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master kicked the bear and pulled on the chain. One of his boys began to play a quick, staccato tune on a tin whistle.
    The crowd began to chant, ‘Dance! Dance! Dance, bear, dance!’
    The bear just sat. When the bear master’s tugging on the chains caused her pain, she raised her head and roared her defiance.
    The crowd shuffled back, muttering in disappointment, except for the priest.
    One of the soldiers shook his head. ‘This is crap,’ he said. ‘Let’s put some dogs on it.’
    The idea was instantly popular with his mates, but not at all with the bear master. ‘That’s my bear,’ he insisted.
    ‘Let me see your pass for the fair,’ said the sergeant. ‘Give it here.’
    The man looked at the ground, silenced, for all his size. ‘Which I ain’t got one.’
    ‘Then I can take your bear, mate. I can take your bear and your boys.’ The sergeant smiled. ‘I ain’t a cruel man,’ he said, his tone indicating that this statement
was untrue. ‘We’ll put some dogs on your bear, fair as fair. You’ll collect the silver. We’ll have some betting.’
    ‘This is a gold bear,’ said the bear master. He was going pale under his red, wine-fed nose. ‘A gold bear!’
    ‘You mean you spent some silver on putting a bit of gilt on her fur,’ said another soldier. ‘Pretty for the crowd.’
    The bear master shrugged. ‘Bring your dogs,’ he said.
    It turned out that many of the men in the crowd had dogs they fancied against a bear.
    The wagoner slipped back another step, but the priest grabbed his arm. ‘You stay right here,’ he said. ‘And your little witch of a daughter.’
    The man’s grip was like steel, and the light in his eyes was fanatical. The wagoner allowed himself, reluctantly, to be pulled back into the circle around the bear.
    Dogs were being brought. There were mastiffs – great dogs the size of small ponies – and big hounds, and some mongrels that had replaced size with sheer ferocity. Some of the dogs
sat quietly while others growled relentlessly at the bear.
    The bear raised its head and growled too – once.
    All the dogs backed away a step.
    Men began to place bets.
    The bear master and his boys worked the crowd. If he was hesitant to see his bear in a fight, he wasn’t hesitant about accepting the sheer quantity of silver suddenly crossing his palm.
Even the smallest farmer would wager on a bear baiting. And when the bear was a creature of the Wild—
    Well it was almost a religious duty to bet against it.
    The odds agains the bear went up and up.
    So did the number of dogs, and they were becoming unmaneageable as the pack grew. Thirty angry dogs can hate each other as thoroughly as they hate a bear.
    The priest stepped out of the ring. ‘Look at this creature of Evil!’ he said. ‘The very embodiment of the enemy. Look at its fangs and teeth, designed by the Unmaker to kill
men. And look at these dogs men have bred – animals reduced to lawful obedience by patient generations of men. No one dog can bring down this monster alone, but does anyone doubt that many of
them can? And is this lesson lost on any man here? The bear – look at it – is mighty. But man is more puissant by far.’
    The bear didn’t raise its head.
    The priest kicked it.
    It stared at the ground.
    ‘It won’t even fight!’ said one of the guards.
    ‘I want my money back!’ shouted a wheelwright.
    The priest smiled his terrible smile. He grabbed the rope around one of the little cubs, hauled the creature into the air by the scruff of the neck, and tossed it in among the dogs.
    The bear leaped to its feet.
    The priest laughed. ‘Now it will fight,’ it said.
    The bear strained against its manacles as the mastiffs ripped the screaming cub to shreds. It sounded like a human child, terrified and afraid, and then it was gone – savaged and eaten by
a dozen mongrels. Eaten alive.
    The wagoner had his hands over his daughter’s eyes.
    The priest whirled on him, eyes afire. ‘Show her!’ he