by Gail Merritt
The kindly farmer gave me bread and a bed to sleep in for the night, although I had told both him and his wife that the barn would provide all the comforts that I needed. They would hear no arguments but brought me to their hearth and fed me delicious stew. I did not inquire as to the meat as on such occasions the generosity of my hosts should not be demeaned by my abstinence from meat. The farmer’s excellent home-pressed cider was strong enough to rob me of any dreams and I woke to warm sunlight and the song of birds. The gloom of the previous day had evaporated. We would miss the fox, but the day and the road stretched out before us. With my powers, I drew goodness to the soil of the farm and thanked my hosts before mounting Gilbert, with Ralph on my shoulder. We promised to return.
2. - The Red Wagon
Magra is one of the Five Kingdoms, and its capital is Vellin. The city itself is beautiful but all visitor’s eyes are drawn to the Angirat, a high cliff beside the River Listi. On the ridge of this rocky outcrop stands the Royal Palace of the Kings of Magra, and beyond it, on the precarious edge above the river, is the Talarin, the Citadel of the Mantles. It is more home to me than any other, all Mantles feel themselves drawn to it, but when we reached the crossroads that led north-east to Vellin, I turned Gilbert’s head to the South.
‘You will have to return some day, my Lady,’ Gilbert warned. I patted him on his neck but said nothing.
Downstream from Vellin, the River Listi flows through gentle farmland, hedged with hawthorn, birch and elderberry. The hills roll away from the river like crumpled patchwork under the horizon. It is a land of succulent plenty; crops of tomato and bean vie with orchards and nut groves. Rows of trees lend shade to contented flocks of sheep and the air is heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and a myriad of flowering shrubs that colonise the hedgerows. Blackberry bushes tangle themselves to make the perfect cover for rabbits while in the thorn bushes the thrush and blackbird give voice to the land. It is a place of contented labour and, as Gilbert ambled along, I envied the farmers at their work. Some were bent upon their task, but others paused long enough to shade their eyes and watch or passing. Some waved before returning to their ploughs.
We spent many happy days in this region. There was little for me to do except wallow in the richness of nature’s bounty and perhaps I would have stayed longer if not for a chance encounter one morning as I sat by the river, waiting for Gilbert to finish his breakfast. He was enjoying a lush clump of purple clover and Ralph was snoozing in a nearby tree when the sound of jingling harnesses made us look towards the bend in the road.
First came Mengo and Jelari, good-natured shire horses, surefooted and in mellow spirits. They pulled a red caravan, its tin roof gleaming in the sunshine. To my eyes, it was the most beautiful thing I could imagine, with painted gardens climbing up the sides, bindweed, cowslip, columbine and snapdragons, butterflies and swallows and green dragonflies. Rows of pots and pans jangled in time with the turn of the large wheels and when I stood to get a better look as it drew closer. The driver saw me and stopped.
‘What’s this then?’ asked the man pleasantly, ‘out picking posies for your lad, young miss?’
‘Be still!’ cautioned the woman at his side. ‘See you not the Mantle, Matt?’
‘Green Mantle?’ He half-laughed. ‘They said she was a young-un, but this is nowt but a chabbie.’ His words were strange to me and his dialect was thick.
‘I am Green Mantle.’ I ran my hand down Jelari’s neck and I was tempted to give life to the painted roses on his wagon, but the College of the Mantles frowned upon such trickery. If he could have understood his animals, they would have vouched for me, but few humans are on such close terms with their beasts. Jelari nuzzled my face and that appeared to impress Matt.
‘Amazing!’ he slapped his leg. ‘Jelari don’t take to strangers, Miss Mantle, so I s’pect you’re who you say you are.’ The man jumped down from his seat and offered his hand. ‘I’m Matt and this ‘ere’s the wife, Mari. Time for a brew, I’d say. Will you join us, Miss Mantle?’ They set up their camp fire and within minutes we were drinking hot, strong tea from blue tin mugs and watching the horses crop grass.
‘Where’s that lad of ours?’ Mari opened a tin box full of caravan-made biscuits and offered them to me. I took one. It crunched and melted in my mouth.
‘Roamin’!’ Matt had a gold tooth that flashed as he bit into his biscuit.
‘He would have liked to meet you,’ Mari confided. ‘Our lad, Sandor, loves all beasts himself and he’d be a mite cheery to have your acquaintance.’
I smiled, imagining the little boy stopping by the roadside to search for hedgehogs, peering up at swallows’ flight or chasing gaudy butterflies. His parents, chattering happily, appeared unconcerned that he was missing. He often went off by himself, they said but would be back when his belly wanted filling. They were Roms, travelling people, bound for the Horse Fair at Taegel. Matt was a horse breaker and trader in partnership with his brother, Lobb, who was driving their stock to market. Mari explained that although her Matt was good with the horses, it was Lobb that could drive a harder bargain. Matt was more inclined to sell to the buyer who looked as if he would be kinder to the horses rather than who would pay the better price. I warmed to Matt immediately.
‘Is the fair a big one?’ I asked, dipping my biscuit into the brew as they did, releasing the delicious flavour of honey and oats.
‘One of the biggest!’ Matt tapped out his pipe and considered me for a moment. ‘Haven’t you ever been, Miss Mantle?’
‘Come along with us!’ Mari was quick to urge. ‘If you’re going down the Listi, then Taegel is on your way and I’m sure the Roms would make you welcome. It’s been a long time since Green Mantle travelled with us, but I do remember when I was a child, he’d often sleep under our wagon, this wagon. It was my parents’ wagon then, before they gave it to us. They gave up the roamin’ when my mother took too ill and got themselves a place by the sea.’ I wondered if the warmth I felt for this bright red monster was from an earlier Green Mantle’s memory, a memory passed on from one Green Mantle to the next in a blending of minds. If it was, then I was grateful for it for I was already charmed by this painted wagon.
I had never been to one of the big fairs and the thought of rubbing shoulders with jugglers and fire-eaters was exciting, so I accepted their kind offer immediately. This caused Mari to squeal with delight and she announced that we’d eat lunch before moving on, quickly organising me to help while Matt was sent off to hunt the hedgerows for herbs and wild potatoes. The spot was pleasant, she announced as we cleaned vegetables in the convenient stream and breaking the journey would give Sandor time to catch up.
It has always amazed me how Rom women can produce delicious meals from a few vegetables and what can be found by the wayside. Now that is true magic! We sat with our backs to the great wheels of their caravan and devoured her ‘throw-together’. This was her name for the hot stews that she brewed in her shiny copper cauldron. As we ate, they asked me about my family and were full of tales about their own adventures in the Northern Meeds. They knew Brak well and even chuckled as they recalled one occasion when my father had thrown them off his land, planting a firm boot-print on Matt’s backside. They held no grudges. It was often the same story. Towns and villages regarded them with suspicion and sometimes loathing. They were tolerated for a short time but when all the pans and chairs had been mended and every housewife had a new supply of pegs, they would be moved along.
‘Not that we mind,’ Matt pointed out. ‘Some of us would shrivel and die if we stayed in the same spot for too long.’
The clear trill of someone whistling came from beyond the bend in the road. It was their son Sandor and it is difficult to describe what I saw of him during those first moments as he swung into view further down the road. He was not fat, nor thin, not short or tall. His mother thought him just right. He had the tanned complexion and the dark hair of his people but there was a hint of the fairy folk about his cheeky green eyes a
nd mischievous smile. Where I had expected a child, I saw a young man, about the same age as the King. He wore dusty green breeches and a shirt of rough calico. About his neck was tied a red scarf and he was swishing a stick which he waved when he saw us.
‘A Mantle is it? Bit young for that, aren’t you?’ he nodded when we were introduced. Mari flushed and Matt just shook his head.
‘No respect for anyone, our Sandor,’ his father began to fill his pipe, ‘until they’ve earned it.’
‘Then his respect might be worth earning,’ I countered, giving Mari a brief smile to show that this banter did not offend me. There were members of the High Council of the Mantles, the Souran, of which I was the latest member, who would have inflicted plagues for less.
Sandor helped himself to food. ’Well, if we’re to be travelling together, I can hardly call her Green Mantle all the time. Does she have a name?’ He whistled to the horses who came ambling to his side.
‘She’s a Lady, the daughter of a Lord of the Gathering,’ Mari came to my defense while shooing the horses from her campfire.
‘Oh well, Lady Green Mantle, then!’ Sandor sat beside me.
‘Just Megwin will be fine,’ I told him.
‘That’s better! Well, Just-Megwin, welcome to our wagon and our fire.’ He winked at Ralph who had come to perch on the storage box on the wagon. Before Sandor had finished his meal, Ralph was already on his shoulder.
When our journey resumed, I was invited to ride up with Mari and Matt, to enjoy the view, and to give my horse a rest from my weight. Gilbert was happy for the chance to walk with the shire horses whose warm personalities had already made him welcome. Without his bridle and saddle, he had opted to walk alongside the pair, although Matt was fearful that an untethered horse was sure to go wandering off. I was sure to lose him, he insisted. I assured him that as I did not own the horse, that he came with me because he chose to, he would be perfectly safe walking along with us and if he decided to pause to nibble something tasty along the way, he was free to do so. Matt’s eyebrows rose but he shook his head and said nothing. As we prepared to go, he patted Gilbert and reminded him of how a loyal horse should behave. Gilbert told me he was humbled by the concern this gypsy fellow had for his well-being.
‘Let’s be on our way!’ Matt yelled, clambering up beside Mari. ‘The road’s waiting!’ He didn’t need to snap the harness, Jelari and Mengo set off at a gentle walk, keeping up a merry chatter with Gilbert. I listened for a while but then, as it was a private conversation and too full of horse concerns to hold my interests, I let it slip from my mind. Instead, I watched Sandor as he strolled along beside the horses, Ralph perched on his shoulder. Every so often he would pat one of the beasts or look back at the three of us squashed comfortably on our perch.
‘Come and walk with me, Just-Megwin,’ he beckoned. ‘I know where we can see peacocks, if we’re careful.’ He pointed further up the road, to a gap in the tall hedge. Ralph immediately left him and settled instead on the roof of the wagon.
‘Don’t trespass!’ Matt called, but his advice fell on deaf ears. We were already scrambling through blackberry brambles to find ourselves in the gardens of a beautiful house.
‘Who does this belong to?’ I whispered.
‘A rich lord who doesn’t value his beautiful birds. Look!’ Sandor pointed across the lawns to a magnificent creature preening itself at the foot of a wide stone stairway. ‘A fine fellow, isn’t he?’ We watched the peacock strutting and calling to the peahen above him on a terrace close to the house. She appeared to be oblivious to his attentions, even when he opened up his glorious tail. The magnificence of it did not even turn her head, even when he cried again and made the great fan shake and catch the sunlight on the thousand green eyes. The more he demanded, the more she ignored him until he flew off to brood in a nearby tree.
‘He should find himself a new mate!’ Sandor sat back on his heels. ‘She’s too proud for him.’
‘He should woo her gently rather than scream at her.’ The peahen was looking up at the male now he was quiet. She began to walk towards the tree where he perched.
We might have debated the correct peacock mating ritual longer, but the braying of hounds brought Sandor to attention. Four dogs and their human handler had raced around the side of the house and were bowling across the lawns towards us. I did not wait to exchange words with the angry brutes but followed Sandor back towards the bramble jungle. Once through the hedge, we raced after the red wagon, but the dogs and their man pursued us.
‘Filthy gypos!’ the man bellowed. ‘I’ll have your sorry hides. When my dogs have finished with you there’ll be two less of your kind!’ His words stopped me, and I turned to face him.
‘Run Megwin, he means what he says. Run!’ Sandor was horrified and tried to pull me after him. I put out my hand and halted the hounds as they were leaping towards me. The man I allowed to run on a little, and his own confusion brought him to a standstill. He blinked at me in terror. What evil spell woven by gypsy magic was this?
‘I am Green Mantle!’ The power in my voice caused the birds to be silent. ‘I visited your master’s garden to watch his beautiful peacocks, but you and your detestable creatures have spoilt my day. Your master’s land is poorer for my departure. Your treatment of gypsies had appalled me, and I will punish you in kind, with the same justice that you were prepared to give to me. How will you feel when your own dogs tear the flesh from your legs? How many gypsies have you tortured in this way?’
The man began to whimper and fell to his knees. I left him there while I dealt with his dogs. They were creatures trained to attack and I felt sorry for them. It was not their fault that their master had used their basest natures to serve his own purpose. I gave them my blessings and restored their gentle nature, so that when I freed them from their frozen posture, they set about their human handler with ferocious affection, licking the poor demented man until he curled up in ball, in the ditch. It took quite a long time for him to realise that, far from tearing him to pieces, they were heaping years of repressed fondness on him.
Sandor grinned nervously as we raced to scale the back of the wagon. ‘I’m mighty glad you like Roms, Lady Mantle,’ he confessed as he helped me climb up to the back ledge.
3. - Taegel
There is nothing quite so peaceful as sleeping under a coverlet of stars, feeling that all must be well, as the distant worlds keep to their nightly motion. However, sleeping under a creaking wagon in the rain is not to be recommended. My feet kept straying into puddles, and a thin stream of water ran close to my nose. Sandor woke me before dawn with a hot cup of brew. He was surprisingly dry.
‘When it gets really bad, I find myself a barn, or even a haystack.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You seemed to want to sleep under there, eager you were.’ He grinned. ‘I thought you might have some special purpose for sleeping on the ground. Next time, I’ll wake you.’ He poked the fire with a stick and added more fuel while I huddled over the brew, gathering warmth from the mug. I was stiff and cold but at least the rain had stopped and there was a shimmering sunrise. Sandor threw a heavy blanket over my shoulders, ‘Matt wants a long drive today. He wants to get to Taegel before nightfall. There’ll be a lot of Roms all trying to get the best camping place. It’s an ugly sight, all those Rom women arguing about who got there first and whose claims are strongest.’ He winked and handed me two mugs before climbing into the back of the wagon. ‘Pass ‘em up to me. I’ll get these two awake.’ Someone was snoring heavily.
We drove all morning and ate bread and cheese as we travelled. Matt occasionally pointed out landmarks but for the most part we were all content in our own thoughts. Mari and Matt were thinking about meeting up with old friends and family. Matt worried about the horses that Lobb was to sell. Mari looked forward to seeing her sister again. She had a daughter, and Mari had been making a dress for her. She hoped it would fit. I did not try to read their minds, but their thoughts
were so vivid that they flooded out to me. Sandor was different. He had a mind like the fox, here, there and everywhere at once, full of shifting thoughts, like shoals of fish darting in the river shallows. I wondered what the fox would think of him. Remembering the fox saddened me. I missed him and allowed myself the pain of seeking him out with my thoughts. My charms had protected him from dogs and hunters and, when he finally found his vixen, the magic had protected her too. They curled together in a deserted badger set in a wood, far away from humans, awaiting the birth of her cubs. Soon I would be too far away to view his life in this way, but the protection charm would linger for many weeks. After that, it would be much harder to find him again and renew the magic.
We arrived in Taegel in the afternoon and drove through the town to find the camping ground by the river. Taegel is a plain sort of place when compared to Vellin. It sits on a flattened valley, surrounded by small farming communities. There is a town of sorts, clustered about a main street, which is paved with cobbles. Narrower lanes disappear off at strange angles, mostly ending in a blank wall or the hedge of a field. There are no towering citadels and few buildings of note displaying civic pride or evidence of private wealth. A functional hall serves many purposes, including temporary prison, almshouse and courthouse, and next door, the Wayfarer Inn serves excellent cider, a fact I discovered during a later visit. Indeed, the number of taverns and inns amazed me. There appeared to be one on every corner. Sandor explained that Taegel had long been a meeting place for all kinds of travelers, being at the junction of the rivers Listi and Shreur. Merchants from Vellin had always used the town to meet their counterparts from Gaheil and the Western Wastes. Roms had congregated here since memory began. At first they had traded among themselves but, as their numbers increased and others began to value their goods, particularly their horses, the market grew and from that sprang the Horse Fair.
