Gypsy Magic

by Barbara Cartland

  “I think for what you are offering me,” the King replied, “one gold coin is very inadequate.”

  He did not say any more, but unpinned from the white uniform coat he was wearing one of his decorations.

  It was a diamond star and, as he put it into the Voivode’s hand, the firelight glittered on it and it appeared to be alive.

  “Now for the Loving Cup,” the Voivode said.

  One of the gypsies placed in his hands a huge goblet three times the size of those Laetitia had seen before.

  It was made of gold, fashioned with the same exquisite ancient workmanship and covered in precious stones of all colours.

  The Voivode handed it first to the King, who drank from it and then to Laetitia.

  The wine was delicious and she thought even more unusual than the wine the Voivode had given her when she visited him.

  It seemed to have the same effect, for she felt suddenly as if everything was beautiful and golden. What was more, she was acutely aware of what she knew was an emotional response to everything around her.

  It was difficult to explain, but she felt as if the brilliance of the stars came nearer, the light from the fire grew more vivid and the dark shadows like velvet encompassed and protected them.

  “Tonight,” the Voivode was saying, “because the union between you shall be the end rather than the beginning of the evening, we will start with the feast.”

  Another chair was brought and set down beside those the Voivode and the King had sat on and watched the dancing.

  Now Laetitia sat between the two men.

  A low table with gold dishes as splendid as the goblets from which they drank was set in front of them.

  It was difficult to know or to remember afterwards what they ate, but, as she had found before, every dish was original and had a flavour she had never tasted before.

  While they were eating, there was the music of the violins and, after a short while the gypsies came one at a time in front of them to perform magic tricks which Laetitia had never guessed they knew or imagined she would ever see.

  One gypsy conjured up doves apparently out of the air. He lifted his arms and they flew towards him, perching on his head, on his hands or at his feet.

  He would give an order in a low voice and three of them would fly in the direction he chose. Then they returned to circle round him three times before he allowed them to settle on his arms.

  One went far off to fetch a leaf from a tree, another to bring back a flower in its beak.

  They did everything he asked of them. Then suddenly as he told them to go they were gone and he was standing alone in front of the fire.

  It was so clever and so beautiful that Laetitia knew the King must be as spellbound as she was.

  Then a gypsy woman gorgeously dressed, her arms weighed down with the jewelled bracelets that the Kalderash treasured, brought three wicker baskets which she set down in front of her.

  She held an instrument like a flute to her lips and from the baskets, as Laetitia anticipated, came three cobras.

  They were magnificent and looked very dangerous as they raised themselves up, their forked tongues moving wickedly in and out, their eyes gleaming.

  Then, just as the birds had obeyed the gypsy man, so now the cobras obeyed the notes of the music and swaying rhythmically moved any way the gypsy woman wished them to do, twisting themselves round and round her neck.

  Finally, as she suddenly played a note that was sharp and authoritative, they slid back into their baskets.

  After that there was a gypsy who could conjure up flowers out of the air, make a plant in a pot grow in front of their eyes and, when it had grown higher above their heads, showed them a bird sitting in her nest in the centre of it.

  It may have been worked by hypnotism.

  At the same time, if it was, it was so brilliantly done, so realistic, that it was hard to accept that what they were seeing was not reality and the tree, the bird and the man who had conjured it all up were not really there.

  It seemed to Laetitia as if time passed in a flash until the feast was finished, the table was moved away from in front of them and the Voivode rose to his feet.

  It was then that one of the gypsies set something down beside him which Laetitia saw was a bunch of twigs.

  She was surprised at this, because she remembered her father had told her once that certain twigs picked from seven different trees were the most sacred symbol in a gypsy marriage.

  Just for a moment she was afraid that, if the Voivode made the incantation over the twigs, snapped them one by one and threw them to the winds, she would be married by the sacred Romany vows to the King until one of them died.

  But the Voivode did not break the twigs. He put them on one side and took bread and salt from the stool on which they lay.

  He put the salt on the bread and handed a small piece to the King and another to Laetitia, saying,

  “When you are tired of this bread and this salt you will be tired of each other.”

  He turned to the King.

  “Now, Your Majesty,” he said, “give your piece of bread to Saviya and take hers and you must both eat them.”

  They did as he said, then in the Voivode’s hand appeared a small earthenware jug.

  It was filled with water and, as the Voivode lifted it high in the air, as if it was an offering to the Gods, he said in Romany which Laetitia understood,

  “Direct your power onto this vessel and on this man and woman who are to be joined together as husband and wife for as long as you decree.”

  Then violently, using all his strength, he dashed the jug down onto the ground between them and, as it broke, Laetitia held her breath.

  She knew that the King would stay in Ovenstadt until after he had received the Freedom of the City, which would take place on Friday.

  If tonight’s ceremony made it impossible for him to propose to Stephanie for three days, he would before then have left and, when he was gone, the Grand Duchess would presumably accept that her ambitious plan had misfired.

  For a moment, because she knew how vitally important it was, she could not force herself to look and to count. Then, as she heard somebody murmur semno, which she knew meant “five”, she looked on the ground to see that the vessel had broken into five pieces.

  The Voivode bent down and picking up the handle gave it to the King and handed a small piece to Laetitia.

  “You are now joined to each other,” he said, “in an unbreakable bond as decreed by the Gods for five days or for any multiple of five. Keep this piece, preserve it carefully and only if you lose it before the time decreed by the Gods has been reached will misery, loneliness and ill-luck come upon you.”

  The way he spoke was very impressive, so much so that Laetitia felt herself shiver just in case the King did not believe, as she did, that it would actually happen.

  Then the Voivode drew a jewelled knife from his waist and he took the King’s right hand in his and Laetitia’s left.

  He made a minute prick on the wrist of each of them, just enough to make a drop of blood appear on their skin.

  Then he held their wrists together so that their blood mingled, before he bound them with a silk cord with three knots in it.

  He did not speak, but Laetitia knew, because her father had told her, that one knot was for constancy, the second for fertility and the third for a long life.

  She thought that, if the King understood that, he might be afraid that he was being tricked into a marriage that would last for longer than the five days which were all that were entailed by the breaking of the vessel.

  Then the Voivode said, and his voice seemed to ring out in the silence, as the music of the violins ceased and all the gypsies stood listening,

  “Go in peace and know that the Gods have blessed you. You have seen the magic that only those of our blood are allowed to see. You also have between you the magic that is yours alone, the magic which comes from the heart – the magic of love!”

&n
bsp; As he finished speaking, the gypsy violins burst into a paean of praise and triumph that rang out in the darkness.

  Then there was a gypsy boy holding a lighted torch moving towards the cliffs.

  After him went a man playing a violin and the King and Laetitia without being told knew that they had to follow.

  As they went, moving past the fire, the gypsies began to sing again one of their love songs that was both soft and inviting, alluring and provocative, and at the same time moving, although it was a theme of triumph and fulfilment.

  They reached the steps which rose from the plateau up towards The Castle and followed the torch of the boy guiding them.

  Only afterwards Laetitia thought it strange that she and the King with their hands bound together had been able to climb side by side up the narrow steps.

  They reached the top, the gypsy still playing and behind them music from the foot of the cliffs joined with his.

  A little further on the boy with the torch stopped and stood waiting for them to pass him, the man with the violin bowing respectfully as they did so.

  The King paused and said to him,

  “Tell your Voivode that you are always welcome in Zvotana and on my return I will make it law that the gypsies shall never be persecuted or turned out of my country for as long as I remain on the throne.”

  Laetitia saw by the expression of gratification and joy on the gypsy’s face that he understood.

  Impulsively he went down on one knee and kissed the King’s hand and then Laetitia and the King walked up the steps onto the terrace.

  She did not look back, knowing that the gypsies thought it was bad luck to look back to a place they had left in case they should never return to it.

  She drew the King through the secret entrance that led to the staircase up which they could reach the first floor without being seen.

  They walked up the stairs in silence and along the passage to the sitting room which they had left many hours earlier.

  Only when Laetitia saw the candles guttering low and the fire just a red glow amongst the ashes, did she feel as if she had lived through a lifetime of emotion and it was hard to come back to reality.

  Then she was shyly conscious that the King was holding her hand and they were bound together by the silken cord.

  “Shall I – undo this?” she asked in a voice that did not sound like her own.

  She did not wait for his reply, but undid the cord and only when she could take her hand from his and was conscious that the tiny cut the Voivode had made with his knife was throbbing a little, did she look up at him.

  She then realised that he was looking at her with his dark eyes in a way that made her vividly aware that they were alone.

  “So we are married!” the King said quietly. “Which is it to be, Saviya? Five days, five weeks or perhaps for an eternity?”

  She was surprised at his question.

  Then she said quickly, thinking of Stephanie,

  “I think Your Majesty will find that five days is – quite long enough, but please, you – must stick to it.”

  “I have given my word,” the King replied, “and I never consciously break a promise.”

  Because that was what she wanted to hear Laetitia said,

  “I am glad – so very glad you – feel like that.”

  “How could I feel anything else,” the King asked, “when tonight has not only shown me wonders I never knew existed but has brought me you?”

  As he spoke, there was a sudden depth in his voice and she thought there was a fire in his eyes that had not been there before and she was aware for the first time that she was in danger.

  She would have taken a step away from him, but it was too late.

  His arms went round her and, as he pulled her to him, he said,

  “You are my wife, my gypsy wife, whom Fate or the Gods have given to me.”

  Before she could even put up her hands to ward him off, his lips came down to hers.

  Laetitia had never been kissed before, although she had thought about it and she had always imagined it would be something soft, gentle and in a way comforting.

  But the King’s lips were hard, possessive, and, as he made hers captive, he hurt her.

  Then, even as she thought that she must struggle and be free of him, there was a strange magic.

  It was what she had felt when she was dancing and which had been part of the happiness she had found after drinking the gypsy wine.

  It seemed to grow and intensify until she felt not only her lips grow soft and yielding but her whole body move as if to music.

  Then the King’s arms drew her closer and still closer to him.

  A rapture and ecstasy that, like the flames of the fire within her breast, rose from her throat into her lips.

  She knew then that his kiss joined them by a far greater magic than anything they had received from the Voivode.

  It was a magic that was not only part of her body but of her heart and her soul, a magic so vivid, so compelling and at the same time so overwhelming that it was life itself.

  The King’s lips became very insistent, more possessive and curiously there was something that had not been there at first.

  Laetitia felt vaguely at the back of her mind that it was almost as if he realised the sanctity of what had taken place and that for the moment at any rate they were joined spiritually as well as physically.

  He raised his head.

  Then he said hoarsely,

  “How can you be so perfect and what I have been searching for all my life?”

  Then he was kissing her again, kissing her wildly and triumphantly, echoing the music of the violins when they left the camp.

  It had a magic that Laetitia felt swept her up towards the stars that were shining overhead.

  Yet the flames of the fire were burning through her body and she knew that they came from a fire within the King.

  They leapt higher and higher and, only when Laetitia felt as if the sensations she was experiencing were so intense that it was almost impossible to breathe, he took his lips from hers to say,

  “You are my wife! I want you, now at this moment, as I know you want me!”

  For a moment she could hardly understand what he was saying.

  Then, as if some modicum of sanity returned to her mind, she remembered that she was not Saviya, a gypsy dancer.

  She was Princess Laetitia, her mother’s daughter and somehow she had to escape.

  Then, as if the magic of the evening overpowered everything else, she wanted the King to go on kissing her, she wanted to be closer and still closer to him.

  Wildly, inevitably, irrepressibly she wanted him to love her and to give him her love in return.

  It was as if every nerve in her body was crying out for him, responding to the closeness of him and of what he asked of her.

  “I must – go! I – must go!” Laetitia told herself, but her whole being was crying out to stay.

  It was impossible to leave the wonder of his lips, to ignore the fire which burned within them both.

  The King was kissing her again, but not now on her lips.

  Instead his mouth moved over the softness of her neck and it gave Laetitia a sensation she had never known before. It made her quiver against him, her breath coming quickly from between her lips.

  “I – love – you!” she whispered, “I love – you – love you!”

  She was not certain whether she actually said the words or if they were whispered within her heart.

  “And I love you, my beautiful bride!” the King replied. “Come, my darling, why should we waste time standing here?”

  He drew her towards a door that Laetitia knew led into the bedroom her father had always used.

  It was only then, when she thought of her father, that she knew if he was there he would stop her from doing what the King wanted.

  As she thought of him, it was almost as if he was in the room looking a little stern as he had when she behaved badly, at th
e same time knowing what was best for her.

  ‘It is – wrong,’ she said in her heart.

  They had reached the door of the bedroom and, as the King pulled it open and Laetitia could see the big canopied bed inside, she knew that she must escape and her father was telling her how to do so.

  “Please,” she said in a voice that was hardly above whisper, “could I have – something to – drink?”

  The King smiled.

  “Of course,” he said. “I think the salt has made us both thirsty.”

  He took his arm away and, leaving her, walked towards the table which stood in a corner of the room.

  Without looking, Laetitia knew there was always wine there for anybody who needed it. She expected too, because it was a tradition of The Castle, that there would be a small jug of freshly made lemonade.

  The King paused, looking at the array of decanters, bottles and glasses.

  “Wine, champagne or lemonade! Which would you prefer?” he asked.

  He waited for Laetitia to answer and, when there was only silence, he turned round.

  There was nobody in the room except himself!

  *

  Laetitia, having closed the secret panel in the wall very quietly, hurried down the twisting stairway of the tower and let herself out through the door which opened into the bushes.

  Then she ran as quickly as she could to the top of the cliffs where the steps were.

  As she reached them, she saw that sitting just below the top, so that he could not be seen from The Castle windows, was the gypsy boy with the torch.

  He rose as she appeared and went down the steps ahead of her holding the torch so that she could see where to put her feet.

  She was looking down concentrating on the steps, until she reached the ground and only then did she look up.

  To her amazement the plateau was empty except for one caravan, the one she had used herself.

  The gypsy boy took her towards it and now she saw that there was a horse between the shafts and the gypsy woman was waiting to help her out of her dress and into her riding habit.

  As she took off her velvet corset, something fell from it onto the floor of the caravan and Laetitia that saw it was the small piece of the earthenware jug.