The Gypsy Crown Page 3

  Already Silvia was away at a stall, trying to barter one of her homemade baskets for some fish. Mimi and Sabina lingered by the food stalls, and Ruben delighted them by buying hot corn on sticks for them all. Noah was overwhelmed by the noise and stench and press of people all about. He clutched very tightly to Beatrice’s skirt with one hand, and kept his other hand on Rollo’s back, looking about him with a furrow of puzzlement on his thin brown face as he tried to make sense of it all. Rollo pressed close to his side, occasionally growling if someone pushed too close.

  ‘Why don’t we all split up?’ Jacob suggested. ‘We can make four times as much money then! Keep an eye on the weans, though, we don’t want anyone getting lost. We’ll meet at the clock tower, all right?’

  ‘Right-o!’ Ruben replied, already heading off down a side street towards a busy-looking inn, his fiddle tucked under his arm. Sabina went with him, tucking a flower behind her ear.

  Jacob took Lena and Mimi, who both carried beribboned tambourines, and went to play outside another inn, where a large crowd soon gathered to watch. Beatrice did not like being too close to the inns, for she hated the smell of ale and smoke that wafted out, and the stares of the men drinking on the step. So she and Noah found a cool spot near the church, at the far end of the market square. It was a dour, grey church, built of flint and stone, with a tall square tower topped with a wooden roof, and a narrow avenue of gloomy yew trees that led through a few crooked gravestones. The trees cast some welcome shade, and quite a few people had gathered there, out of the dust and the sun.

  Rollo lay down at Noah’s feet, panting, as the little boy lifted his violin to his chin. As Luka and Emilia went wandering further into the market, they could hear Beatrice’s beautiful voice raised in an old ballad.

  Luka found a stall where a wood-carver was selling toys – puppets and hobbyhorses and dolls with painted faces. A mob of small children were hanging around, playing with all the toys, while the stall-owner told them crossly to come back when they had some money. It seemed a good place to begin, and so Emilia and Luka found themselves a space nearby. Luka played his fiddle and Emilia danced and clapped her hands and snapped her fingers and stamped her feet, her skirts belling out. Zizi danced too, shrieking with excitement, and Alida delighted the crowd by lifting high her forelegs in time to the music. The song came to an end, and Alida bowed deeply, sliding her cheek down her foreleg. Everyone clapped, and when Zizi went bounding around, holding out Luka’s hat, quite a few people dropped coins in.

  Then Luka showed off his acrobatics, walking on his hands, doing backflips and lion leaps and cartwheels, Zizi mimicking his every move. More coins plopped into Luka’s hat, and Emilia quickly scooped them out and put them away in the pocket that hung down inside her skirts.

  Emilia loved to dance, and Luka was a consummate showman, making the crowd laugh with his jokes and puns, and letting the little children cuddle Zizi. By the time the sun was over the midpoint, they had more coins than Emilia had ever seen before. Flushed with success, they bought themselves a hot pie each and some sweets, and went in search of the others.

  They found Sabina sitting outside the inn, looking doeful. Ruben had gone inside to celebrate, she told them, and she was worried he would drink away every penny they had made.

  ‘Go find Ma,’ Luka advised. ‘She’ll soon have him out of there.’

  Sabina nodded and went running back the other way. Everyone knew that Luka’s mother Silvia was the true power in the family, despite her soft plump feminine figure and her liking for pretty clothes.

  With Alida following behind, Luka and Emilia went back to the main square, enjoying the noise and movement of the crowd. As they came out by the inn they saw Tom Whitehorse, son of the Norwood squire, hurrying through the square. He looked startled to see them, but raised his hat in greeting.

  ‘Look, there’s Tom Whitehorse!’ Emilia cried.

  Luka made a face. ‘Stuck-up snob.’

  ‘You’re just jealous. You’d be stuck-up too if your father was the local squire and you had servants waiting on you hand and foot all the time. I like him.’

  ‘You only like him because he admires Alida!’

  Emilia grinned. ‘He has very good taste.’

  The boy hurrying through the crowd was tall and fair, with long curls hanging past his shoulder, a velvet coat trimmed with lace, and a large feathered hat. He kept looking behind him as if worried he was being followed.

  Grinning, Luka stepped forward. ‘Master Whitehorse! Fancy seeing you here! Where’s your footmen? I’m surprised you don’t have one holding a parasol over you today, it’s so hot.’

  Tom Whitehorse flushed angrily. ‘Don’t be silly. I don’t need a parasol.’

  ‘But surely you need someone to carry your handkerchief for you? And a little basket of sweetmeats in case you get peckish?’

  ‘I don’t have time for this,’ Tom answered and went to brush past them.

  ‘Don’t mind Luka. You know he likes to tease. We’re just surprised to see you here, since your father likes to keep you so close. Has he given you leave for the day?’

  ‘Sort of.’ Tom glanced round anxiously.

  Luka gave a crow of laughter. ‘You’ve given him the slip, haven’t you? Good on you!’

  ‘Not at all,’ Tom replied coolly. ‘I’m here on my father’s business.’

  ‘What a shame,’ Emilia said. ‘It’s fair day! You should be having some fun.’

  ‘Fun!’ Tom said scornfully. ‘There’s not much fun to be had in England these days, is there? Can’t even raise a toast to an absent friend, or choose the way you wear your hair.’

  Luka looked at Tom’s long curls critically and said, ‘Well, the Lord Protector’s got it right about the unloveliness of lovelocks!’

  Tom glared at him. ‘I’m not going to cut my hair just because Cromwell tells us too! Why should I? My father says the whole world is coming to ruin, and he’s right! We should never have let them kill the king.’

  Emilia glanced about quickly. It was not wise to say such things. A soldier was staring at them suspiciously. He was big and burly, with a grey-bristled chin and a nose that looked like it had been spread flat by being pressed against too many windows.

  ‘Sssh!’ she hissed. ‘Do you want your tongue nailed to the pillory?’

  Tom at once looked round him too, and stiffened when he saw the soldier watching. ‘I have to go,’ he said at once, and without a word of farewell, went hurrying away into the crowd.

  ‘Well,’ Luka said. ‘Our fine young cock was rather ruffled today, wasn’t he? Probably scared someone would tell on him to his father.’ He let one hand flop over at the wrist and minced forward, saying in a high, affected voice, ‘Oh, my goodness gracious, I would so hate my dear old daddy to hear I’ve been hobnobbing with those dreadful dirty gypsy children. I might spoil my velvet coat!’

  ‘Well, his father is very protective,’ Emilia reminded him. She looked round for any sign of the watching soldier but he had disappeared and she felt herself relax. ‘We should be more careful. You know Baba says Cromwell has spies everywhere.’

  ‘It wasn’t me flapping my tongue about,’ Luka said. He clasped his hands under his chin, flapped his eyelashes and said in a high, girlish voice, ‘Oh! It’s fair day! You should be having some fun!’

  Zizi shrieked with laughter and copied him, her paws clasped under her wizened chin.

  Emilia punched him.

  ‘Ow! Do you have to hit so hard?’

  ‘I can hit harder,’ Emilia threatened.

  ‘Only if you catch me!’ Luka broke into a run, weaving in and out of the barrows. Emilia raced after him.

  They heard Beatrice before they saw her. She was singing a favourite song of hers:

  ‘If I were a blackbird I would whistle and sing,

  I would follow the vessel my true love sailed in

  All on the top rigging I would build my nest

  And I’d sleep the long night on his lily-wh
ite breast.’

  It was a lovely song with a lovely tune, and a large crowd had gathered to listen. In her green ruffled skirts, with a rose tucked behind her ear, Beatrice looked prettier than ever amongst all the drab farmers’ wives in their plain browns and blacks. Noah was exciting a lot of attention too, a blind boy playing the fiddle with such skill and dexterity. Emilia could see the cap at his feet was filled with coins.

  Then a shadow fell over the square, pointing like an accusing finger at Beatrice. Rollo leapt to his feet and growled, deep in his throat. Beatrice’s voice faded away. Noah lowered his violin and put out one hand to his sister, unable to see why she had stopped singing. Emilia turned to look, and felt her heart shrink.

  The pastor stood frowning in the middle of the square. He was tall and thin and very pale, and dressed all in black, except for his collar and cuffs which were white as frost. His tall steeple hat was set very straight on his head, and it was the shadow of this which had fallen upon Beatrice. Two white lines were driven from the sides of his high-bridged nose to the corners of his narrow mouth. He looked at Beatrice and Noah with something like loathing. It was the pastor they had seen in the coach yesterday. Behind him were four other men, all as soberly dressed as he, and the big, ugly man who had been staring at them in the square. He wore the steel helmet and buff coat of a Roundhead soldier, and had a pistol and a knife in his belt, and a steel gauntlet on his left wrist, which showed he was a cavalry-man.

  ‘Seize her!’ the pastor cried, his eyes blazing with righteousness. ‘Singing in the marketplace for coins, right before our blessed church! Surely it must offend us all, such brazen-faced sin? We’ll have her to court, and the boy too.’

  ‘It’s gypsies, sir,’ the ugly man said in a harsh, grating voice. ‘Filthy, thieving hedge-birds. Should be hung, they should. Only cure for them.’

  ‘Indeed, they are an ungodly people,’ the pastor said, and folded his long, pale hands. ‘And if you are right, dabbling in treason too. Very well. Let us have them to prison and the magistrates called. I will not have gypsies singing and fiddling at the very door of my church. Seize them!’

  Crow-fair

  ‘Criminy!’ Luka cried. ‘We’ve stumbled into a crow-fair.’

  ‘Quick, quick!’ Emilia’s tongue seemed to have turned to wood. ‘Find your dad! We’ve got to get them out of here!’

  Luka nodded and went running back towards the inn. The ugly man was gripping Beatrice and Noah, one in each big hand. Beatrice was weeping and trying to reach her brother, who was struggling as well as he could with a fiddle and bow clutched to his skinny chest. Rollo snarled and lunged at the big man, who kicked him hard in the head, knocking him head over heels.

  Rollo whined and got dazedly to his feet, shaking his head.

  Noah turned his face from side to side. ‘Rollo?’

  Still gripping Beatrice close, the ugly man stepped forward, drawing his knife.

  ‘No!’ Beatrice and Emilia screamed together. Emilia whistled to the big dog urgently, and Beatrice cried, ‘Go, Rollo! Go to Milly!’

  ‘Go!’ Noah called, his voice high with fear. ‘Rollo, go!’

  The big dog reluctantly obeyed, head down and tail sunk between his legs, turning to look back at Noah. Beatrice reached out and grabbed her brother, drawing him to her side, and he hid his sightless eyes against her skirt.

  Meanwhile, the pastor had turned to stare at Emilia, her hand held out to Rollo, the other gripping Alida’s rein. The pastor frowned, and pointed at her, crying, ‘Another gypsy child, look! Seize her too!’

  Just then Luka brought Jacob and Ruben running towards them, Lena on their heels. Silvia charged along behind, the two youngest girls clinging to her hands and looking frightened.

  ‘A whole tribe of them!’ the pastor said with loathing. ‘Arrest them all!’

  Jacob raised both hands and said placatingly, ‘Come now, she’s naught but a lass, she’s not doing any harm.’

  ‘Call the constables!’ the pastor cried.

  ‘Nay, no need for that,’ Jacob said, casting a warning look at Ruben whose hand had dropped to his dagger. ‘We’re just here for the fair, like all these other good people. We’ve done our business, we’ll be on our way, no need for any trouble.’

  The pastor looked at him in contempt. ‘Get the constables,’ he said to one of the men in black, who went running away through the square. Within moments the four constables were in the square, cudgels in their hands.

  Mimi and Sabina began to weep, so that Silvia gathered them close to her ample bosom, glaring angrily at the pastor and crying, ‘We’re not doing any harm. Let us be!’

  ‘Get the girls out of here,’ Jacob hissed at Luka, but as he began to hurry them away, the constables grabbed them roughly, dragging them to the pastor.

  ‘Stop it, you’re hurting me,’ Mimi wept, trying to wrench her wrist free of the constable’s grip. He gave her a swift blow across the ear, and Luka immediately flew at him in fury, only to be knocked down to the ground.

  ‘How dare you! She’s naught but a babe!’ Silvia cried. She swung her basket and hit the constable hard across the head. ‘Take that, you big bully!’ she yelled. ‘And that!’

  The constable let go of Mimi’s wrist and raised his arm to protect his head as Silvia rained blows upon him. She was a tall, strong woman, and her basket was laden with all she had bought or bartered for at the fair. The constable retreated, cursing, and Silvia charged after him, her basket swinging. Then he tripped and fell back over a stall of ironware. The whole thing came crashing down upon him, pots and pans and ladles and skillets raining everywhere. They banged and clattered, rolling away over the cobblestones, and at last lay silent around the ruin of the stall. All that could be seen of the constable were his big boots, sticking out from underneath. They did not move.

  After a long moment of frozen surprise, the ironmonger leapt forward and struggled to raise the heavy stall from on top of the constable. At last he managed it, but still the constable did not move. His head lolled sideways.

  A shrill scream rose high into the air.

  ‘He’s dead, he’s dead,’ the ironmonger’s wife shrieked. ‘Murder!’

  Silvia went white as whey and dropped her basket. She did not struggle or protest as the other constables seized her, but stared in horror at the dead man lying amidst all the cooking ware.

  Emilia could not move. It was as if the world had suddenly been disconnected from her. That’s the death, she thought. Baba heard right.’

  One of the constables seized hold of Emilia. The hard grip snapped her back to reality. She kicked him hard in the stomach, dodged round a fat lady, ducked behind a thin man, and dived through another constable’s legs, tripping him over. The big man tried to grab her, but Beatrice hung onto his arm with both her hands, so that Emilia was able to slip through his fingers like a will-of-the-wisp. She leapt up onto the back of the fallen constable, using him as a mounting block to scramble onto Alida’s bare back. The mare whinnied and reared, the constable staggered back and fell over again, and then Emilia wheeled Alida about, her eyes flashing towards her sister and brother.

  ‘Go! Go!’ Beatrice cried frantically. ‘Get out of here!’

  Glancing about, Emilia saw all her family had been caught. Her uncles Ruben and Jacob had been seized, and were held with their arms twisted painfully up behind their backs. Silvia huddled in the charge of the constables, the little girls clustered around her, sobbing. Luka was lying on the ground, a constable’s knee in his back. His eyes met hers. ‘Go, Milly, go!’ he shouted. ‘Get yourself out of here!’

  Then Zizi leapt onto the constable’s shoulder and, yanking his hair hard, bit his ear. He yelled and flinched away. At once Luka was up and running but then the big, ugly man let go of Noah to smash Luka down with his steel fist. Noah stumbled forward, his violin clutched to his chest, trying to escape.

  ‘Here, Noah, here!’ Emilia screamed. He turned towards her, hand groping out in entreaty. She kic
ked Alida forward, thinking for one glad moment that she could reach him and swing him up behind her. Then the pastor stepped forward and grabbed Noah, dragging him back. Noah cried out in fear and hit out with his violin. The pastor wrested the violin from him and flung it down on the cobblestones, stamping upon it until it was smashed to smithereens. Noah sobbed in despair.

  ‘You devil!’ Emilia cried, wild with fury and grief. ‘How could you!’

  The pastor glanced up at her, his face rigid and white, his eyes blazing with righteous anger. Then he gestured with his hand for the constables to seize her.

  ‘Godless infidels,’ the pastor said coldly. ‘We shall see them all hang, and this town cleansed of their profane presence.’

  He strode forward and seized Alida’s halter, but Emilia kicked him square in the chest. One boot slipped on the filthy cobbles and he lost his balance and fell back, straight into a huge, green, sloppy pat of cow manure.

  Emilia looked down into his face and knew she had made an implacable enemy. Once again she looked across at Beatrice, who pressed her hands together beseechingly and cried, ‘Go!’

  Tears pouring down her face, Emilia leant low on Alida’s back and galloped out of the market square, knocking over a cage of chickens and a barrow of apples on the way. Rollo raced behind her, low to the ground.

  Behind her she could hear the pastor screaming, ‘Catch her and bring her back! We’ll see her burn in hell for this!’

  Luka rubbed his head, which was ringing from the ugly man’s blow. Zizi was crouched on an awning a few feet away, gibbering with fear. Luka looked up and saw the pastor staring down at him. He clutched his fiddle close under his arm, afraid the pastor might seize it and stamp it to pieces too.