Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga)

by Shirl Henke

  Benjamin again circled, then moved in, feinted and danced back. He quickly repeated the move until Django yanked on the scarf. Once more Benjamin's boot caught behind Django's and they went down in the slick mud.

  Rani watched the contest with her hands clenched into fists, scarcely daring to breath. Both men were soaked with blood and sweat, both gasping for air like banked fish. Django had never lost a duel such as this, yet Benjamin was slimmer and quicker and did magic things with his feet, tripping her brother. “Why does he use the knife so sparingly?” she whispered to Agata.

  The old woman's shrewd eyes never left the contest. “He uses it like a surgeon, Django like a butcher. Only wait.”

  This time when Django hit the ground he brought his nemesis down atop him by grabbing the scarf near Benjamin's wrist. In so doing he hoped to impale the gadjo, but Benjamin jerked the scarf free and rolled away, then struck Django's knife with his foot, sending it flying from the circle. The only problem was that in his fall, he too had dropped his knife. It lay beneath him. Benjamin tried to rise but this time Django grabbed the scarf and sent the gadjo sprawling. Unable to reach his knife and not seeing Torres' weapon, Django grinned as he raised the scarf between them and then lowered it, falling atop his foe. The scarf cut into Benjamin's throat. Django applied more pressure, his great barrel chest heaving as he towered above his slim opponent.

  Strangely, his hands grew weaker and weaker. He was dizzy. The gadjo lay still beneath him. The last thing Django heard was Rani's scream. Then he tumbled over into blackness.

  Benjamin felt the Rom's grip loosen as the big man passed out from blood loss. He gulped air into his lungs and raised his hands to keep Django's unconscious weight from crushing him. He shoved the Rom off him and rose to his knees to check Django's injuries. Rani was the first to race into the circle, sliding in the bloody mud at his side.

  “Are you hurt? I thought he was strangling you.” Her eyes traveled to his knife laying on the ground. “You may kill him now. Tis your right.”

  “I told your wise woman, I am a healer, not a killer. Fetch my bags—the ones you doubtless stole at the same time you took my horse.” His blue eyes blazed at her for an instant, sending her scurrying to do his bidding. Then he returned to his task, using his knife to cut the silk scarf into lengths to bind up Django's wrists. For the neck and groin he would need the needle and thread in his bag. Somehow he doubted if a woman in this whole accursed camp possessed such simple tools.

  Agata watched as the girl returned with his bag. Sandor walked up to her, a sour look on his face. “You knew he would win.” It was not a question.

  Many of the Rom were busy giving coins to a few who had bet on Benjamin, but after the important monetary business was transacted, all watched in puzzlement as the gadjo treated his fallen foe.

  “I doubt there is anything clean in this filthy place, but fetch me fresh water in this.” He handed Rani a metal flask from his bag.

  “The stream is far from camp and tis dark,” she called out as she scurried off with the container.

  “Fresh water,” he called after her.

  Since the time he had watched Miriam sew Rigo's wounds, Benjamin had become quite proficient at the skill himself on the bloody battlefields of Italy. “I may have done my surgery too well,” he mused as he reapplied fresh compresses to Django's injuries. How much blood could a man lose and live? From his recent experiences, Benjamin knew it varied widely and often depended on how skillfully a surgeon could staunch the flow. He poured powdered yarrow onto the innocent-looking nicks, but because of where the cuts were, the clotting herb could not staunch the blood flow by itself.

  When Rani finally came dashing back with the clean water, he had the needle and thread ready. After cleansing the cuts, he instructed her to bring a torch from the fire so he could see more clearly. Then he attempted to restitch the severed vessels that carried blood. Sometimes they held and healed, often they did not. He could but try.

  “You sew him like a cobbler would repair a slipper,” Rani said in amazement.

  He quirked one golden eyebrow at her and replied, “I am surprised you have ever seen sewing.” His gaze quickly scanned the ragged skirts hanging with the hems in muddy tatters.

  “I have seen many marvelous things at the fairs, but never this.” She was too fascinated to be affronted.

  “Well, it may not save him. I am sorry,” Benjamin said simply.

  . “But why? Django would have killed you,” she replied ingenuously.

  “He is your brother. My mistake for thinking you cared about such a small matter.”

  “He has killed many men. Now you must beware Rasvan. In truth, I have had naught but grief from them both,” she added, looking at the tall, menacing figure who argued fiercely with Sandor even now.

  “There. If the stitches hold and fever does not rage, causing the red swelling and pus, then he may live.” He looked up and met the hate-filled eyes of Rasvan Janos. He turned to Rani. “Another duel?”

  “No. You have won fairly. Sandor will not permit it. But do not turn your back on Rasvan. He is the treacherous one.”

  He snorted in amusement as he stood up. “If Django is the honorable brother, God save me from Rasvan!”

  “You are injured yourself. Django has cut you many places. Why did you take such dangerous risks to give him small injuries?”

  “I followed your phuri dai's advice,” he said cryptically as the old woman scuttled up to him.

  “I will have his woman tend Django now. Let Rani see to your hurts,” the old crone said to Benjamin. “You did well.”

  “Will he live?” Why do I ask her that?

  Agata smiled as if overhearing his unspoken question. “Yes, he will live.” She turned to Rani. “There is a soft bed beside my tent and wine and bandages by my fire.”

  “Come,” Rani said to Benjamin. He followed, too tired to protest or question these strange people further.

  * * * *

  Benjamin awoke slowly, hearing the boisterous noises of the Gypsy camp. Agata's tent was at the edge of the encampment, near a copse of low flowering bushes and pine trees. He rubbed his eyes and felt a dull ache in his shoulder, another on his arm where Django's blade had cut him. Wincing, he began to sit up.

  “Tis time you were coming around. I was about to give you up for dead. No way for the winner of the combat to behave,” Rani said in a chipper voice. Vero lay beside her, studying Benjamin with intent gold eyes.

  Benjamin observed the pair warily. By bright daylight Rani looked even more waiflike and bedraggled than he remembered from their first encounter. Seemingly pounds of tangled black hair was tied back from her elfin face with an orange silk scarf. She scratched her small nose with one grubby little hand, then dipped her fingers into a battered iron pot of lumpy stew. The food looked far worse by daylight than it had last evening. “How fares the loser of the combat? Have my stitches held?” he asked, ignoring the growling of his stomach.

  “Django will live,” she replied dismissively. “Did not Agata say so? Many of our people think you are a great wizard—or a great fool for saving his life.” She shrugged and gestured to the pot. “Here. Share with me. You must be starved.”

  Benjamin watched her lick her filthy fingers with obvious relish, then dip them once again into the pot and fish out a particularly large hunk of greasy meat, which she tossed to Vero who devoured it with snapping yellow teeth. He scooted nearer to her and the pot, which was sitting on a well-stained wooden board that served as a table. Some hunks of coarse brown bread lay beside the pot. Taking a piece of it, he chewed very carefully, wondering if it had maggots baked in with the suspiciously crunchy dark flour. “What is that you eat?” Probably pork.

  “Hedgehog, freshly killed yesterday,” she replied brightly.

  He spit out the bread with a great cough, then swallowed and attempted to catch his breath. “Hedgehog?”

  “Aye. Hedgehog. The leftover parts were stewed with fine fresh nettle
s and wild garlic.”

  “Why did I ask,” he said rhetorically. “Have you any cheese? I would, er, forgo the delicacy in the pot if you do not mind.”

  “Gadjo are really foolish. How do you know you will not like it if you never taste it?”

  “For one thing, it fair reeks of garlic, which I do not like—and I have tasted that.”

  “Have some ale while I see about the cheese.” She poured him a cup of foaming warm brew. Wiping the rim, he sipped, then took another bite of bread. Rani turned to where a rickety wicker hamper sat and rummaged through it. She extracted a wedge of moldy cheese wrapped in a filthy cloth. Stifling a yawn, she tossed it onto the board where it landed with a solid thunk. The wolf's eyes followed it hungrily.

  “You look as if you have not slept,” he said as he unwrapped the cheese.

  “Someone had to watch over you lest Rasvan slit your throat in the night.” She produced a dagger from beneath her skirts and made a dramatic gesture with it before sinking it into the board next to the cheese. “Vero and I took turns.”

  “I owe you both my thanks,” he said, remembering the second brutish Janos brother. He began scraping the dirt and mold from the cheese, then pared off a hunk and tasted it. “Either I am starved or this is delicious,” he muttered.

  Rani beamed. “Tis made from a special recipe using goat's milk left in the sun for a full day. Then after it is curdled we bury it in horse dung for six months. By the next time we come to the campsite tis ready to eat.”

  Benjamin's appetite disappeared abruptly but he continued to eat, deciding he could at least scrape clean the cheese, which surely was better than nettles and hedgehog.

  Agata came trundling up to them and sat down by the pot. Her movements reminded Benjamin of the small crabs that scuttled about in the shallows of Española's coast. She began to dip her hands in the revolting stew and eat as Rani did.

  Her glowing black eyes studied him as she smacked her lips and rubbed her hand across them. “The council has ruled. You defeated Django fairly and because you also saved his life with such magical skill, we offer you the hospitality of our camp.”

  Benjamin hesitated, uncertain of how to refuse the offer gracefully.

  “We break camp on the morrow, heading for the south of France,” she said. “That is where you would go, is it not?”

  “How the devil—”

  Agata's cackle cut short his question. “Well, gadjo, what awaits you with the army now that the emperor has won Italy?”

  “Nothing,” he admitted grudgingly, still eager to be quit of the Gypsies. He had said his good-byes to Pescara after Pavia. The wily little Neapolitan was on his way home with special commendations from King Carlos for the capture of King Francois. Batagglia was no doubt nursing the mother of all headaches from carousing and would not give him a thought. “I am sick of carnage and would set out for Marseilles post haste if I could have my horse returned.”

  Agata's face took on a crafty light and she squinted. “Rasvan and Django have claimed your horse in repayment for the sale you lost them at the fair. Perhaps if you were to use your healing skills among us for a while...I might intercede with Sandor and have him return the horse to you.”

  Benjamin gave a snort of disgust. “It would seem you hold me prisoner then—at least until we near Marseilles I must remain with your band.”

  Rani clapped her hands in delight and Agata nodded.

  Just as the old woman rubbed her greasy hands on her skirts, a loud, bawling roar echoed from the far side of the camp.

  “What under heaven is that?” Benjamin jumped up, his eyes searching for a weapon.

  Rani's expression turned quite somber. “Rasvan is working a new bear this morning. I hate that.” Vero put his ears down and growled.

  “What in God's name does he with the beast to make it cry so?” The hairs on Benjamin's nape stood on end. He had heard men screaming with fearful injuries during battle, but never had he heard anything like this from a dumb brute.

  “To make a bear dance for our customers, our men must first teach it to walk on its hind feet.” Agata said. “You will not want to watch.” She scuttled off silently, leaving Rani and Benjamin alone with the unhappy wolf.

  “How do they make bears walk like men?” he asked, knowing he would not like the answer.

  “Come. I will show you.” She rose, the wolf at her heels, and walked toward the sound of the keening. Benjamin followed until they came to a crowd of men standing around a large, flat bed of live coals.

  Rasvan, Michel and another Rom had a young brown bear chained by a ring in its nose. The beast's hind feet were wrapped with heavy leather bindings to protect them from the white-hot glowing coals. His front feet were not. The stench of burning skin and hair hung in the morning air as the bear tried in vain to lunge from the coal pit, lifting one front paw, then the other, while giving out piteous screams.

  The man holding the chain kept jerking on the nose ring, attempting to get the terrified brute to stand on his hind legs. Michel stood across the coals coaxing the bear with a cup of honey. Only by crossing the long, burning path could the bear end his agony, for Rasvan held him captive with a sharp metal prod. Several times the bear raised his front feet simultaneously and lunged forward, but then he would drop down again and thrash from side to side frantically, bawling in pain.

  “Sweet Blessed Virgin, can you do nothing?” Benjamin asked Agata. Rani stood by them, ashen beneath the layer of dirt on her face.

  The old phuri dai shrugged philosophically. “I told you you would not like this. It does not take many trips across the fire for the bear to learn. Our men have always trained bears so.”

  “But that one is too young. Look you, the wounds from where they pulled his claws are not yet healed!” Rani brushed past Benjamin and seized the prod from the startled Rasvan, then turned the sharp point against his throat.

  “Pull him off the coals, brother. He is not ready. Django was not going to begin his training until fall.”

  The other man attempted to reach for the girl and disarm her but Vero backed him off with a low, menacing growl and bared yellow fangs.

  “You meddle where you do not belong. Women filch coins and read palms. Men train bears.”

  “Pull him off the coals else I will slit you so bad even the physician cannot sew you back together!”

  Benjamin watched the confrontation between the big man and the tiny girl in dazed amazement, wishing devoutly that he had been able to reclaim his sword.

  Then Rani called out to him, “Benjamin, come hold Rasvan while I free the bear.”

  Agata studied him to see what he would do, giving no indication of whether or not she approved the command.

  Benjamin strode swiftly forward and seized the long wooden lance, holding it to Rasvan's throat. Rani seized the chain and spoke in their strange, sibilant language to the bawling beast. Magically, it ceased its frantic thrashing and meekly turned to follow her off the coals, then sat down by her side like a pet.

  “We need this bear. Django's old Feodor will work for no one but him and your gadjo has seen to it Django cannot take his bear to the fair for months. I must begin with this one now,” Rasvan said, casting a malevolent glance at Benjamin.

  Rani ignored him after seizing the honey cup from Michel. She sat beside the bear, which was transformed from a thrashing monster to a creature quiet as a lamb, lapping honey from her hands. “Bring your salves, Agata. His paws are fearfully burned.”

  Agata snorted. “Let the physician prove his skill. He has medicines aplenty in his bags.” She turned to Benjamin and motioned for him to lower the lance. When Rasvan started to move forward, the phuri dai gave him a quelling look and he stomped away, muttering curses. “Are you afraid to tend a wounded bear?” Her eyes gleamed with the dare.

  “I have treated a wolf, why not a bear?” He gritted his teeth and strode after her to retrieve his medicines.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You have a trul
y amazing gift with feral creatures,” Benjamin said to Rani. They had just treated the bear, which was completely calm beneath her touch in spite of its cruel mistreatment.

  Rani smiled. “Ever since I was a child wild animals have come to me. Agata, too, says tis a gift. I sometimes think I understand wolves and bears better than people. I certainly like them better than I do my brothers.” She grimaced, thinking of Django and Rasvan and the disturbing news about her mother that the phuri dai had imparted to her.

  Rasvan watched Rani laughing and walking beside the tall, golden gadjo, obviously smitten. Fury boiled inside him. He must consult his elder brother. Django would know how to handle their troublesome sister and the man who had humiliated them both. They would not get a handsome bride price from Michel's family if Rani were soiled by the gadjo!

  Django was still weak and dizzy but his wife had propped him in a sitting position with a mountain of brightly colored pillows and was feeding him when Rasvan approached their wagon. “I have already been told about the bear. You could have ruined a valuable animal. I did not give you permission to work the young one,” Django said, shoving away the spoon his woman held to his lips.

  Rasvan bristled in anger. “The gadjo has shamed us both—I only began to train the young bear because you are unable to work the old one!”

  “Soon I will be up and able to work my bears...and deal with the yellow-haired devil old Agata favors.”

  “We do not have much time. Tis not Agata alone who favors him. So does Rani. You should have seen them just now. He will take her maidenhead!”

  Django scowled and cursed. “She is pledged to Michel, Sandor's son. We will gain a large bride price for her and then have power in the council with the voivode's son as brother-in-law.”

  “We must kill the physician quickly.”

  “Yes, but Sandor has said he is to have the freedom of the camp and Agata favors him, curse the old hag. We must act carefully. Perhaps he will sicken and die...or have an accident. If he were to fall from a horse trying to escape... Let me think on it for a few hours,” Django said. His black eyes narrowed in concentration as he dismissed Rasvan, saying, “In the meanwhile, ask Sandor to come to me. I would discuss Michel and Rani's wedding with him.”