The Gypsy Crown Read online

  She heard a soft murmur of voices from the other cell, and turned her head to listen. A man had just asked a question. It was a cultured, educated voice and sounded kind. ‘Can’t you sleep, lad?’

  ‘Nay,’ Noah answered in a shaking voice. ‘I don’t like it here. I want to go home.’

  ‘So do we all, lad,’ the man answered. ‘Prison is no place for any man. Be glad that you are here, though, and not in Newgate. Now that’s a place to chill your heart.’

  ‘You’ve been there?’

  ‘Aye, though only to visit friends. I’ve been lucky enough to escape being locked up there. I doubt I’d still be alive if I had.’

  ‘Why have they locked you up in here?’ Noah asked.

  ‘Why indeed?’ the man’s voice was bitter. ‘What is this but persecution and slavish fear? What crime have I committed, what foul act, except the desire to do good for the poor and oppressed?’

  He was silent for a moment, then Noah said timidly, ‘I’m sorry, sir, I do not understand.’

  ‘Who could?’ the man asked. ‘Answer me this, lad. Was the earth made to allow a few covetous, proud men to live at ease, and for them to bag and barn up the treasures of the earth from others, so that they must beg or starve, or was it made to preserve us all?”

  ‘For us all, I guess,’ Noah said.

  ‘For believing so and saying so, I am locked up in this foul place,’ the man said. ‘They mock us and call us Levellers, because we believe that all men should be level with each other, not one raised up to live in idle pleasure, and the others pushed down to work and toil and suffer.’

  Noah listened with great interest, for he had often quietly thought such things to himself.

  ‘Sometimes they call us Diggers too,’ the Leveller went on, ‘for is our belief that the good earth should belong to us all, and so we set about to dig up the common land, and sow corn, and eat our bread together. But they took our tools, and beat us, and tore down our houses, and drove us away from the land.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Who can understand it? For this action of ours, labouring to put to use the waste places of the earth, was an action full of justice and righteousness, and charity to our fellow creatures. There was nothing of pride and covetousness in it. So why did they seek to prevent us? Because of their own greed and pride and tyranny. They do not want us to be raised, or themselves brought down, and all men made of one level.’

  Noah made a soft sound of agreement.

  ‘They can imprison us and beat us, but they cannot stop our hearts from feeling and our minds from thinking and our tongues from speaking, can they?’ The man heaved a great sigh, and then repeated, very low, ‘Can they?’

  There was a long pause, and the man bestirred himself, and said, ‘So what is your name, lad, and why have they got you here?’

  Noah told him his name, and a little of what had happened that morning in the marketplace, and the man sighed again and said, ‘Poor lad. And they call this a righteous government.’

  ‘What is your name, sir?’

  ‘Winstanley, lad, and there is no need to call me “sir”. Rather call me “friend”, for we believe that no man should bow to another. It’s nothing but tyranny and pride, and so you should not bow, or lift your cap, or call another man “sir”.’

  Beatrice stirred, puzzled and afraid, but nonetheless fascinated by the man’s strange words. No wonder he was in prison, she thought, for speaking such treason. He was lucky they did not nail his tongue to the pillory.

  ‘You know, we called it a victory when the common people of England at last cast out Charles, the Norman oppressor, but indeed it seems the yoke of our good and righteous leaders is just as heavy,’ Winstanley said. ‘Indeed, they are just as much tyrant as he, and I fear that we cannot cast them out as easily.’

  ‘Should you say such things?’ Noah said, sounding frightened.

  Winstanley laughed. ‘Are we not already in gaol? Indeed, is not all of England a prison? The laws of this government are the bolts, bars and iron doors of the prison; the lawyers are the gaolors, and poor men are the prisoners; for let a man fall into the hands of any from the bailiff to the judge, and he shall be hanged for no greater crime than trying to feed his family.’

  ‘I do not want to be hanged!’ Noah said unhappily.

  ‘Nor I, lad,’ Winstanley answered. ‘But surely they will not hang such a little lad as thee?’

  ‘He says we all will hang.’

  ‘The pastor?’ Winstanley asked. ‘Ah, indeed, he is a god-fearing man, and so would I be if my god was as fearsome as his. It is a sorry tale, and sorry days, where such a man has power over the poor and oppressed.’

  Beatrice felt tears well up in her eyes. She had not thought of herself as poor and oppressed before. They never had much coin, that was true, but they were rich in other ways. She thought back to the night where she had been betrothed, and put her hand up to finger the gold coins still hanging about her neck, under her blouse.

  ‘But is that not just the way it has always been?’ Noah asked.

  ‘Because it has always been so, must it remain so?’ Winstanley said. ‘Think on what I say, lad, and remember, for one day the truth shall triumph in men’s heart and we shall all be free.’

  He is mad, Beatrice thought. That is why they have not hung him. They must plan to send him to Bedlam.

  But she could not help thinking over his strange, exultant words and wishing that they were true.

  Alone and half-asleep in the fire-lit, cavernous darkness, Emilia thought she saw people in old-fashioned garments gathered together weeping and murmuring in shock and grief, while a woman in black, with eyes red-raw with sobbing, sat staring, her hands twisting a handkerchief to shreds. Emilia sat up, unable to breathe for terror, and rubbed her eyes, which were stinging from the smoke. The dream – if that was what it was – dissolved. She found herself with only the shadows of flames for company.

  The door creaked open. Emilia sat up, screwing up her mouth self-deprecatingly at the sudden thunder of her heart. It was only Zizi scampering in, proudly carrying a long-handled ladle. After her came Luka, carrying a saucepan and a jug of water, while behind ambled Sweetheart and Alida, both damp and ruffled.

  ‘It’s raining again,’ Luka said. ‘I’m glad we’re not out there. I found a pan. I thought we’d broil the fish, not having any fat to fry it in.’ He saw Emilia blinking and yawning, and said in pretend crossness, ‘Have you been sleeping while I’ve done all the work? Rouse up, sleepyhead, and cook us our supper. There’s potatoes in the bag, and I picked us a bunch of thyme from the garden. It’s awfully woody, but you can pull all the leaves off and they’ll taste good.’

  Sweetheart did not like the cold, dark, dusty house. She pressed against Emilia’s leg, who screwed up her nose and pushed her away. Wet bear was not a pleasant smell. Sweetheart lay down before the fire with a sigh. Steam began to rise up from her coat. Luka cleared a spot for Alida to stand, and rubbed her down while Emilia put the water and potatoes on to boil. Luka had already scaled and gutted the fish, and cut it into chunks, for which Emilia was extremely grateful. She hated gutting fish.

  She told Luka about her dream while she tossed the chunks of fish into the water. ‘I wonder who lived here, and where they’ve gone,’ she said.

  ‘I’m just grateful for it,’ said Luka pragmatically. ‘We’d have been in trouble if someone still lived here.’

  ‘Aye, I suppose so,’ Emilia answered, stirring the stew. She was feeling very tired and melancholy.

  ‘Here, I’ll do that.’ Luka took the long-handled spoon from her. ‘Take off all your wet clothes and spread them out by the fire. We may as well get warm and dry. By then the stew will be ready and we can think what to do next.’

  ‘Baba said to find our Rom kin and ask them for their help,’ Emilia said, unbuttoning her skirt. ‘There’s five other families who are kin of ours – they each have a lucky charm, like the one she gave me.’ Emilia showed Luka the
bracelet she wore on her wrist. ‘Baba said if we joined all the charms together again …’

  ‘It would do what?’ Luka asked.

  ‘It would help us to better times,’ Emilia said, and felt her melancholy deepen. It seemed frightfully vague and imprecise. She stepped out of her skirt and spread it to dry on the back of one of the chairs. It was very muddy, and she wondered if she should go and rinse it off first. Gypsies did not like to wash clothes in the same place as their hands or bodies, though, nor where they would draw water for drinking and cooking, and Emilia was too tired to go looking for running water. She decided to leave it. It’ll only get dirty again tomorrow, she told herself.

  ‘Well, one thing at a time,’ Luka said. ‘We’ll eat and sleep, and then in the morning we’ll head to the Downs and look for the Hearnes. You can ask them for their charm if you think it’ll help us. I plan to ask them to help us break everyone out.’

  ‘Break them out of prison!’ Emilia cried. ‘But … how?’

  ‘I don’t know how,’ Luka said. ‘We’ll have to think of a plan. I saw where the keeper kept his keys. Maybe I can steal them. Or we could give the guards something to make them sleep …’

  ‘But surely they’ll just chase after us and catch us again,’ Emilia said. ‘And what about our caravans and horses, how are we to get them out?’

  Luka grimaced. ‘I can’t think of everything all at once,’ he said. ‘But with a little bit of luck, we’ll be able to save them, I’m sure of it.’

  A little bit of luck …

  Emilia rubbed the old coin between her fingers. ‘Aye,’ she said softly. ‘For sure we can.’

  The Royal Forest

  NONSUCH PARK, SURREY, ENGLAND

  13th August 1658

  Emilia woke and looked about her. At first she did not know where she was. Then her eyes identified the strange shapes of the furniture, and the black hump of the sleeping bear silhouetted against the glowing coals. Memory rushed back upon her. She pressed her hands against her chest, feeling the round shape of the coin cutting into her skin.

  It was not yet dawn. She could not hear any birds, and the shuttered window was not leaking any light. She leant over and laid her hand on Luka, who slept on the sofa beside her. ‘Wake up,’ she whispered.

  Luka was awake at once. ‘Mmmmf,’ he muttered. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Time to go,’ Emilia said.

  ‘It’s morning?’

  ‘Almost. But it’d be better if we tried to get through Sutton before everyone’s about. We don’t want anyone to see us and report us to that Fishface.’

  ‘Aye. All right.’ Luka stretched and yawned. ‘Ouch, I’m stiff! I’d have been better off on the floor, where at least I could have stretched out.’

  ‘Except it’s so dusty.’ Emilia felt her skirt, which was still a little damp in the folds, and then pulled it on.

  ‘Too true. Is there anything left to eat in the bag? I’m starving!’

  ‘A couple of potatoes, a heel of bread and some old cheese is all,’ Emilia reported.

  Luka sighed. ‘Chuck me the bread and cheese and I’ll toast them on the fire,’ he said. ‘I wish we had some ale. I’m so thirsty.’

  ‘Me too. We’ll get a drink from the pump in the kitchen on our way out. I feel really grimy too. I’d love a wash. I wish there was a stream so I could have a good scrub.’

  ‘Maybe Sweetheart will catch us some more fish if we find a stream,’ Luka said. ‘Really, she’s a very useful bear.’

  ‘If a little hard to hide,’ Emilia retorted.

  Luka had cut the bread open and shoved the cheese inside, then skewered it on the end of the poker. Now he crouched before the coals, turning the poker about so the cheese would melt inside. He turned and looked up at Emilia, his tousled curls hanging on his forehead.

  ‘Past Sutton there’s the royal forest,’ he said. ‘Would we be better cutting through that than going by the road?’

  ‘It’s not the royal forest any more,’ Emilia said. ‘It belongs to one of Old Ironsides’ cronies.’

  ‘So does that mean there’d not be any royal foresters any more?’ Luka asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Hunting’s been banned, remember.’

  ‘So if we cut through the forest, we’d be less likely to be seen.’

  ‘But it’d be slower.’

  ‘This is the same argument we had yesterday, only now we’re on different sides,’ Luka grinned. ‘Here, have some bread and cheese. Watch out, it’s hot!’

  Emilia blew on it and gingerly nibbled at its edge. The melted cheese burnt her mouth, but she was so hungry she did not care. She gave some to Rollo, who swallowed it whole then begged for more. Sweetheart moaned, and Luka gave her some of his, which was gone in seconds.

  ‘We need to get some more food,’ Luka said, frowning. ‘The animals are hungry.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll catch us a rabbit in the forest,’ Emilia said, ‘and we’ll set Sweetheart to fish for us again.’

  They had packed up last night before going to sleep, so that all they had to do was put on their outer clothes and pick up the bag. Luka had managed to tie the pan to it with a bit of old string. It clanked as he swung the bag onto his shoulder. He had also packed the ladle and the old knife that he had used to chop up the fish, plus a few other oddments he had found in the kitchen which he thought might come in useful.

  ‘It’s not like anyone’s using them,’ he had said rather defensively. ‘They’re just rusting away here.’

  Emilia had not said anything.

  Now she covered up the furniture with the old dustsheets and doused the fire with the last of the water in the jug. Seeing the mess of footprints on the floor, she pursed up her lips and tried to sweep them away with a cloth, but it raised so much dust she coughed and choked and had to give up. They went through the silent, echoing house, Alida’s hooves clip-clopping loudly on the flagstones, and locked the kitchen door behind them, hiding the key on the scullery sill again.

  The sky was turning grey to the east, but they still needed their lantern to see their way through the gardens. The rain had blown over, but all was dank and wet, and Emilia’s feet were soon freezing again. They squeezed out through the gap in the hedge and went on down the road, Emilia riding Alida once more.

  All was quiet in the village of Sutton. The Cock Inn was dark and shuttered, with only one lantern hanging above the door. As they went by, they looked up and down the crossroads, but there was no sign of any black coach drawn by four black horses, or of any vehicle at all. Sighing in relief, they hurried on.

  A mile or so past Sutton, forest closed in around the road. The children were glad of this, for the sun was almost up and smoke was beginning to wisp up from the cottages in the fields. Once the forests had been well tended, with the bracken and undergrowth cleared away to reduce the risk of fire in the summer and also to leave room for hunting. Nonsuch Park had been a favoured hunting ground for the royal family for years, but since hunting had been banned by Parliament, most of the forests had been cut down for timber, or allowed to grow choked with bramble and weeds.

  Along the eastern side of the road ran a high wall of red Tudor brick. Beyond the wall could be seen a few treetops and then, in the distance, the grand towers of Nonsuch Palace. Both children were very curious indeed to see it, for it was said there was no house to equal it in all England. But the wall was too high, and there were no trees growing close to it that they could scale. Luka had to content himself with jumping as high as he could every few paces to try and see over the wall.

  A little further on they came to a great pair of iron gates set into the wall. These were much bigger and grander than the gates of Sutton Manor. A shield with a royal coat of arms hung on the gates, which were twelve feet high and topped with sharp points. Luka and Emilia seized the iron bars with their hands and pushed their faces against the gate.

  They saw a vast stretch of velvet green lawns, all silvered with dew, and intricate formal gardens of c
lipped hedges and trees cut in fantastic shapes. Rising above it was an ornate building, with tall octagonal towers, topped with minarets and flying with flags. Every inch of stonework was heavily carved and fretted.

  ‘Can’t be a friend of Old Ironsides’ living there then,’ Luka said. ‘The Puritans don’t believe in pleasure gardens. Only gardens grown in sober toil and godly labour.’ He put his hands together and turned his eyes up to heaven.

  ‘I’d like to explore in there,’ Emilia said. ‘It’s really pretty.’

  ‘Come on, no time for dabbling in the dew,’ Luka said.

  Reluctantly Emilia turned Alida’s head away.

  Suddenly there was a clamour of barking. Emilia almost jumped out of her skin. Rollo barked back loudly. She and Luka glanced at each other, then scrambled hurriedly away, whistling to Rollo. Looking back, Emilia saw a man in a long coat with about seven dogs on leashes, all straining to be free, hurrying down the drive towards them. She urged Alida into a trot, trying to get around the bend in the road before the man opened the gate.

  ‘Did he see us?’ Luka panted, running alongside Alida, Zizi clinging to his neck. The lantern and the pan clanked together as he ran, and Emilia winced.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she hissed, ‘but he’s heard us for sure now.’

  ‘Get off the road, head into the forest,’ Luka said. ‘Maybe we’ll lose them there.’

  They heard the sound of the gate being unlocked and swung open. It was well oiled and opened easily. Then there was the excited baying of dogs on a scent. A horn rang out.

  ‘Jump up,’ Emilia cried. ‘We’ll gallop.’

  Luka leapt up behind her and Emilia spurred Alida into a gallop. The forest blurred past. In and out of the trees they weaved, Sweetheart running behind them, Luka keeping a tight grip on her chain. Rollo ran ahead, nose to the ground.