing was different. There had been dancing in olden times, of course, and the peasants had their jigs and reels, but the dancing of noblemen was very much a matter of fashion, and hence a measure of civilization.

  Though Zaragoz might be reckoned by outsiders the least of all the principalities of Estalia, its haughty folk had this way to prove that they were as fine as the courtly gentlemen and ladies of Bilbali and Magritta: they could dance like the richest lords and the very highest kings, and hold their heads as proud as any while they trod the paces of brarle and the farandole. The meanness of their duchy was rooted in the meanness of its soil, but the pride of its rulers was elevated by their very modern ability to know a ballo from a danza, and to cope with its complicated cha
nges.

  Alas for Zaragoz, its native players—who were not travelling men—had far less opportunity than their masters to learn new tunes and dance-steps. No doubt the best of them could play well enough to guide the dancers in their paces, but there was none among them who could lead the company in line-dances, or take possession of the company by means of the seductive magic of fine music.

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  Now was the playing of Orfeo to be properly put to the test, and he knew it. As a measure of true artistry the test was nonsense, lor he knew that there was more opportunity to show subtlety in the playing of sweet and plaintive lyrics than there was in twanging i he rhythm of a dance, but it was his danceplay that these people cared about, and it was in this way he must serve them to the very best of his abilities.

  So Orfeo played merrily and loudly, and led the parade in the steps of the line-dances, which he alternated with the couple-dances in which gentlemen and ladies aped the rigmaroles of courting birds.

  It was a great success, and Orfeo watched Rodrigo Cordova shine with triumph at his discovery of this player who—though he was too modest to call himself minstrel—was very probably the best to be heard in Zaragoz for thirty years or more.

  But there were two things which Orfeo noted which gave him cause for some anxiety.

  One was the attitude of the lady who had watched him throughout the meal, who watched him now more eagerly still, her bright eyes like the eyes of a carrion crow perched upon the scaffold while the stink of the hanging was still upon the air. There was more than honest lust in that stare, and though there was admiration of a kind in it, his own preference was for soft but unbesotted laces, such as had been worn by the street-girl he had taken to his bed the night before.

  The other cause which he had for mild alarm was the very different attitude of Estevan Sceberra, who seemed determined that he would not fulfil the promise made on his behalf by his amiable hostess. There was not a flicker of a smile upon his face, and though he was as careful in his steps as any other dancer on the floor he was not in the least committed to the dance, for its pleasure or its display.