While she was talking, she was helping Rune get out of her clothing. Rune winced at the sight of all the bruises marking her body; it would be a long time before they all faded, and until then, it would be hard to find a comfortable position to sit or sleep in. And she'd have to wear long sleeves and long skirts, to keep people from seeing what had been done to her.
"In you go-" Gwyna said gaily, as if Rune didn't look like a patchwork of blue and black. "You soak for a while; I'll be back with soap."
Rune was quite content to lean back against the smooth rock, close her eyes, and soak in the warm water. It wasn't hot; that was too bad, because really hot water would have felt awfully good right now. But it was warmer than her own skin temperature, so it felt very comforting. A gap in the trees let sun pour down on her, and that continued to warm both the water and the rocks she rested on.
She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, Gwyna was shaking her shoulder, there was a box of soft soap on the rocks beside her. "Here, drink this. I'll do your hair," Gwyna said, matter-of-factly, placing a mug of that doctored wine in her good hand. "It's not fit to be seen."
"I can believe it," Rune replied. She took the mug, then sniffed the wine, wrinkled her nose, and drank it down in one gulp. As she had expected, it tasted vile. Gwyna laughed at her grimace, took the mug, and used it to dip out water to wet down her hair.
"We Gypsies only use the worst wine we can find for potions," Gwyna said cheerfully. "They taste so awful there's no use in ruining a good drink-and I'm told you need the spirits in wine to get the most out of some of the herbs." She took the box of soap, then, and began massaging it carefully into Rune's hair. Rune was glad she was being careful; there was an amazing number of knots on her skull, and Gwyna was finding them all. She closed her eyes, and waited for the aching to subside; about the third time Gwyna rinsed her hair, her head finally stopped throbbing.
She opened her eyes without wincing at the light, took the soap herself and began getting herself as clean as she could without wetting her splinted arm.
Finally they were both finished, and Rune rinsed herself off. "Can you stand a cold drench?" Gwyna asked then. "It'll probably clear your head a bit."
She considered it for a moment, then nodded; Gwyna let the water out by sliding out the board. Then she maneuvered the log over to its stand and let fresh, cold water run in; it swung easily, and Rune noted that it was set to pour water over the head of someone sitting beneath it in the tub. Rune rinsed quickly, getting the last of the soap off, and stuck her head under the water for as long as she could bear. Then she scrambled out, gasping, and Gwyna handed her a rough towel that might once have been part of a grain sack, and swung the log away again.
While Gwyna took the rocks out of the bottom of the pool, put them back beside the fire, then refilled the tub and built the fire back up, Rune dried herself off, wrapping her hair in the towel. There was clothing ready on the rocks in the sun; a bright skirt and bodice, and a minstrel's shirt with ribbons on the full sleeves, and some of her own under-things waiting for her. She got into them, and felt much the better; the medicine, the bath, and the clean clothing worked together to make her feel more like herself, especially after the worst of the bruises were covered. Even the ache in her head and arm receded to something bearable.
"Now what?" she asked Gwyna. "Where would you like me to go? I don't want to be in the way, and if there's anything I can do, I'd like to. I don't want to be a burden either."
The girl nodded towards the tent again.
"Back to bed with you," Gwyna said. "There's plenty you can do for us without being in the way. Erdric wants to hear some of those comic-songs Thrush said you did back in Nolton."
"Who?" she asked, astonished that anyone here knew about those songs. "How did you hear about those?"
"Thrush, I told you," Gwyna replied, a trifle impatiently. "You played for her to dance when her brothers were out busking the taverns at midday. The Gypsy, remember?"
"Oh," Rune said faintly. That was all the way back in Nolton! How on Earth had word of those songs gotten all the way here? How many of these Free Bards were there? And was there anything that they didn't know? "I didn't know-you all knew each other-" Then she burst out, impatiently, "Does every busker in the world belong to the Free Bards? Was I the only one who never heard of you before this?"
"Oh no-" Gwyna took one look at her angry, exasperated face, and burst out laughing. For some reason she found Rune's reaction incredibly funny. Rune wasn't as amused; in fact, she was getting a bit angry, but she told herself that there was no point in taking out her anger in Gwyna-
-even if she was being incredibly annoying.
Rune reined in her temper, and finally admitted to herself that she wouldn't be as exasperated if she wasn't still in pain. After all, what was she thinking-that the Free Bards had the same kind of information network as the Church? Now there was an absurdity!
"No, no, no," Gwyna finally said, when she'd gotten her laughter under control. "It's just the Gypsies. We're used to passing messages all over the Kingdoms. Anything that interests the Free Bards involves us, sooner or later."
"Why?" Rune asked, her brow furrowed. "You Gypsies are all related in one way or another, if I understand right, but what does that have to do with the Free Bards?"
"Quite a bit," Gwyna said, sobering. "You see, Master Wren came to us when he first ran away from the Guild, and it was being with us that gave him the idea for the Free Bards. He liked the kind of group we are. He says we're 'supportive without being restrictive,' whatever that means."
"All right, I can see that," Rune replied. "But I still don't understand what the Gypsies have to do with the Free Bards."
"For a start, it's probably fair to say that every Gypsy that's any kind of a musician is a Free Bard now. The Gift runs strong in us, when it runs at all. When anything calls us, music or dance, trading-craft, horse-craft, metal-craft, or mag-" She stopped herself, and Rune had the startling idea that she was about to say "magic." Magic? If it was not proscribed by the Church, it was at the least frowned upon. . . .
"Well, anything that calls us, calls us strongly, so when we do a thing, we do it well." Gwyna skipped lightly over the grass and held open the tent-flap for Rune. "So if we'd chosen the caged-life, every male of us could likely be in the Guild. That wasn't our way, though, and seeing that gave Master Wren the idea for the Free Bards. Of you gejo, I'd say maybe one of every ten musicians and street-buskers are Free Bards. No more. The rest simply aren't good enough. You were good enough, so we watched you. We-that's Free Bards and Gypsies both."
Rune sighed. That, at least, made her feel a little less like a child that hasn't been let in on a secret. The Free Bards weren't everywhere; they didn't have a secret eye on everyone. Just the few who seemed to promise they'd fit in the Free Bard ranks.
"There weren't any Free Bards in Nolton. The Gypsies, though, we have eyes and ears everywhere because we go everywhere. And since we're always meeting each other, we're always passing news, so what one knows, within months all know. We're a good way for the Free Bards to keep track of each other and of those who will fit in when they're ready." Gwyna showed her back to her own corner of the tent, which now held her bedroll and the huge cushions, her pack, as well as the instruments Talaysen had given her.