by Gail Merritt
The town sits on a level plateau above the converging rivers. A broad meadow spreads in a great arc where the water of the Listi and the Shreur meet and it is on this grass bank that the annual Horse Fair is held. When we arrived, booths were being erected and construction was beginning on the merry-go-rounds and sideshows. Beyond the excitement of the fair, a stretch of rough track separated the gypsy encampment. In the late afternoon, with smoke spilling from wagon fires and settling on the ground in the stillness, it appeared like an enchanted village. Voices were muted and someone was playing a fiddle. As the red wagon passed, people waved or greeted us but there was a hush about the place, and I recalled Sandor’s description of squabbles for territory. Clearly it had been another of his jokes. Everyone here appeared to know exactly where to camp.
I helped Mari set up her camp fire. Some Roms cooked on their small stoves inside their wagons but Mari enjoyed her fire outside and would only retreat to the wagon when the weather drove her there. Outside, she could see everything going on around her, exchange gossip with other wives and sing quietly to herself as she added herbs to her pot. Matt took folding seats from the locker on the side of the wagon and very soon we were sitting comfortably, smelling the ‘throw-together’.
‘We’ll stock up our larder tomorrow,’ Mari assured me as she stirred. ‘This will be ready soon. I expect Sandor will be back any time. That boy can smell supper half a mile away.’
‘Where did he go?’
Matt and Mari shared a grin. ‘Horses!’ Matt pointed across the field. In the twilight, I could just make out the blurred shapes of a number of animals in a roughly made corral. ‘He’s been checkin’ on Lobb, I expect. The boy don’t always trust my brother an’ he’s not far wrong but Lobb wouldn’t cheat me. He’s mindful of Rom law. We deal harshly with our own kind who cross their kin, Miss Mantle. Lobb’ll do the right thing by us but I wouldn’t trust him if I was anyone else. Shiftless, he is.’
Sandor came back shortly after. He had indeed visited the horses and been pleasantly surprised that they were all in good condition. After the meal, he produced a sheet of canvas and constructed a small tent, for Just-Megwin, he said. I was grateful and forgave his earlier insolence. I crept into my new shelter and fell asleep listening to Matt playing his haunting fiddle. It was a sad and doleful tune, but I felt content, warm and very thankful to be dry.
The next day Mari invited me to go shopping with her. She counted her coins carefully, refused my offer to add some of my own for my keep and said that she knew a butcher who would sell his meat to gypsies. The statement surprised me until I walked through Taegel with her. Despite the town’s only fame and much of its income resulting from the Horse Fair, few of the population made the Rom welcome. We were pushed and jostled, called all manner of names and even spat upon. I was tempted to use Mantle magic, but Mari begged me to make nothing of it. She even asked me to turn my mantle inside out so that I would not be recognised.
‘They’re the poorer for it.’ She patted my hand. ‘Not us!’
I followed her down a narrow alley and we found ourselves at the back door of a butcher’s shop. The man recognised her and ushered her in. I watched, perplexed as he produced a bowl of hot water and began to remove his shoes.
‘Master Figus has problems with his feet,’ Mari explained. From her pocket she took a small piece of folded paper. Inside was an aromatic mixture of dried leaves that she dropped into the bowl. Instantly, the scent of wild rose, rosemary, comfrey and a host of unknown herbs filled the room. The man sat with his feet in the warm potion and listened to Mari’s instructions. When she was finished, he pointed to a large parcel by the door. This was her payment, enough meat to feed us and the rest of the family for many days. Mari thanked him and we left.
‘Comfrey mostly, but with a few little secrets,’ she winked. ‘He’s a good man. Most of the others won’t even let a gypsy darken their door. We use the back door so that none of his customers see us. It’s wrong to sneak about but what can you do? Let’s be getting back and see what he’s given us.’
In the afternoon, I met the other members of the family. Matt’s brother Lobb had the same fairy features as Sandor but there was a surliness about him, and I understood immediately why Sandor did not trust him. A man of few words is not always a bad thing but a man whose face and voice are still while his eyes dart in all directions without explanation could be mistaken for being shiftless. Mari’s sister Beryl and her husband Deni were a pleasant couple. He was tall, with a broad smile and very little hair left on his head. She was small, plump and rosy-cheeked with a jolly laugh. Their daughter Tamora was a beautiful creature, perhaps a little older than me. She might have been taken for Sandor’s twin, with her cascade of ebony curls and large green eyes but she lacked his sharp wit. She had a gentle, warm manner and a dignity in her bearing that might equal the stone princess who was now Queen of Magra. Later, Beryl confided to me that Tamora’s demeanour was often mistaken for affectation and she worried that the girl would never find a suitor from among her own kind. Only the family seemed to understand that this was just her way. From the number of young men who watched her pass by at the fair, I could have assured Beryl that suitors would not be hard to find.
That evening, the world became a magical place of coloured lights and illusion. The Horse Fair bustled with the noise of music and excited voices as small children ran from booth to booth or took their turn on the merry-go-rounds. Lovers laughed as they shared a boat swing and tinkers barked out their wares - ribbons, laces from Urvik, jewellery and hair clips from the South, good-luck charms from over the seas. It dazzled the senses. Mingled with the smell of apples in hot sugar and fish cooked on charcoal was the odour of machinery grease mingled with dust and smoke. I wandered through it all with the same sense of wonder as the little children who squealed at each new discovery. Sandor and Tamora laughed at my naive delight.
‘It’s nothing but paper and wind,’ Sandor leaned against my shoulder. ‘It’s illusion. In the cold light of day, you’d see it for what it really is.’
‘But I don’t want to.’ I tugged his arm. ‘Look at the fishing game!’ He trailed cheerfully in my wake as I relished every new encounter with this make-believe world.
At last we came to the horse corral. I knew that this was what Sandor wanted to show me. A group of men stood in a huddle, discussing the merits of particular animals, ignoring us as we climbed the makeshift fence and looked down on the resting beasts. Some were young striplings, freshly broken in. Some bore the mental scars of previous bad masters, while other animals, like Matt’s, were ready to serve humans because they had known only kindness at their hands.
‘I pity them so,’ Tamora sighed, looking across the corral to the gypsy encampment. ‘They have no choice in their future, have they?’
‘Most will make the best of their situation,’ I assured her. ‘I’ve found that most of them are very philosophical about their place in the scheme of things. My Gilbert has tried to explain a horse’s view of the world. Your father and Matt are honourable in their eyes. Even your Uncle Lobb, Sandor.’
‘And me, what of me?’ A desperate whisper appeared to rise up from the horses’ midst. ‘Too old to be treated so harshly, sent away because of the memory of him that was. What of me?’
‘Where are you?’ I spoke my thoughts aloud. ‘Who are you? How can I help?’ I scanned among them to find the source of this misery. Sandor and Tamora followed my eyes, aware that Green magic was happening.
‘Here, though none would recognise me now, stripped of my finery and starved of nourishment.’ A thin chestnut was easing his way towards the fence. He was old but not ancient. His body bore the scars of rough treatment and his ribs showed beneath his skin. ‘See, not even you recognise me, though you were not Green Mantle when last we met. Is Gilbert still with you? A fine fellow, you have there, my Lady.’
‘He is, but who are you? You mentioned ‘him that was’, your past owner, perhaps? Were you one of
my father’s horses. I don’t remember any of them.’
‘I carried one who would have killed your father had it not been for his love for you, though most would say he never loved anyone but himself.’ The great mournful eyes filled us all with pity. This creature had once been noble and well-loved. My heart stopped beating for one chilling moment. I knew the horse and realised with painful sadness that I knew he past owner.
‘Llewid!’ The word was no more than a gasp from my ribcage. Sandor and Tamora exchanged glances. No one in the Five Kingdoms would forget that name.
‘The same.’ The beast closed his eyes, recalling happier times and through him I felt them too. ‘They had no use for me in Vellin, so I was given to a Lord of the Gathering who in turn passed me to his knight. He whipped and beat me until I no longer knew how to obey, and when I faltered my stupidity was blamed upon my poor, young master who had treated me well.’
‘How can I help you?’ I rubbed his neck gently.
‘Buy me tomorrow, or at least find me someone who will be kind.’
I promised him that I would help. I climbed down from the fence, my heart and mind in turmoil with buried emotions. Llewid! How well I thought I had buried him and his name and all the memories of how he smiled, his laugh, his easy companionship. Llewid, King of Dereculd! The night crowded in on me. Tamora asked what was wrong. Sandor tried to take my arm, but I shook myself free and began to run. I needed the dark of the night to hide me. They did not follow.
Where I stumbled that night, I can only guess. I splashed through the shallows of the Shreur and when my legs could carry me no further, I sat on a rock in the moonlight and wept. All the happy times we had spent together came back to me, raw and painful. Then came images of the evils he had inflicted upon the Five Kingdoms. I had thought that all those memories were well buried, overlaid by the angry rejection I felt after Ardin married his new queen. I had thought they were left behind when I left Vellin behind me. Now they were all unearthed by this chance meeting with Llewid’s horse.
King Llewid of Dereculd, he who had caused the wars through his hunger to take the crown of Magra, a crown his father had lost. King Llewid, who had come to Vellin to celebrate his cousin’s birthday with assassination in his mind. Instead he had bedazzled a young girl and almost caused her death, my death. Then he had robbed me of part of my soul. King Llewid, who had died in Vellin and whose kingdom now belonged to Ardin, King of Magra. I did not know which one of them I hated more, nor which one I had once loved the most.
So it was that when the horse sales began the following day, I went there armed with Mantle gold to buy a horse that no one wanted because it was too stupid and old.
4. - Horse
Sandor was helping at the horse sales by leading the animals back and forth, walking, then running, to show all their paces. He waved when he saw me making my way to the front with Tamora.
‘Are you sure that you want to buy the old one?’
‘I’m sure, Tamora. I knew him when he was fine and strong. It’s tragic that he has been brought to such a state before his time.’
Sandor gently walked him before us. Matt had been baffled when I asked him to bid for me, but he had agreed. That way he would be sure I was not cheated, although he was mystified that I preferred this flea-bitten creature to one of his beautiful horses.
The auctioneers began but his asking price brought only jeers from the buyers, so he reduced it. Even that was met with laughter, but Matt called out his offer. The men who knew him asked if he was starting a glue factory. Matt told them that the old horse looked like he needed some care and attention and some of the crowd knew well that Matt would be the best man for that. Lobb assured everyone that he was not about to share Matt’s charitable nature and he’d expect a proper price for his horses. Everyone enjoyed the banter between the brothers, one a caring horseman, the other the shrewd salesman. I suspect that their reputation as honest and expert dealers explained the absence of challenge to Matt’s bid and, to the amusement of the crowd, the horse was sold. I patted him warmly and took him to meet Gilbert, I knew that sometime later, I would have to decide what to do with him.
‘It’s good that you are back,’ Tamora said making room for me at the auction. ‘Matt’s best horses are coming up now. Aren’t they beautiful?’ She was right. Three fillies and two young stallions were to be sold and there were plenty of prospective buyers. Poor Matt, even from across the sales yard, I could feel his anxiety. He wanted his beauties to live happy lives. I shared his desperation. I knew that I could not justify the use of Mantle magic, but I couldn’t resist testing the thoughts of the bidders. Some were rich merchants who might sell their horses on to others. Some were bored aristocrats who saw the horses as beautiful possessions. Some were looking for new beasts to pull ploughs or carry burdens until they dropped. A few were eager to own and cherish a beautiful animal. How then could I ensure that these were the successful bidders. Not for the first I would have to look on, unable to use my powers to help.
I was cursing my fate and the Mantle vow, when another’s thoughts flashed through my mind. It was a fleeting moment, a hint, no more, but so powerful and certain that I swayed and Tamora was forced to support me. The message was clear. The horses were protected. I watched in amazement as each lot went to my chosen buyers. I should have been happy but there was a small worm gnawing at the pit of my stomach. Who was this magician who dared to use power in a way that was forbidden to a Mantle? I spread my mind over the crowd but found nothing other than excited revelers and disappointed horse traders. The mind had gone as quickly as it came.
Sandor sensed that something was wrong but how could I explain? Perhaps I was a little jealous of this magician. After all, I was Green Mantle and this other, this unknown, had successfully manipulated the auction to save the horses, creatures of my domain. I chastised myself for pettiness. All that mattered was that Matt’s horses had found new homes and Llewid’s horse had gained my protection. I allowed myself to be soothed by gypsy wine and merriment. I left the identity of the unknown mind for another day.
A huge bonfire was lit in the center of the encampment and with the end of the horse-trading came the end of the Fair and time to move on. This was a night for old friends and making new ones. Before long fiddlers drew together and dancing began. Young men and girls eyed each other. It would be a long year of travelling before they might meet again, so time was precious. Many marriages were planned that night and hearts broken.
‘Will you dance, My Lady Mantle?’ Sandor bowed low.
‘Only if you promise to call me Megwin.’ I nodded and took his offered hand. Mari squealed with delight when she saw us.
I cannot tell for how long we danced, for the Rom dances take many forms and it seemed that each measure was different from the one before, but when the last fiddlers grew tired and fell asleep we still wanted to dance. Sandor took my hand and we skipped down to the towpath beside the Listi. The moon cast long shadows over the water meadows, and my feet were wet with the dew of the coming day. We came across lovers. We almost fell over them. After that we walked on in silence until Sandor stopped by a deep pool. He started skimming pebbles across the still surface and I took off my shoes to dip my feet in the cold water. It made me shiver.
‘I will miss you, Lady Mantle,’ he said rather dramatically but I knew his words were true.
‘I will miss you too, rough gypsy.’
He tilted his head, hesitating before he asked, ’Will you come down the List with us?’
‘That was my plan, if you will take me. Where do you go when you reach the coast?’
‘Sometimes we stay and live by catching fish until the weather drives us back. Sometimes we go north to the mouth of the Sarn and back to buy horses in the Northern Meeds.’ He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. ‘We try to avoid some of the Meeds, like Brak.’
I couldn’t help smiling. ‘I will speak severely to my father when I see him.’
‘Or we go
south and into Dereculd but Mari hates travelling through the marshlands. So, we don’t go often and when we do, we stay away from the sea until we get to the Weddon River, and then follow it all the way to Pellian. Have you been there?’
‘Only in my dreams.’ My dream memories of Pellian were still painful. When King Llewid had taken part of me back with him to his capital, that part had become the detested Brown Mantle, whose wickedness caused the war between Dereculd and Magra. As we were both part of the same being, she would dream my life and I would dream hers. Each night I walked the streets of Pellian, hand-in-hand with Llewid. I felt only joy in those dreams, until I woke the following morning. I had no doubt that if ever I went to the city I would recognise every street and alley.
‘Where will you go when we get to the sea? Back to Vellin and the King?’ Another stone bounced across the water.
‘I have a mind to stay there for a time,’ I shrugged the very thought of Ardin away. ‘I’ve always been afraid of the sea, but it is a good place to think and breathe in the fresh salt air.’
‘You sound like my Aunt Beryl. She goes on about the sea air. They have a fisherman’s hut on the edge of the marsh. It belongs to my grandparents. They stay there every summer. They’ll probably travel back with us.’
‘That’s good, I’d like to get to know Tamora more. I like her.’
‘She likes you. I can see it in her eyes when she’s with you.’ He sat on a rock, looking out over the river. I joined him.
‘So, you read eyes. What do you see in my eyes with your gypsy magic?’ I faced him opening my eyes as wide as I could. He regarded me for a moment, his expression growing serious enough for me to cease my comical pose.
