“Petalo! You scared me to death.” April spoke in a fast, furious whisper, attempting to calm the stallion. She glanced at the young man she had practically grown up with. Though he was her age, Petalo was still far from grown-up. What he lacked in wisdom, however, he made up for in canniness, and April had always thought of him as a mischievous little brother.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” she whispered. “I’m running away just like you said I should last week.”
She thought nothing of it when Petalo’s hand pressed down on her shoulder as a friend’s would, and he recanted quietly, “I was wrong to tell you that. It’s too dangerous. The moon is full tonight and you won’t make it far out of camp.”
“Far enough to escape death,” she muttered, as her anxious fingers finished securing the bridle on the horse. “Don’t you see, I have nothing to lose?”
Petalo was silent for a tense moment, then his young voice broke as he said, “There is another way. I have talked to Jingo of it. I am ready to return to my band in the spring. I would be proud to take you back as my wife.”
April knew what it cost her friend to make such an offer. Not taking him seriously, she said bitterly, “A wife accused of attempted murder. What a story that would make at the next Rom reunion. No, Petalo, there must be another way out, and I intend to find it tonight.”
The young man reached out and restrained the black by the halter. “April, you know Nicky will hunt you down if you try to leave.”
“But I must try.” Quick tears welled in her eyes. “Tzigane is in danger as long as I am here, and I will not see her suffer because of me. Already Belita’s stories about black magic have made the others shy away from my mother. If I am gone, they will quickly forget everything. Let me go, Petalo. You will wake up the others.”
But the urgent whispers in the night had already roused Damien. He had not been able to sleep anyway, but lay awake in the darkness musing upon the decision he must make about April. Lifting the canvas flap of the wagon, he glanced out and intently watched the scene unfolding before his eyes.
April was talking softly with a handsome youth with a shaggy black mane of hair. To his surprise, Damien felt a stab of jealousy when she reached up and gave the unfamiliar lad a chaste kiss on the cheek. A lover’s assignation? He thought not, but the way the boy was speaking so low and urgently to April, he had to wonder.
Suddenly April reached out and gave the boy a firm push, urging him to go. It was obvious to Damien that she was trying to escape, but the question was, had she asked the other fellow to stay behind or to go get another horse?
He felt a twinge of regret at the thought of never seeing her again. And she might succeed, if she continued to keep her steed silent. She had taken care to wrap the stallion’s hooves in canvas to muffle the noise, and kept feeding the horse a steady stream of tasty tidbits to quell his restless blood. She was certainly a resourceful young lady, he thought with admiration.
Only moments more and April would be on the black stallion and away. Detesting himself as he did it, Damien quickly knelt just outside the tent and reached out to retrieve a small, smooth pebble from the dirt.
Taking careful aim, he tossed it in the clump of dry brush behind the wild-eyed stallion. As he predicted, the horse shied and whinnied, raising an instant alarm and rousing the slumbering camp.
Obviously trapped, April made no move to hide. She was surrounded within moments and hustled off to a wagon at the other end of camp. The angry murmur among the gypsies told Damien he could not delay any further. First thing in the morning, he must settle the matter of April, though it would cost them both their freedom.
“YOU HAVE REACHED A decision?” Jingo sounded relieved. “Good. April’s attempt to escape last night upset everyone. Well, you may tell me first. Then I will tell the others, who will accept it more easily coming from me.”
Damien nodded, feeling strangely uneasy for the first time among these generous people. He was betraying all of them, not just April and her apparent lover, but all of the Romany who believed him to be of their heart and mind. To a great extent he was, but his first loyalty still lay with the Queen of England and the Emperor of France, and he must never forget it.
Surprised to find his own voice emerge steady, Damien announced, “I find the girl guilty of attacking Nicabar.”
Jingo winced but nodded, resigned. The evidence was such that nothing else could have been decided. But he was disappointed in Damien’s decision to punish April.
“The reasons for her actions are still unclear,” Damien said, “for April never denied slashing the boy, but said he assaulted her in the woods. I suspect there may have been truth to that, but either way, she is still guilty. Now I will pronounce her sentence.”
Jingo held his breath. He was fond of April, and the thought of her unnecessary death and what it would do the elderly Tzigane greatly saddened him.
“I know it is Rom tradition to ask an eye for an eye, but I must consider the circumstances,” Damien said. “First, scarring April’s face in return will do no good, but merely pacify Belita, who obviously has a grudge against the girl and her mother. I believe April may be punished in a more effective way, one that seems initially cruel but may, indeed, be kinder in the end.”
“Yes?” Jingo urged.
Damien hesitated. “First there shall be a fine. That is customary, I believe, in most trials.” The king nodded at that. “I understand Nicabar is a horse trader. Very well, then, April shall give him her finest possession in exchange for his damaged face. The black stallion.”
Jingo sucked in his breath. “That alone will kill her. She raised the horse from a colt.”
“Nevertheless, justice must prevail.” Damien disliked the sound of his own cold voice as he dictated this ruling to the gypsy king. “The horse has a good market value and will serve as a fair fine. Also, I saw the boy eying the animal earlier. I think he would accept the settlement.”
“Perhaps you are right. But Nicky will delight in teasing April over the loss of Prince Adar.”
Damien would not let himself be swayed by sentimentality now. He was too close to his own objective, one he had come upon with a flash of insight during the wee hours of the morning, and tossed and turned over all night. He needed a more secure cover with the gypsies, one that would not be questioned by the Russian authorities. And to that purpose, he needed April.
It was too suspicious to have a man of his age unmarried among Romany, who reveled in family ties. It would draw dangerous attention to what otherwise would appear a natural situation, a man and wife traveling together to earn a living.
Drawing a deep breath, Damien plunged boldly on. “The girl must be married. It would settle her down, and would please those who wish to see the loss of her freedom.”
“Yes, I suppose you are right. But it would crush her more than losing the horse. Young men have offered for her before, but only because of her beauty. I knew they would kill her spirit, and curse my old bones, but I couldn’t bear that. It would be wrong.”
Damien agreed. “She needs an older man, someone worldly and experienced, who would be more tolerant than those young bucks. Most of all she needs to get away from the Lowara for awhile. No offense, Jingo, for I find your people kind and generous, but April will never have a normal life among you again.”
The king was wise enough to see it. “Yes, you are right. Marriage might hobble her enough, and perhaps stop the rumors. But who —” he stopped and looked shrewdly at Damien, finally understanding. “You?”
Damien shrugged. “I’ve a need for a wife.” He did not reveal his true feelings for April. But it was the right thing to say, however unromantic; Jingo appeared to seriously consider it, and finally he nodded.
“It shall be done. By solakh, solemn oath, on this day, April will become your wife.”
Damien could hardly believe it was so easy. “What if she refuses?”
“There can be no refusal. I, her king, have demande
d it because of her crime. And the horse will go to Nicabar to silence both he and his wasp of a mother. You may then take your new wife and go where you will.”
“I doubt April will take kindly to this news.”
“No, but it is better than the alternative. I think she was prepared for that today.”
Damien was silent. Did April believe him to be so callous? He no more desired her death than his own. Perhaps she would prefer to marry her lover instead. But it was too late now. No matter the cost to them both, the deed had been done.
“MARRIAGE? HE MUST BE joking.” April choked out the words in response to Jingo’s dry announcement.
“No joke. And that is not all. You must give Prince Adar to Nicabar.”
“No!” She confronted the Rom Baro with wild eyes and a desperate plea. “Anything but that. I’ll be Belita’s slave, scrub pots and haul water till I die, but Nicky can’t have my horse.”
Her broken cry carried across the camp, where Damien stood and watched. It clawed at his conscience to see the girl so ravaged by the decision, but she seemed more upset at the idea of losing her horse than at getting married, which boded some small hope for his plan.
But Jingo had forgotten to tell April who she would marry. Assuming she had her choice, the young woman mentally ran down the short list. It would not be so bad if she accepted Petalo’s offer. Though she only thought of him in platonic terms, she was sure he would agree to it to keep her safe. And eventually they might part ways as friends. She opened her mouth to inform Jingo of her choice.
But the gypsy king spoke first. “You will be wed today. You will find a mature man makes for a better husband.”
Mature? As in old? Dear Del, had he promised her to one of the doddering widowers, like Samson the violin maker or Marya’s drunken father Bruno?
Seeing her whiten, Jingo said, “But I thought you found the romani rei attractive. You danced for him the other night before the fire.”
“Damien?” she whispered, staring in disbelief at the king.
“Yes. It is he who would have you. And I have agreed. My decision is final, child. It is far past time you were married anyhow. I hope you will not shame your mother with a refusal.”
April’s gaze flew from Jingo to Damien, who was watching her for her reaction. Was he worried that she would throw a tantrum? Scream and threaten to kill herself? Well, Rom women had more pride than that. Marriage she could endure, even to a gajo. It was the loss of Prince Adar that cut her to the quick, and with a tight throat she turned to look upon the magnificent animal one last time before Nicabar led him away.
TZIGANE DID NOT GLANCE up at the shadow that fell across the inside of her wagon. “You must sit,” she said graciously to Damien, as calmly as if she had expected him at that moment.
Damien found the interior of the smooth-walled oak wagon clean and neatly kept. Murmuring his thanks to the old woman, he sat across from her. There was a strong but pleasant scent of fresh herbs and dried flowers, and the glow of two hanging lamps cast a warm light onto the phuri dai‘s wizened features.
Though it was hard to estimate her true age, Tzigane’s amber-colored eyes and thick, peppery hair hinted that she had once been a beauty. She put aside the pack of worn, colorful cards she had been holding at his arrival and pinned him down with wise eyes.
“So. You wish to marry my daughter.”
Tzigane did not seem surprised; on the contrary, she sounded satisfied. Since the decision had been made, and the wedding feast scheduled for that evening, Damien had sought out the seer to reassure her of April’s fate. Of course, he could not confess his real reason for wanting the girl, but he did intend to be a decent husband to her in the short time they would be wed.
“How did you know? Did April tell you?”
Tzigane shrugged mysteriously. “There are no secrets in a Romany camp.”
“After April was told of my decision, she refused to speak to me. She has gone somewhere into the woods.”
There was concern in his voice, and Tzigane heard it. Her eyes fixed on him, she said, “April has always been free. She was raised without a father, and it is hard for her to accept the ways of men. It has been said that I spoiled the girl. True, but she was all I had.” Tzigane fingered her necklace as she spoke, and Damien saw a dreamy look stealing over the old woman’s face.
“You were never married?”
“I was once. Ah, in my ancient youth.” She smiled, but there was pain behind it. “You will no doubt hear of my foolishness someday. You see, I ran away to join the band when I was a girl just April’s age. I loved the Rom Baro. Bal was young and handsome. He wooed me as no courtier ever did —” Aware of having said too much, Tzigane broke off, but not before Damien’s curiosity was aroused.
No gypsy would have ever used the term “courtier” to describe a gallant gentleman. Only one versed in the courts, probably of gentility, would have made such a slip. Suddenly he wondered if the fortune teller was not hiding secrets darker than his own.
He allowed her a graceful retreat. “What happened?”
“Bal and I were very much in love. I was his bride, his queen, for we came to rule at a young age. Alas, we were wed only five short years. The Lowara encountered a Turkish garrison near Constantinople —”
Damien could imagine the rest. The Turks were brutal to the gypsies. Tzigane voiced his thoughts.
“When they demanded our women be turned over to them for their pleasure, Bal refused. There were only ten Lowari men then — four were too old for fighting anymore — but they did their best.” Tzigane closed her eyes in agony over the memory of the slaughter. Her voice caught as she rasped out, “They killed Bal before my eyes. And then, while he was newly dead, they threw me to the ground and —”
“Mother!” A sharp voice interrupted, and both of them looked up to see April had entered the wagon, and was staring at Damien with unconcealed suspicion. “Why is he here?”
“Does not your husband-to-be belong in our family now? We were just getting to know each other. Come, chavali, and join us before the ceremony.”
“No. I want nothing to do with the gajo who took my horse away from me.”
April stood defiantly before them, dressed in the lovely green skirt and white blouse she had worn the night she had danced. Her hair was loose in back but two slim braids dangled on either side of her face, secured with bits of green ribbon. She was not a blushing bride, she was a furious one, her green eyes shooting sparks at Damien, the fiend who had dared to give her beloved Prince Adar away.
“Where I come from it is bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony,” Damien put in lightly, in an attempt to clear the air.
“No matter. That is the only luck I have anyway.” Anger darkened April’s eyes to a moody forest-green. “Now that I have nothing to my name, not even honor, maybe you will release me from this foolish marriage.”
Damien did not flinch at her words, spat as they were out of hurt and upset. “You will find I am a decent enough man,” he replied calmly. “And I shall see to it that you have another horse as fine as your first. You will not be denied much, provided you are a reasonable wife.”
April flushed to the roots of her hair. “Reasonable? That is the word the Turks use when they try to barter for our women.” She saw Tzigane shake her head, and angrier at Damien for forcing her to upset her mother, April added in a voice trembling with fury, “I will wed you as I have been ordered, but I shall never be a wife to you.”
“Never is a long time,” he responded, his gaze fixed upon her flushed face.
“April, chavali, do not start out on such bad terms. I believe this man is honest —”
“Honest as a snake. Can you tell me he did not plan to side with Nicky and Belita all along? Why else would he demand this of me?” April’s voice and eyes were tortured, and Damien had to clench his teeth to keep from blurting out the truth, that he only needed her for a short while to assure his cover, and then she could go back to her yo
ung lover as she obviously wished. His steady, calm gaze only upset her further.
“I want you to leave. This is still my home for another hour, and I do not want to see you any more than I have to.”
Not letting her get the satisfaction of seeing the insult had struck home, Damien rose and brusquely took his leave. Tzigane watched the man go with mixed emotions on her face. Then she began, “A bad sowing —”
“Will only reap a bad harvest, I know. But he is no different than any other gajo. He does not know me and he wants to hurt me.”
“Maybe he is worried about your fate,” Tzigane said softly. “Perhaps he seeks to save you from a worse one.”
“I want nothing from him. How dare he give Prince Adar to that pig Nicabar. Why, Nicky can’t treat his own horses properly. And he’ll be cruel to Adar, I know it. I will never forgive the gajo for that.”
“Damien, you mean. He has a name, chavali.”
“So does the Devil in your cards. Oh, why wasn’t I born a man? Then my destiny would be my own.”
“The ways of fate are mysterious. Daughter, you must guard against these dark thoughts that threaten to take you over.” Then Tzigane continued in a gentler vein, “I sense this man is fair and kind. He will not beat or abuse you as even a Rom husband might. That is more than enough to be grateful for. And then, there is always the jewel.”
April stiffened. “I think it is an unlucky thing. Maybe I should get rid of it.”
“No, child. It is the only clue to your past, and someday you may wish to discover the truth for yourself. But for now it is safe in the pouch on my neck. Unless you would wear it this day?”
April shook her head violently. “No. I have been cursed enough of late. Perhaps Belita has been practicing black magic herself.”
Tzigane did not laugh. “There are strange and frightening things in this world, and darker ones on other planes. Some can coax these evil powers to bring harm and ill unto others. You must guard yourself always.” It was a warning.
April weighed the words against Tzigane’s expressionless face and decided to say nothing more of it. Instead she announced, “I want my mother with me on this supposedly happiest of days. Will you come to the ceremony?”
Gypsy Jewel Page 8
