Man Tower
Walking, Cassandra moved swiftly, bringing herself next to Alberto, Man Tower, clutching his hand as they walked. She lifted his hand to her mouth, kissing it, wiping her tearful eye with it. Upon his hand, Alberto felt the moisture upon her face. He thought of his mother passing, feeling distant yet close to the imposing woman desperately holding his hand. His heart hardened as he pulled his hand away. The darkness that filled his deepest regions would not allow the intimacy to continue. He forced his thoughts to Ricco. Cassandra did not react, watching closely the man she stood next to. She saw his darkness. It only made her more determined to assist him in removing it. She could not lift her own darkness from her soul, yet she was confident she could erase that in another. Possibly with the eliminating of her beloved’s demons, her own demons would be exorcised.
As a knight, Alberto broke conventional traditions by traveling alone. Other knights traveled in entourages, possibly up to six or seven, and more counting squires, cooks and accomplices of various kinds. Knights, similar to castles, courts, and monasteries, came with many attached. Alberto, a terminally unique man, travelled solo. His solitary days were now ceasing. Ricco made a fine squire, a quality companion, and strongly the idea emerged the woman was going to prove interesting in her persistence. He did not fear the woman, amused by the fact he would break her heart. Let her try and tame him. The woman acted tough, yet his superior insight announced she was too strongly attached to him. He was bound for none. In the morning, after the sex act, he saw the one conquered lying next to him. Other women, women he raped, near death, pathetic in state, would sometimes stare at him with complete dependence upon him. After being raped, the women were willing to become slaves. The pathetic realization appalled.
Cassandra was different. At heart, he was convinced the sturdy, strong young lady was a simple soul struggling. Somehow, through all of her difficulties, she held on to innocence. The thought of the woman, cowering underneath her covers, possessing the mind of a five year old, brightened his heart. Yet she was a woman and with being a woman came extreme complexities. Depression a part, sadness weighing heavily upon her. Even if she could stand above riffraff, she could not stand above being human. Strong in a crowd, alone she suffered the wreckage of her past–one complex because of demands, satisfied and unsatisfied, justified and unjustified. A wayward child clinging to the remembrance of innocence, embroiled within sin, she spoke as one aiming for the soul when addressing him. Alberto sensed the feminine ethereal intent. He recalled the words of a wise man: only trust those who speak to the heart. Those who speak to impress, to gain your friendship for reward’s sake—praising, manipulating, and complimenting, or for any other selfish and vain reason, will surely shoot an arrow into your back if it suits their need. Watch those who ‘need’ to identify you as a friend. For most, it is simply a matter of time before they strike at you. Trust those who care and love others. Trust not those who control through a lack of charity. You are smart. You easily know the difference.
It was not long before, Alberto and Cassandra located Ricco. He rested in the stables, right where Alberto expected him to be. Rufino was in his company. Ricco introduced him as a childhood friend. Ricco informed Alberto of the strange former Templar Knight returning from the Holy Land, and the fact in the morning he was killed by unknown assailants. Alberto desired details of the men who attacked the haunted erstwhile crusader, although none were for the giving. Putting aside the morning death, contemplating words of the murdered man, travel to the Holy Land was discussed. Rufino introduced himself, in mannerism begging for company with Man Tower. Running his words together, he told how he had nowhere to go, and the fact he was hunted by the worst of men, many desiring to inflict death.
“You were the young man confronting us on the street when Ricco first joined me.”
“That is when I wanted to kill Ricco. Now I want to share in his duties.”
“You look seriously handicapped.”
Cassandra stepped in. “I know the boy. He has a strong spirit, though he is prone to biting off more than he can chew. He attains powerful enemies while in reality he is only a pitiful boy. He fears nothing and that is a fault. He is lucky to be alive. There have been enough like him that no longer know the sun. He will be dead before twenty years if he continues alone. He will serve you well. He needs your protection, as do I. Together, we will form a band of misfits: traveling troubadours, we can wander about. I can sing and dance for money.”
Alberto laughed, wondering what in the world possessed the woman with the quick penetrating tongue. “You will support us? Already, I see you are a dreamer, making plans for those who have no plans for you.”
“No. I am more than a dreamer. I am a visionary. I have been that way since I was a little girl. One morning as a child, an uncle came calling, a strange man visiting my mother. Immediately, I knew I must avoid the man for he would kill my mother and attempt horrible things with me. I warned my mother, however my words of prophecy lacked persuasion. It cost me a mother, and the reality I killed a man. A small girl, I did not shirk from sticking a knife into the man’s liver, deftly inflicting death. We can travel as a troupe, minstrels afoot in strange lands, touring tournaments. You know the life Man Tower. None can best you in combat, and we can offer, for pay, the opportunity of reputation through battle with you. Individual men of every community feel themselves to be the strongest. It will be a great honor for them to contest with the brute of legend you have become. Ricco can learn and increase his skills, teaching other squires. His reputation is firmly established. Men speak of the training he endured in the lands of the lepers, wrestling with the older noble young men. There is nothing you do that is not spoken about by drunkards. Your swordplay and my singing and dancing will be our means of subsistence.”
“What about me?” Rufino, captured by the words, chimed in.
“I can teach you to dance and sing, beating upon a drum. I will teach you various beats. It is easy, and captivating for the soul to learn the rhythms of the drum. Together we can dance. I have another friend, her name is Beatrice, something is wrong with her right now that she is not speaking about—however she is strong, skilled and of a sharp mind. She will accompany. We can paint our faces, making fools of ourselves for others enjoyment. Actors and singers, we will be together. We can perform skits. I have always wanted to live such a life. When I was a young girl there was a troupe of actors who brought me to tears, making life seem precious, making tangible my life and experiences. I loved the stories they told in their performances, and within the imagining of their lives. Affecting a child, they induced hope into my soul. We can tell raucous jokes and stories of gallant knights saving cherished, treasured, ladies. We can do it together Rufino. We can all build a stage together, hanging fabric with painted images. Can you paint?”
“I have never tried.” Swept away visualizing, Rufino clutched onto the woman’s words.
“That is even better. People are leery of traveling actors. It eases them if they can watch us and laugh not only with us, but at us. Clumsiness and a lack of talent they enjoy. Weakness…what are the words the priest spoke… I willing boast of my weakness, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I am content with weakness, with mistreatment, with distress, with persecutions and difficulties for the sake of Christ; for when I am powerless, it is then that I am strong. Amazing, they all came with ease. Show the people weakness and they will be enthralled. If we show them faults, weakness, imperfections, while entertaining, they will enjoy us even more. Arrogance, no matter how great the skill, quickly grows annoying to those who wish to be amused.”
“Now you are a philosopher also. And you thought of this grand plan as we stand wasting time.”
“Yes, I am quite clever. This will become extremely evident to you, so clearly it will become a part of your intuition. Of course, the underlying employment of the traveling minstrel fantasy was there all along, something I have been dreaming about since a child. I even have a name Troupe Tripudiante–Troupe Tripudiante that is how we shall be known. You and the others are just recent additions, named faces I have been searching for throughout my life. You three allow reality to bloom from seeds sown from childhood fascinations. How wonderful you must feel. I am a survivor, good at adjusting. You will come to learn this.”
