Kaunians’s tastes in music were different from Forthwegians’. Now he saw no Kaunians at all. That didn’t surprise him, but did leave him sad.
People began clapping their hands and stamping their feet on the floorboards, eager for the show to start. Leofsig stamped along with everyone else, but put his arm around Felgilde’s shoulder instead of clapping. She was clapping but, her good humor restored, leaned toward him while she did it.
When all the lights in the hall faded except for those aimed at the band on the platform, she clapped louder than ever. Leofsig whooped. He turned toward Felgilde and gave her a quick kiss. Her eyes sparkled. He grinned as foolishly as if he’d had a glass of wine too many. It looked as if it might be a good night after all.
“It’s grand to be in Gromheort,” Ethelhelm called. The crowd cheered. The band leader went on, “The way things are, it’s grand to be cursed anywhere, and that’s the truth.” Leofsig laughed. He’d had that feeling more than once himself, after some narrow escape or another. Ethelhelm waved to the people who’d come to hear him. “Since we are all here, we may as well enjoy ourselves, isn’t that right?”
“Aye!” the crowd roared, Leofsig and Felgilde loud among them.
“Well, then!” Ethelhelm brought his stick crashing down onto the drums. The band struck up a sprightly tune. Forthwegian songs didn’t rely on thudding rhythms the way the music of the Kaunian kingdoms did, nor was it a collection of tinkling notes going nowhere in particular, which was how Algarvian music struck Leofsig’s ears. This was what he’d heard his whole life, and it felt right to him.
The first few tunes Ethelhelm and the band played were familiar, some of them old favorites Leofsig’s father and grandfather would have known, others songs by which the drummer and his fellow musicians had made their reputation. Some people got up and started to dance from the very first note. Leofsig and Felgilde sat and listened for a while before heading out onto die floor.
Then, after basking in yet another passionate round of applause, the band swung into a number that made Leofsig and Felgilde turn to each other and exclaim, “That’s new!” They both leaned forward to listen closely.
Ethelhelm sang in raspy, angry-sounding bursts:
“Doesn’t matter what you choose
When you’ve got nothing left to lose.
Doesn’t matter what you say
When they won’t listen anyway.”
Felgilde’s brow furrowed. “What’s he talking about?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Leofsig lied without hesitation. As he spoke, he looked around. The band had nerve--maybe more nerve than sense. Somewhere in the audience was bound to be an Algarvian spy. Singing about what life in an occupied kingdom was like struck Leofsig as gloriously foolish: the same sort of foolishness that had led Forthwegians on unicorns to charge Algarvian behemoths. He got to his feet. “Come on. Let’s dance.”
“All right.” Felgilde rose with alacrity. “I usually have to start you going.” She swayed forward into his arms.
Dancing helped take his mind off his worries; he half expected Algarvian constables to come pushing through the crowd and haul Ethelhelm and his band off to gaol. After a moment, he realized he was being foolish. Seizing Ethelhelm now would touch off a riot. If the redheads wanted the musicians, they’d wait till after the performance. As long as Ethelhelm kept playing, he was likely safe.
Leofsig didn’t take long to stop worrying about Ethelhelm. Felgilde molded herself to him as closely as if they weren’t wearing tunics. When his hand closed on her backside, she didn’t squawk. She just sighed and pushed tighter against him still. “It’s safe here,” she murmured in a voice he couldn’t have heard if her mouth hadn’t been next to his ear.
She was right. Nobody in the hall paid one couple clutching each other the least attention. Dozens, hundreds of couples clutching one another filled the dance floor. They’d escaped their parents, and they were going to have the best time they could in as many different ways as they could.
Some of them were doing more out there on the floor than he and Felgilde had ever done in private. His eyes widened a few times. Up there on the platform, Ethelhelm saw everything that was going on. “You’ll get in trouble when you go home,” he warned the dancers between songs. Then he laughed raucously. “Good, by the powers above! If you’re going to get in trouble, get in trouble for something worthwhile. They’ll yell at you anyway--give ‘em something to yell about.”
At his waved command, the band swung into another new tune, one so lascivious that a few couples, altogether carried away, hurried outside. Ethelhelm laughed again, harder than ever. Leofsig tried to steer Felgilde toward the door. That didn’t work. She might have kindled, but she wasn’t blazing.
