The Gypsy Crown Read online

  Still the dogs bayed behind them. Emilia glanced back. She could see them running full pelt. A man was running with them, shouting and urging them on. They heard his horn again.

  ‘Why’s he chasing us? We did no harm. We were only looking.’ Luka’s voice came in short bursts. He still had not fully recovered his breath, and Zizi was choking him with her tight grip.

  ‘Whoever lives there may not be a friend of Old Ironsides, but I’d bet he’s a friend of Fishface,’ Emilia said.

  They looked at each other in horror. The huntsman had seen them. They were a distinctive pair, with their gypsy clothes and their animals. If Pastor Spurgeon was at Nonsuch Palace, they were in trouble indeed.

  Emilia bent low over Alida’s neck and tried to think. Her mare could not gallop forever, and the hounds were swift. She could perhaps have charmed them into friendship, if she had the time, and a bit of meat about her, but her hands were empty, and the scent of the bear was sending the dogs wild. It was not so long ago that bear-baiting had been one of the most popular sports of the nation. Emilia thought it was one of the few good things Old Ironsides had done, banning bear-baiting. So, their best chance was to lose the dogs. The only way to do that was to go to water, but Emilia did not know these woods. She knew the Hogsmill River, which flowed into the Thames near Kingston, had its source in a spring nearby, but she had no idea if it ran through the forest. All she could do was gallop on and look for some way to escape.

  ‘Alida, I’m sorry, darling,’ she whispered, bending to pat her mare’s damp neck. ‘Just a little bit more …’

  Alida galloped on.

  The very next instant, the path petered out in a thick tangle of blackberry brambles. Emilia dragged Alida’s head about and kicked her back the way they had come, frantically searching for a way out. They heard the horn, and the baying of the dogs, and desperately plunged through the undergrowth, heedless of the twigs and briars that scratched their arms and faces.

  The dogs cornered them a few seconds later. Alida plunged about, searching for a way out of the entwined branches. The dogs bayed in triumph, and lunged for them. Ferociously Rollo fought back, as Alida reared, trying to keep the hounds away with her hooves. Sweetheart roared. She rose up on her hind paws and swept one dog aside with her massive claws. Yelping, it tumbled head over heels. Another two dogs attacked. One went for her snout, the other for her flank. Sweetheart roared again, in pain and confusion, and fought back. She gave one of the dogs such a blow it tore off half its ear and sent it yelping away into the underbrush, but the other closed its jaws upon her flank and hung on.

  Luka, clinging desperately to Emilia’s waist as the mare spun and reared, drew the knife from his pack and tried to stab the dog leaping up at them. For a moment all was confusion and noise.

  Then the huntsman arrived, breathing heavily, his leathers splashed with mud. He lifted his horn to his lips and gave a mighty blast, then, when his dogs would not come to heel, laid about him with his whip. The hounds slunk back, tails between their legs, growling still.

  Emilia and Luka were hot, dishevelled and perilously near tears. The huntsman put away his horn and took out a pistol, which he pointed at them both.

  ‘The tinker brats,’ he said, observing Luka and Emilia with great satisfaction. ‘Parson Spurgeon will be so pleased. When he told me to look out for you, I was not expecting to have you the very next morn.’

  Rollo crouched, licking his leg, and Alida was trembling with fear, her ears laid back, her eyes showing a rim of white. Zizi had her face covered with her paws. Behind the huntsman, the dogs growled and slunk about, showing their teeth.

  Sweetheart stood up on her hindlegs and lifted her snout high, moaning in distress and bewilderment.

  ‘Can you control that bear, or will I shoot it now?’ the huntsman said.

  Luka gritted his teeth together and tugged gently on Sweetheart’s chain. She put her paws up to clasp her sore nose. ‘Come on, Sweetheart,’ Luka said, and tugged on the chain again. She sighed and got down on all fours, ambling closer to him with an air of long suffering.

  ‘Quite a clown,’ the huntsman said. ‘I’m guessing she’s not used to being baited by dogs. She’s lucky she didn’t kill any of them, for then I would have shot her, chain or not. Now, do not even think of trying to escape me. I’ll simply set the dogs to hunt you down again, and have a fine morning’s sport for my trouble. And do not let that bear get out of hand, else I’ll shoot her down and that loathsome little monkey too. I suggest you ride back quietly, like good little children, and then no one will get hurt. Understand me?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Luka said sullenly.

  ‘Very good. Come along then.’

  Nonsuch

  The journey back to Nonsuch Palace was accomplished in silence. The children slumped on Alida’s back, sunk in utter misery and exhaustion. Even the opening of the gates and the ride through the gardens did not rouse them, though they did look up and stare as the palace loomed over them.

  It was a truly magnificent building, ornately decorated, with tall eight-sided towers at each end. Before it was a broad terrace, lined with great balls and heraldic beasts of white stone and tall obelisks set at equal distances, which looked down on an ornamental lake with a fountain of birds that spouted water. Beyond stretched the gardens, with a formal knot garden bounded by hedges and pyramids of clipped box, leading onto lawns and groves of flowing shrubs. Swans floated on the lake.

  They dismounted and walked through a grand fortified gatehouse, finding themselves within a magnificent courtyard, surrounded on either side by walls decorated with long panels sculptured in high relief.

  ‘King Harry knocked down a whole village to build this place,’ the huntsman said, noticing the awe on their faces. ‘The church and all the houses. My grandfather was a little boy then. He and his family had to move to Ewell.’

  Luka and Emilia did not reply.

  ‘See the decorations?’ the huntsman said, jerking his head at the walls. ‘King Harry had them built when his son was born.’

  Emilia stared. She had never seen anything so beautiful. The panels seemed to depict a king about his various duties: sitting in judgement, touching the sick, feasting, hunting and fighting.

  ‘Good Queen Bess loved this place,’ the huntsman went on. ‘That was when my dad was head hunter here. She died here, you know.’

  It was clear from the huntsman’s voice that he loved the palace and grounds. Emilia found her courage and, with it, her voice.

  ‘Who … who lives here now?’

  ‘Colonel Pride,’ the huntsmen replied, and his voice grew neutral. He saw the two children’s puzzled expressions, and said, ‘Must’ve heard of him. Pride’s Purge? It’s famous.’

  Emilia had heard of it vaguely, but she was not much interested in politics and tended to slip away and play whenever the adults began arguing over the campfire. Luka considered himself almost a man now, though, and that meant taking part in, or at least listening to, adult conversation. His eyes widened in surprise.

  ‘You don’t mean … not the man who arrested all the Royalists in Parliament, so they could not try and stop them chopping off the king’s head?’

  ‘The very same,’ the huntsman said. He looked at them, and they saw pity on his face. ‘Oh, you’re in the midst of a pretty nest of Puritans here, my weans. Not that you could tell from all the luxury and good living that goes on here. Colonel Pride was well rewarded for his purge, indeed he was. Living in the finest palace in the land, hunting and drinking and feasting like royalty himself.’

  For a moment they thought he would say more, but then the great door to the palace was flung open, and the huntsman bowed low, doffing his hat.

  A grossly large man stood in the doorway, the buttons of his coat straining over his belly, a huge, stained napkin tucked under his chin. He held a pheasant leg in one hand and his mouth shone with grease. Behind him stood Coldham, looking very dour.

  ‘Are these the gypsy brats?
’ the colonel boomed. ‘Good work, Hunter, good work! Bring ’em in, bring ’em in. Spurgeon’s eager to see them.’

  ‘What of the animals?’ the huntsman said.

  ‘Lord, man, I don’t know. Shoot ’em or lock ’em in the stables, do you think I care? It’s the brats Spurgeon’s interested in, Lord knows why. Filthy little beasts.’

  Luka and Emilia were very frightened by this and clung to their animal friends, Emilia with one hand on Alida and one hand on Rollo, Luka cuddling his little monkey up under his neck, his free hand on Sweetheart’s snout.

  The huntsman said, ‘Give them to me. I’ll put them in the stable for now.’

  Emilia and Luka shook their heads emphatically. The huntsman sighed and cocked his pistol. ‘Else I could just shoot them now, whatever you prefer.’

  ‘Please don’t hurt them. Please,’ Emilia said, weeping, and the huntsman grunted and took Alida’s reins in his free hand.

  After a moment Luka passed him Sweetheart’s chain. ‘She’s very hungry,’ he said.

  ‘You expect me to feed your pet bear?’ the huntsman asked in exasperation. Then he rolled his eyes and said, ‘What does she eat?’

  ‘Anything, really. Fish is her favourite, but she’ll eat porridge or stew if that’s all you’ve got.’

  ‘She likes a nice drop of ale,’ Emilia said, her voice quavering despite herself.

  ‘Don’t we all,’ the huntsman said. ‘Give me the monkey then. I suppose you want me to feed her too?’

  ‘Not Zizi, please,’ Luka said. ‘She’s never apart from me, she’ll be frightened. Please.’

  The huntsman sighed and hefted his pistol. ‘Your choice.’

  Zizi suddenly leapt off Luka’s shoulder and onto the huntsman’s, dragging his hat down over his eyes. As he furiously wrenched up his brim again, she bounded away at top speed, clambering up the sculptured frieze along the wall. Emilia could not help laughing as she paused for a moment, perched on the stone crown of the king at his feast. The huntsman lifted his gun and aimed, but Luka threw himself at him and clung desperately to his arm. The pistol went off, shattering a stone urn planted with flowers. Startled by the noise, Zizi made a flying leap up to the top of the wall, then disappeared through an open window and into the palace.

  ‘Nincompoop!’ the colonel roared. ‘Now I’ve got a nasty flea-ridden monkey running amok in my house! You should have shot it!’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ the huntsman said and gave Luka an evil look. ‘I did try.’

  ‘I thought you were meant to be a crack shot! A crack shot, I say! Can’t even hit a monkey in broad daylight. Nincompoop!’

  ‘Bring the Devil’s brood in,’ Coldham said in his harsh, grating voice. ‘Do not blame your hunter, rather blame these spawn of Satan.’

  ‘What will my housekeeper say, I ask you. A monkey in my house! Fleas! Dirt! Breaking things! Should’ve shot it is what I say.’ The colonel turned and stumped back into the palace, consoling himself with another huge bite of his pheasant’s leg.

  The huntsman turned and led away the dog, the horse and the bear. The children were left with Coldham, who was looking very grim. He dropped his hands on their shouders and they were unbearably hard and heavy. Squirming a little, trying to hide their anxiety, the children were pushed up the steps together and taken into into a vast hall, magnificently decorated and hung with shields and banners. They were taken through one chamber after another, each more lavishly decorated than the one before, and ended up in a room with a view out over the lake, and a table groaning with all sorts of food. Emilia and Luka saw a great, dismembered pheasant, a gleaming pink ham, a dish of eggs swimming in butter, smoked herrings and a steaming plate of roast beef, all flanked by jugs of foaming ale. Their mouths watered and their stomachs grumbled loudly. They were so transfixed they barely noticed the pastor sitting at the table, a virtually empty plate before him, his fingers drumming impatiently.

  ‘Here you go, Spurgeon, the gypsy brats you wanted. Nothing if not quick off the mark, hey?’ The colonel grunted with laughter, his triple chins wobbling, then dropped into his chair. ‘But you’re not eating, man. Eat up, eat up!’

  The pastor ignored him. ‘Indeed, the colonel’s man has done his work well,’ he said in a low, cold voice. ‘Better than my man, who let these squalid little gypsies slip his net.’

  ‘I beg pardon, sir,’ Coldham said gruffly. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Indeed it won’t, because you shall take these spawn of Satan back to Kingston-upon-Thames this very day, and you will have them up before the magistrates by the end of the month, and you will see them hang.’

  The colonel looked up, startled. ‘Hang? You mean to hang ’em, my dear fellow? Not to say they aren’t nasty little pests, but a little young, don’t you think?’

  ‘Never too young to stamp out the Devil,’ the pastor said.

  The colonel had stopped chewing. His mouth hung open, showing a most unpalatable lump of grey, half-chewed pheasant meat. Then he shrugged and went back to eating. ‘Whatever you say, dear fellow,’ he mumbled. ‘I cannot think you do our cause any good, though, to hang such a pair of grubby brats. What is their crime? You know the Lord Protector abhors a judge too quick to hang.’

  The pastor was quiet for a moment, frowning, and looking very displeased. ‘Coldham,’ he snapped. ‘Go through their bag. Let us see with our own eyes what Devil’s wares they carry. For we know nothing of true significance was found in their wagons, or in the bushes thereabouts. The old witch must have given her Devil’s wares to these young fiends to carry away for her.’

  Luka clutched the bag closer. Both he and Emilia remembered, too late, what Maggie had said about her crystal ball and fortune-telling cards. They should have thrown the bag away during the chase through the forest. They looked at each other in horror as Coldham wrested the bag from them and upended it on the table. He found the crystal ball and tarot cards at once, and held them up for the pastor to see, almost smiling.

  ‘Aha, behold the malignancy of their sin,’ the pastor cried, that strange burning light in his eyes again. ‘Indeed, they are about the work of the Devil. See there his prayer books, painted with all sorts of foul and loathsome idols; and their scrying ball, for contacting and communicating with his evil spirits. Did I not tell you? And what is the penalty for those wicked and devilish arts called witchcraft? Death! Only then can we stamp out the devil in them!’

  ‘So help me God,’ Coldham said piously.

  Luka glanced at him in acute dislike. He found the pastor quite terrifying, but also strangely fascinating. When he spoke, his voice rose and fell in rhythms that were almost soothing, and it was hard not to nod and agree with him, even when he was pronouncing a death sentence upon you. But Coldham was smarmy and oily and mean. It was hard to tell how genuinely he believed in the pastor’s oratories. That the pastor was genuine seemed beyond doubt; Luka also thought him quite mad.

  The colonel shrugged and returned to his meal, piling his plate high with beef and eggs and fried potatoes.

  The pastor looked displeased to have his oratory ignored in favour of roast beef. ‘Remember, Colonel,’ he said in a menacing voice, ‘that you must keep as far as you can from those temptations which feed and strengthen the sins which you would overcome. Lay siege to your sins and starve them out, by keeping away the food and fuel which is their maintenance and life.’

  ‘Well said, well said,’ the colonel replied, cramming a huge forkful into his mouth. ‘Come, my dear fellow, you must be hungry after all that high talk. Eat, man, before you waste away to a shadow. A shadow, I say!’

  ‘I thank you, I have had enough,’ the pastor replied coldly. Looking down his nose, he went on, ‘Colonel, we still have business to discuss. When you have finished your meal, perhaps you could find some time to spare me? I am a busy man.’

  ‘Aye, indeed, indeed,’ the colonel said through a mouthful of beef. ‘In due time, of course, my dear fellow, in due time.’

  ‘Cold
ham, I’ll need my horses set to, and my carriage prepared. Make sure all is ready for me within the half-hour. In the meantime, get these children out of here. We do not want to spoil Colonel Pride’s appetite.’ The pastor spoke with cold sarcasm.

  ‘Nay, indeed,’ the colonel said, looking up, struck. ‘Not likely, though. Nay, not likely at all.’ He began to laugh again, jiggling all over. The pastor cast him a look of disgust and stalked from the room.

  Luke had to bite his tongue to stop himself from grinning.

  The Wheel of Fortune

  Coldham began to drag the children away, but the colonel saw the longing glance they cast at the food and raised a pudgy hand, saying wheezily, ‘Hold your horses, man, no need to lock ’em up just yet. Scrawny a pair of brats as I’ve ever laid eyes on. Hungry?’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ Luka said, and Emilia nodded emphatically.

  ‘May as well fill your bellies then, plenty of food, hey? Plenty of food here.’ He wheezed with laughter again. ‘Pull up a pew, brats. What’s your poison?’

  ‘It all looks good, sir,’ Luka said, and did not hesitate in grabbing whatever was closest and cramming it into his mouth. He was so hungry he felt quite ill. Emilia did the same. The colonel watched them, torn between disgust and amusement at their appalling manners. The children were too hungry to care. Any moment now the pastor could come back and order them thrown into a dungeon with nothing but dry bread and maggoty gruel to eat.

  Today we feast, Emilia thought. Tomorrow we starve …

  ‘So food’s good, hey? Hey?’

  They nodded but did not pause to reply.

  ‘Aye, my cook is the best in three counties,’ the colonel said, folding his hands across his belly. He cast a look of dislike at Coldham and said, ‘Hadn’t you best be about your master’s business, man? Pastor Spurgeon strikes me as one who doesn’t like to be kept waiting. What? Oh, no need to worry about the tinker brats. There’s plenty of men here to keep them in hand.’ He waved at his footmen, standing stolidly against the wall in their grand livery. ‘I’ll have them brought out to you when they’ve had a bite to eat.’