Free A Play of Knaves by Margaret Frazer Page B

grieve when you’re dead because she’s stuck a knife into you the way she did that bread this morning.”
    “Let’s just hope she does it here,” Basset said, “with nobody to see it happen and good places to bury your body among the trees afterward.”
    Ellis had probably hoped for better than that from them and started to say something in answer, but they were at the gateway and neither Basset nor Joliffe paused to give him chance. He had to close his mouth and follow them wordless into the field, where Rose and Gil were seated on cushions on the ground near the cart, Rose with sewing on her lap, Gil with one of the script-rolls of a play. Piers was sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of them both, telling how the day had gone. Joliffe, likewise ready to sit, made for one of the other cushions, while Rose put aside her sewing and stood up, lightly touching the top of Piers’ head on her way to see what Basset had brought back. Piers went on talking at Gil. Joliffe dropped down and closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh at being off his feet. Basset, handing the food over to Rose, was started telling her what they’d brought back but broke off mid-word, paused, then asked in an altogether different way, “Rose, what is it? What’s happened?”
    Joliffe opened his eyes. Saw Ellis spin around from where he had been leaning into the back of the cart for something and Gil start getting slowly to his feet. Saw, too, the look that Gil and Rose traded with each other before Rose answered her father with, “Medcote and his son were here while you were gone. They want you to play for their household tonight. I said you would. He’s told me the way to there from here.”
    There was nothing in that to be angry about but there was anger in her words. And fear. Joliffe heard it, and that was maybe what Basset had seen in her face, because he said, sounding angry himself now, “That isn’t all. What else happened?”
    Another look passed between Rose and Gil. Had they meant to tell whatever it was? Joliffe wondered. But it was too late to keep their secret, and with anger as plain as Rose’s, Gil started, “It was Medcote. He was . . .”
    “No!” Rose ordered at him. “It’s mine to tell.” She faced her father squarely and said, “After I told him you’d gladly play for his household tonight, he turned over-bold. Gil was gone to the stream for water, so Medcote thought I was alone. He asked if I ever ‘played.’ He said that, traveling with so many men, I must surely know all manner of ‘play.’ He told me he’d like to see my ‘play,’ and that if I were generous to him, he’d be generous to me. In more ways than one, he said. And his son sat there on his horse looking ready to laugh and take his turn if it came.”
    Ellis started toward her with a furious oath, adding, “If either of them laid a hand on you . . .”
    Rose turned on him with a fury to match his own. “What business is it of yours if anyone did?” Ellis stopped as short as if she had hit him, and she turned back to her father, saying, still fierce, “It went no further. It might have. I don’t know. But Gil came back and they rode away.”
    Gil, standing with clenched fists, said, “I should have . . .”
    “You should have done just what you did,” Rose said. “Nothing. There was nothing for you to do. They left.” She added to Basset, “I’m sorry. I meant to keep it to myself, not make trouble about it. But . . .” She faltered and the fierceness went out of her. “I was frightened,” she said softly; and Basset held out his arms and she went into them.
    For a long moment they held to each other, both of them needing assurance that she was safe. Ellis looked at them for a helpless moment, then turned and stalked away toward the stream, out of sight among the trees. Joliffe realized his own hands were as tightly clenched as Gil’s and carefully unfolded them before just as carefully asking, “So, do we play for