The Gypsy King (11 page)

Veronique noticed some were speaking. She

summoned her courage and addressed them in

Spanish. They laughed and wished her good

morning in French. She began talking in French, but they all quickly changed to English. One of them asked her if she also spoke German.

One of the women grabbed a huge, blue

enameled coffeepot, raked it through the fire and warmed up the coffee. Another placed an

enormous black cauldron in front of Veronique and several slabs of bread. At the bottom of the cauldron were some fried green and red peppers, onions, tomatoes and meat. As Veronique ate her 107

The Gypsy King

first meal with her
kumpania
, she felt her strength trickling back.

Before long, she was chatting and telling the women about her last terrifying months, the crazy dreams she was having and the trouble from a man who was still haunting her. She didn’t

mention Ahndray, but she spent the rest of the day sitting with the women by the fire. It seemed they understood her like old friends. All traces of thoughts about her home and her problems

vanished for the first time in many, many moons.

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t was only a matter of sunrises until Veronique Irealized she had lost her innate connection with time, along with all its restrictions and regularity.

None of the gypsies cared about the time of day or night and, on the rare occasion, did see a watch pulled from trousers or the secret pockets sewn in the gypsy women’s skirts, they were broken and valued only for their sheen and luster. Days and nights began to evanesce and her new way of life revolved around sunrises, meals, sunsets and campfires.

Her new friends expected her to help with the endless chores involved in running the camp—

mindless tasks such as long hours of scrubbing clothes in the river, either cleaning up or setting places for meals, building fires and watching the children. She learned to scour the woods for firewood, build fires from twigs, grass and scraps of paper, how and where to pick fistfuls of clover, 109

The Gypsy King

nettles and wild leeks until her hands and arms burned and itched relentlessly.

Much to her surprise, her spirit was awakened and she felt alone, yes, but not lonely. Being around understanding people was helping her heal both psychologically and emotionally. She was even allowed to watch over many gypsy

children and welcomed the opportunity to have the young, barefooted and restless urchins laugh at her while running around in fields or

swimming in the river, completely free of any care in the world. Even the older children played most of the day, fishing in the river and either bathing horses or riding the animals bareback. This carefree attitude toward life seemed passed down to the children through their parents and

grandparents, too.

Her gypsy family lived life with a fervor and veracity she had never seen in her own short time on earth. She found herself coming to terms with her past and her mistakes. Soon sunshine was shining again in her face and lighting some of the blackness that had settled in her heart and soul.

Veronique didn’t know exactly how long she

had been with the gypsies and many of her past troubles seemed now like a layer of frost that fades away as the sun heats the day. Her heart still ached for Ahndray, beautiful Ahndray, who

would have loved to be sharing her new

adventure with these lively, wandering gypsies.

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Her heart grew cold and turned to stone when she thought about Leone and the pain he caused the people in his life. Part of her was always looking out for Leone to come and find her here, hiding with a
kumpania
of traveling gypsies. Still another part of her was glad he was getting the punishment he deserved. She pictured his father finding him with Ahndray, unable to justify his sins and imagined he would be either in prison or on the run for the rest of his life.

Shards of anger, like broken glass, cut at her heart and she tried to forgive herself and her own desperate decision. Seeing the life around her everyday helped soothe her mind and soul.

Veronique felt vitalized and almost reborn with every sunrise.

She met many of her new family and was

accepted and greeted with friendship by both men and woman. This friendliness surprised her

repeatedly. The only person she had not had any real contact with was the leader of the
kumpania
, the Gypsy King. She caught glimpses of him

leading groups of his brothers and sisters and sons from one wagon to the next or riding off and returning the following day. He wasn’t aloof or detached and she realized after awhile that he was simply very busy and took his role as leader of the
kumpania
very seriously.

She saw him only a few times at a distance and only in the evenings. He was always laughing 111

The Gypsy King

with his guests. Everyone she met spoke of him as a compassionate, fair and strong leader. Veronique wanted very much to meet the Gypsy King and, in her heart, she knew when the time was right he would make it happen,
allow
it to happen.

She was sitting at a campfire tying bundles of twigs into the brooms that sweep around the wagons and smooth out the dirt around the

heavily traveled areas of the encampment. A man casually rode up, tied off his horse and sat beside her. He introduced himself as Diego.

“The Gypsy King has asked me to take you for a ride, Veronique. He has seen men recently and believes you may know more about a man the

local police have arrested and are transporting to another town. They are heading north and he is hoping you can help us determine if we are in any more danger now that you are here with us, or if this man has anything to do with why you are here.”

He talked gently, as if he knew she would be wavering and unpredictable.

“Do you understand why this is important to us, to find out as much as we can about trouble that may come to our family because we are

helping you?” He asked with a tender hand on her shoulder.

“Yes.” She did understand. “When do we

leave? My ankle is healing well and I haven’t ridden in months.” She was excited.

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“Perfect. We leave tomorrow morning before

sunrise.”

True to his word, it was dark when they left the encampment and set out heading north. After an hour with no conversation between them,

Veronique began to get anxious about where she was going and she began to feel quite bored with this stranger. She thought Diego was going to be talkative and interesting, but instead he was quiet, somber and dull!

They rode as the sun lifted over the hills and she had nothing to do but think. Memories

haunted Veronique so much that it was all she could do to not collapse and let her body tumble down the tundra to the valley below. One minute she was lost in a malaise and the next moment her anger would erupt, combined with her frustration and loss, and she would be almost manic!

I should just lift my ass up off this saddle, explode
into a full gallop and show this man what a real woman
can do on a horse,
she tried to convince herself she was full of confidence and verve.

But she ignored the nagging voice in her head and instead, continued to ride calmly beside her new companion for the day. Like her mother

always told her, “Everyone is interesting,

Veronique, it is up to you my dear to bring it out of them and get them talking.”

Although she was itching to break out and feel the thundering dapple-gray mare beneath her run.

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She missed riding hard and fast, but her ankle was aching already and her fragile ribs were yelling at her in jolts of pain. And honestly, she had no idea where they were going other than north.

And besides
, she consoled herself,
why should I
show off for his pleasure
. She stared at Diego’s rust brown fedora, his wide, broad back and watched his ass lift and drop lightly in the saddle a few feet ahead of her.

Yea, right…
she almost snickered out loud.
He
seems nice enough, but he doesn’t seem interested in
anything except getting to where we are going and
making sure I’m comfortable. If he cares about my
comfort, maybe he cares about other things.
The stirrings she felt before her accident were coming back strongly and she found herself squirming, dreaming and heated.

“Where exactly are we going, Diego?” she

asked innocently, hiding a grin as she rode a few paces behind him. They had been on the road for almost an hour and she could feel the strong, gypsy coffee gurgling in her tummy. Her breakfast of mushy oatmeal, seasoned with sugar and

cream, was also not sitting so well. On top of that, she was becoming impatient and frankly, she was more than a little frustrated today!

“What else did you and the Gypsy King talk

about?” she inquired. “Why hasn’t he introduced himself to me? Is he angry that Nanosh rescued me and I am here with you and your
kumpania
?”

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she asked meekly, but with a little bit of flirt.

She gazed at his backside and admired the

view. Diego rode a chestnut mare with stalwart posture, conveying he had more confidence on, and off, a horse than Veronique would ever

muster. She watched him when he worked the

horses in their encampment and everyone in the
kumpania
heard the storyteller, Nanosh, tell dramatic tales, legendary tales, of Diego and his magic touch with animals.
And ladies get to enjoy
that magic touch, too?

Diego looked straight ahead. “I can tell you, Veronique, it will be a few hours ride each way.

For your own safety, I cannot tell you
where exactly
we are going. In this way, you can also not know from
where
we came. I’m sorry.”

She was frustrated, but understood. It was

better not to know where the
kumpania
camp was located or how far she was from her own town.

Security was a constant problem for gypsies who lived as outsiders and wanderers. Not only would the police probably be looking for her in the hills outside of Lourmarin, but Leone could be looking for her also. She traced her finger along the scar running from her ear almost to her chin and imagined the nightmare of having Leone find her with her new friends and family.
But when? And
what would he do when he found her?

To ease her fear and building frustration, she sped up and rode beside Diego, pacing him like a 115

The Gypsy King

shadow in the mid-morning sun. She didn’t talk anymore, instead she let her gaze wander beneath the deep electric blue sky and studied the various shades of lush and verdant greens of the meadows and shrubs. It was still a bit damp, but the sunflowers popped among rustling reeds and

willows. Warm, soft grass looked inviting. She worked on spotting nettles, wild leeks and some varieties of mushrooms.

The sun was mild, but in a few hours, it would be searing. She pulled her hat lower on her brow and watched birds dance and dive in quick flashes of black and gray. She inhaled the smells of the landscape—grass, sunflowers, apricots, rich earth and dry, red sand Wind rustled the canopy of trees and she smiled. She was glad to be alive for the first time in almost a month and riding this morning reminded her of happier times. She

glanced at Diego and saw him looking over the field also. Or was he staring at her?

* * * *

nature, but this was an important task and the Gypsy King himself requested his service.

He was proud to be the best horseman in his 116

Morgan Rush

kumpania,
and he enjoyed both his reputation and also performing what he felt was his duty to his family.
Safety for gypsies is a double-edged sword
, he mused.
The
gaje
hurt us by isolating us and rejecting
our way of life. But this isolation also provides security
as our
kumpania
moves fluidly through the
countryside, a small town in itself
.

He knew no other life, nor did his family, and he was surprised the Gypsy King allowed Nanosh to bring this new stranger into their encampment.

But he trusted him implicitly and he thoroughly enjoyed his life. Although it was painful at times, all was necessary to be free, safe and live unencumbered by greed and lawlessness like the
gaje
.

He slowed his horse and firmly patted its

withers and stroked its neck. As a savvy and shrewd horse trader, Diego had a gift for feeling the souls of horses and understanding their desires and needs. Since he was a young boy, he was able to lay his hands on a horse, any horse, and understand the animal within a few minutes.

He was keenly aware of all animal spirits and believed his own hands were his one true gift from the heavens.

He used his touch to navigate the world as

many men use their eyes. His hands brought him much happiness, and although he didn’t

understand them nearly as well as his horses, his hands had brought him many, many women.

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He glanced sideways and admired Veronique’s firm, full breasts bouncing up and down as she rode. At the same time, he smiled as he watched her hair also dance lightly off her shoulders. As he wondered how she would feel beneath his hands, he steeled himself and rode with a bit more intent and purpose. He was happy to be out in the sunshine, holding the leather reigns on one of his favorite horses, stroking its coarse mane and, as long as Veronique didn’t talk incessantly, the view was quite enjoyable.