Laetitia moved slowly and silently through the opening in the panelling into the sitting room.
Because her father had complained of a draught coming from that corner of the room, saying that the arrow-slits in the tower let in the wind, her mother had placed a screen there.
It was a very pretty one made of ancient tapestries that had come from other parts of The Castle and were too old to be used in their entirety.
She had cleaned them, kept the best pieces and joined them together to cover the screen.
Laetitia had loved looking at it ever since she was a little girl, pointing out to Marie-Henriette the animals, the men riding on horseback and the ladies with long pointed headdresses.
Now, after drawing in her breath, she walked slowly round the screen and into the room.
It was lit, as she expected to find it, not with the oil-lamps that were used in most parts of The Castle, but because her father preferred it, by candlelight.
On each side of the fireplace in which, because it could often be a little chilly at night there was a fire burning, there were two huge fat candles set in carved stands.
There were several silver sconces on the walls in each of which there were two lighted candles and there was another large one on the table at the side of the King who was sitting reading the papers he held on his knee.
Laetitia did not speak and for a moment he was not aware that she was there.
Then, as if instinctively he sensed her presence he looked up and appeared for a moment to be frozen into immobility.
But if he was staring in surprise at her, she was also staring at him and he was not in the least what she had expected.
To begin with he was very much more attractive than she had anticipated, even allowing for his gypsy blood, and not only his hair but his eyes were black.
His features were clear-cut and he was, she thought, not only one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, but also the most unusual.
There was something about him which made him look different from anybody else and she was also aware that Fräulein Sobieski had been right in saying that he was cynical.
There were lines running from his nose to the corners of his lips which made him appear disdainful.
When he spoke, there was a dry almost mocking note in his voice, as he asked,
“Are you real or an apparition?”
“I am real,” Laetitia replied.
“Then I can only assume,” the King said, “that the hospitality of Thor Castle is somewhat different from what I expected!”
Now there was definitely a cynical note in his voice and a look in his dark eyes that Laetitia did not understand.
As she moved towards him, she said,
“I am a gypsy and therefore we are joined by our blood.”
“That is something I am usually told is most regrettable!” the King remarked.
“That is what you may hear in Zvotana,” Laetitia said, “but there I and other gypsies are very proud of belonging to the Rom.”
“Where do you come from?” the King asked. “And how could you get into The Castle without the sentries and those in attendance upon me being aware of it?”
“I would like to show Your Majesty where a tribe of Kalderash is camped,” Laetitia said. “It is traditional for the gypsies to shelter under the protection of The Castle’s shade.”
She moved as she spoke to the window.
It was closed and she opened the casement knowing that it was the signal for which those below were waiting and watching.
By the time the King had risen from his chair and crossed the room to where she was standing, the first strains of the gypsy violins were moving upwards.
Laetitia knew the tune they were playing, which was a love song of invitation, yearning and desire.
“So that is where you come from!” the King remarked. “What did you say is the name of the tribe?”
“The Kalderash.”
There was a little pause as if he was trying to remember what he knew about them and she said quietly,
“The metalworkers and also the makers of magic!”
She sensed that he was interested and went on,
“Would Your Majesty be interested in seeing the magic we perform? And would you let me show you how we can dance?”
“You are a dancer?” he asked.
She nodded.
“What is your name?”
There was just a little pause before Laetitia answered,
“Saviya.”
She felt him stiffen, almost as if he felt that it was an insult that she should bear the same name as his great-grandmother.
Then he asked,
“Do you realise that name has a special meaning for me?”
“Of course! And I am honoured to bear the same name as the greatest dancer our race has ever produced!”
She felt that he was pleased at her praise and continued,
“I could never aspire to such fame, but I would be intensely proud if Your Majesty would allow me to dance for you and you – alone.”
She turned from the window as she spoke and now as she moved back towards the hearth rug she was aware that the King was looking at her searchingly.
Then he said,
“You are very beautiful, Saviya, as I suppose a great number of men have told you.”
There was again that cynicism in his voice which she did not miss and Laetitia said,
“I have, as it happens, met very few men outside the tribe. As Your Majesty may not know, the gypsy women are very strictly protected, first by their fathers and then by their husbands.”
“Are you telling me you are married?” he enquired.
Laetitia smiled.
“No.”
“Then all I can think is that the men in your tribe have no eyes in their heads!”
He stared at her and asked,
“Tell me about yourself. I am interested.”
“The violins are calling us, Your Majesty.”
“Very well,” the King said. “We will talk later. I will come now and see you dance. I presume you wish me to come alone?”
“You need not be afraid. It is not your rank that will protect you where we are concerned, but your blood.”
“I am finding this remarkably intriguing,” the King said. “I have always avoided gypsies because I have either been teased about my gypsy blood or else it has been spoken of as a great misfortune.”
“Tonight I hope you will change your mind,” Laetitia replied, “and understand how very fortunate you are to be the great-grandson of Saviya.”
“I have always been told that she was very beautiful,” the King answered. “But I cannot believe she was more beautiful than you.”
Laetitia gave him a little smile and a provocative glance from under her eyelashes.
Then she moved towards the door and, as she went through it, she said,
“I will take Your Majesty a secret way out of The Castle so that nobody will know that you have left it.”
She felt that the King was amused and becoming more and more intrigued and she took him down a staircase that brought them out onto the corner of the terrace.
Here there were marble steps down into the garden and she led him down the same way she had climbed up from the plateau.
All the while they were descending the stone steps, the King moving rather cautiously, the violins were playing and, as the music grew louder, Laetitia could feel it seeping into her heart and making her feet feel restless.
Then they reached the last step and the Voivode was waiting for them, looking Laetitia thought, even more magnificent than he had when she had left him.
Now there were more gold chains round his neck which sparkled with red stones, which she was sure were rubies and there were huge rings of the same jewels on his fingers.
“May I welcome Your Majesty, not as a King, but as one of the Roms,” the Voivode said respectfully.
“I am delighted to join you,” the
King replied simply.
The two chairs on which the Voivode and Laetitia had sat for supper had now been replaced by two carved elbow chairs which seemed almost like thrones.
There was also a rug for the King’s feet and a table at his side on which stood one of the exquisitely decorated goblets that Laetitia had drunk from before.
She saw a gypsy woman fill it with wine and then, as the King joined the Voivode in a toast, Laetitia felt a hand pulling her away.
It was the gypsy woman who had helped her dress and now without speaking she took off her red veil and replaced it with a headdress of red ribbons ornamented with gold and precious stones.
She could see it sparkling even when they were still in the shadows.
The gypsy woman then clasped a necklace of gold coins round her neck and screwed onto her ears some huge earrings to match, which had gold coins interspersed with red stones, which again Laetitia suspected were rubies.
While she was doing this, the violins had burst into the wild joyous music of a gypsy dance and the younger women of the tribe were moving hand-in-hand around the fire.
Then, as each one loosed herself from the ring, she began to dance, at first slowly and gracefully, then with movements quickening and growing wilder and more exaggerated.
At the same time Laetitia knew without being told that the music was not for her and she had to wait.
At last, as the dance finished and the dancers moved into the shadows, she knew that this was her moment.
Now the music changed and was softer, more entrancing, sweet and tender and, as Laetitia moved forward towards the fire, the gypsies began to sing.
It was a beguiling melody and their voices seemed to blend not only with the music but with the stars in the sky above them and the moonlight turning the mountains and The Castle to silver.
At first the sound was delicate and tinkled like silver bells, then it became wild, invigorating and exciting and to Laetitia it drew her heart from her body and she became one with it.
Quicker and quicker the rhythm rose and quicker and quicker Laetitia danced.
Every movement, every pirouette, every step she had ever made seemed to come naturally to her, so that she did not have to think, her instinct told her what to do.
Then, as the music grew even wilder, she leapt round the fire with an unbelievable grace until she seemed to be carried up into the air as she leapt over it not once but twice.
Then once again she was moving more slowly and she felt that she was no longer dancing with her body but with her soul.
When it seemed the intensity was too much to bear, the wild throbbing violence of the music was replaced by a soft sweet melody coming like the peace of a rainbow after a storm.
Then Laetitia, as if told by a voice that came from outside herself, stood poised beside the fire and raised her arms, her whole body glittering as if she was one with the flames.
Then, as she threw her head back in ecstasy and looked up at the stars, it was as if she commanded all those who watched her to raise their eyes higher than themselves.
She was absolutely still until, as the music died away to nothing more than a whisper, she seemed to fade into the darkness and disappear.
For a moment there was complete and absolute silence and the King, who had not moved since Laetitia began to dance, suddenly drew in his breath as if he had forgotten to breathe for a long time.
Only as the music started again very softly did he feel as if he came back to reality and instinctively he drained his glass, which had been refilled without his being aware of it.
“I had no idea that gypsy dancing could be so wonderful!” he said to the Voivode, as if he must break the silence. “I am sure that Saviya is exceptional. There cannot be another dancer as good as she is!”
“If there is, I have yet to see her!” the Voivode replied.
The King was about to say, ‘she is wasted here,’ then thought it would sound rude.
Instead he said,
“I can hardly believe that I have not been dreaming.”
The Voivode smiled.
“Tomorrow Your Majesty will tell yourself it was part of our magic or perhaps the wine you drank and you will not believe what you have seen and felt.”
The King was silent.
He was thinking that the dancing he had just witnessed had given him an emotional experience he had never encountered before.
Although he had no wish to admit it, he was aware that there was no need to put it into words because the Voivode knew exactly what he was feeling.
Feeling he had to try to come back to normal, he said,
“If that is magic, I need not tell you how much I have enjoyed it! Please, show me some more.”
“Does Your Majesty mean that?”
“Of course! I have always heard about gypsy magic, but I have never had the opportunity of encountering it before.”
“We have one very special magic in this tribe, which I think perhaps would interest Your Majesty, if you are not afraid to take part in it.”
“Afraid? Of course I am not afraid!” the King replied.
“You are sure of that?”
“Very sure!”
There was silence.
Then the King said,
“Show it to me. It is something I am longing to see and I may never have this opportunity again.”
The Voivode looked at him before he said quietly,
“The magic I am suggesting and in which Your Majesty might wish to take part is the magic of a gypsy marriage!”
Chapter Five
There was silence for a moment as the King stared at the Voivode in surprise.
Then slowly, because she was shy, Laetitia came from the shadows to stand beside him.
She had taken off the jewelled wreath, the earrings and the necklace she had worn for the dance and replaced them with her own. She again had on her hair the red veil with the gold coins outlining her forehead.
But the effort of dancing so wildly had brought a flush to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes so that she seemed to glow almost as if within her there was a light that was part of the flames of the fire.
The King looked at her.
Then he turned to the Voivode,
“And who do you suggest I marry?”
“Who else but Saviya? But let me first explain something to your both.”
The way he spoke was so solemn that both the King and Laetitia looked at him enquiringly and he went on,
“If you were of my tribe, the Kalderash, I could not perform the ceremony I am going to suggest to you – ”
“Does not Saviya belong to your tribe?” the King interrupted in surprise.
The Voivode shook his head.
“My tribe are all pure bred and their blood is mixed with no other tribe, but Your Majesty and Saviya are not wholly Rom. Nevertheless you will be permitted to see, to hear and to feel what is forbidden to gorgios.”
The King did not speak, but Laetitia, because she could not help it, gave a little murmur of excitement.
This was something that she had always longed for, but had thought she would never be permitted to see.
The gypsies were, she knew, fanatically secretive about their magic, just as they never answered questions from outsiders or talked of what was known only to their own tribe.
She was almost certain that the King was not aware of how proud they were of their blood and how the purity of it must not be soiled by a union not only with a gorgio but not even with a member of any other tribe.
As if he knew what she was thinking, the Voivode looked at her with wisdom and understanding in his expression before he began to explain.
It was his Hungarian blood which made him speak not only eloquently but with the culture of a man who in his own way of life was born a King.
“A marriage which takes place between a pure gypsy and his bride is sacred and lasts until they die,” he said. “For the Kalderash it is a sacrament which would be shoc
king to break. To do so would mean expulsion from the tribe.”
He paused and went on quietly,
“But there is another ceremony not used amongst the Kalderash, but among many other tribes especially those in Russia and France.”
He glanced at the King as he spoke as if he remembered that he had been living there.
Then he continued,
“This is a marriage which is, to all intents, a gamble in which both the bride and bridegroom are under the direction of the Gods.”
The King and Laetitia were listening intently as the Voivode went on,
“The main part of the ceremony consists of breaking an earthenware vessel. The number of pieces it breaks into shows the days, the weeks, the months, the years for which the bride and groom must remain faithful to the other.”
His voice deepened as he declared impressively,
“At the end of that period the husband and wife are free to separate or to break another earthenware vessel.”
As he finished speaking, Laetitia drew in her breath.
Now she understood how the Voivode was answering her plea for help.
If the King would acquiesce, he would be tied to her for the days that he was in Ovenstadt and therefore would not be able to propose to Stephanie.
The main problem, she thought frantically, was that he might either refuse to take part in such a ceremony or treat it lightly as a joke.
As if her thoughts communicated themselves to the Voivode, he said to the King,
“I must warn Your Majesty that to break the ties of magic in which you will be involved before the time apportioned by the Gods, would leave you vulnerable to the curses and ill-fortune of which all gypsies are afraid.”
There was just a short hesitation before the King replied,
“You can trust me, as the great-grandson of a pure bred gypsy, to keep to the conditions that the ceremony will impose upon me.”
Laetitia felt her heart leap.
Then the Voivode, with a faint smile as if he too was well satisfied, replied,
“If that is your wish, then Your Majesty shall see what no one without Romany blood in them has seen or heard.”
It was so exciting that Laetitia could only clasp her hands together.
Then the Voivode said,
“The marriage ceremony will now commence, but first, Your Majesty, it is customary for the bridegroom to buy the bride and, if you have a gold coin, you must give it to me.
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