Lark and Wren

Unless Rune told them all that she wasn't having any of that, and went off on her own, to try her hand at making a living with her fiddle.

And for a moment, that seemed a tempting prospect, until cold reality intruded.

Oh, surely, she told herself cynically. A fine living I'd make at it, too. I'm not as good as the worst of the minstrels who've been here-and surely they aren't as good as the Guild Musicians, or the folk who make the circuits of the great Faires. Which means, what? That I'd starve, most like.

What would be better-or worse? Starvation, or the loss of music, of a life of her own? A dangerous life alone on the open road, living hand-to-mouth, or a life of endless drudgery?

She sniffed, and stifled a sob. There didn't seem to be much of a choice, no matter which way she turned- both lives were equally bleak.

And what about Stara herself? Stara was her mother; how much did Rune owe her?

If she did get with child, and Jeoff did throw her out, Stara would be in an even worse plight than Rune faced. She would be pregnant, out of work, nowhere to go, and no longer young enough to charm her way, however briefly, into someone's household.

For a moment, Rune suffered a pang of guilt and worry. But no one forced her into Jeoff's bed, she told herself after a moment. No one told her to go chasing after her master, hoping for a wedding ring. She's the one that made the decision, to risk her future without even a thought for what might happen to me as well as her!

That killed any feelings of guilt. If Stara got herself into trouble, it was her problem, and she could get herself right back out again. Why should I suffer because my mother's a damn fool? She doesn't even want me to call her 'Mother' any more.

But that brought up still another possibility.

There was no doubt of it that Stara didn't like having a fourteen-year-old daughter; that she thought it made her look old. If she decided that Rune was a liability in her plan to capture Jeoff and become his wife, she might well do something to drive Rune away herself.

It wouldn't even be hard to find an excuse. All Stara would have to do would be to tell him that Rune was sleeping with Jib or any of the boys from the village-or, most likely of all, with the musicians that had been passing through. The villagers would be glad to believe such tales, and might even make up a few of their own.

And Jeoff was like any other man; he was fallible and flawed, and subject to making some irrational decisions. Even though he was enjoying himself with Stara-or perhaps, because he was enjoying himself with Stara-he would never tolerate openly loose morals on his premises on the part of anyone else.

While the large inns-so Rune had heard, from the female musicians-were tolerant of such things, Jeoff never had been. He could get away with forbidding prostitutes to use his inn because most of his custom was local. Larger inns couldn't afford such niceties, and in fact, larger inns often kept whores to supply their clients. But the folk needing rooms out here, off the main roads, most often traveled alone, or with a long-time partner. In a case like that, if the partner was a female, and the male of the pair said they were married, then they might as well have posted the banns, so Jeoff didn't enforce his rule. There was no inn nearer than Beeford, and that gave him something of a monopoly on trade. Those who needed Jeoff's rooms had no choice-and the locals would come to drink his beer whether or not he allowed loose women about.

In fact, Jeoff and Rose had been considered pillars of the community for their godly ways. That was part of what made Jeoff such a good marital prospect now.

And that was precisely what made it likely that he'd dismiss her at the first complaint of looseness, particularly if it came from her mother.

Maybe I just ought to turn whore, she thought with another stifled sob. At least then I'd have something in the way of a trade. . . .

Despite Jeoff's strictness, she wasn't entirely innocent of the ways of light-skirts. Some few of the travelers, men with gold and silver in their purses rather than copper and silver, had brought with them their own, brazen, hard-eyed women. And once or twice, other travelers in Faire season had met such a woman here, each departing in another direction after a single shared night. Jeoff had never turned these men away; they paid well, they often carried weapons or acted haughtily, and as if they were either dangerous or important. But he had served them himself, not permitting either Stara or Rune anywhere near them, and Rose had always worn a frown the entire time such women were under her roof.

Then there was the fellow who came through at Faire-time with his own tents and wagons, and a collection of freaks and 'dancing maidens.' His 'maidens' were nothing of the sort, whatever his freaks were. There were always a lot of male visitors from the village to his tents after dark when the Faire closed. . . .

She turned on her back again, biting her lip in remembrance. That man-he'd made her feel so filthy, just by the way he acted, that she'd wanted to bathe every time she had to be anywhere near him. . . .

He'd hired Rune once, when his own musician took sick, having her play for the performances given during the day. Rose, innocent of what those performances were like, had judged she was unlikely to come to any harm during the daylight hours and had given her leave.

The dancers hadn't danced, much. Their costumes seemed to consist of skirts and bodices made entirely of layers and layers of veils. Their movement was minimal, and consisted of removing one veil after another, while wiggling in a kind of bored pantomime of desire to the drumbeats. It wasn't even particularly graceful.

Rune hadn't said anything to anyone; if Jeoff knew what was going on, he didn't bother to enlighten Rose, and Rune doubted anyone else would tell her. There wasn't any reason to; Rune sat behind a screen to play for the 'dancers,' and no one in the audience had any notion who the musician back there was. She'd needed the money rather badly, for strings and a new bow, the old one having cracked to the point that Rune was afraid to subject it to too much stress-and she'd given her word that she'd take the job, and felt as if she couldn't walk out on it once she'd agreed. But she'd been horribly uncomfortable, embarrassed beyond words, and feeling vaguely sickened by what she saw from her hiding place. She'd been glad when the regular musician recovered from his illness after two days and resumed his place.

It hadn't been the taking off of clothes that had bothered her, it was the way the women had done it. Even at thirteen, she'd known there was something wrong with what was going on.