La Gitana

by Carol Ann

  “How fares the King, Milady?” asked Jito.

  “Some days he is clear, and others not so much so, but We have Olivares to rely on.”

  “Olivares is ahead of his time and there is talk of assassination. He is not attuned to our interests,” he said. “He will come to a tragic end, Milady.”

  “You do not believe you should be taxed to support the crown?” she asked.

  “We believe Her Majesty desires too much luxury at our expense. The donativos (taxes) are too high.”

  “That is heresy, Duke. Coming from any other man…” she said.

  “I know, my Queen, but you asked the condition of your fiefdom. And the clergy are in assent as well. There may be a revolt.”

  “Let us change topics,” I said sensing confrontation.

  “What then shall we talk about?” he asked.

  “Favorites. We shall play the game of favorites. My favorite is when the sun is between night and day and the roses glow yellow and sometimes red on the vine, and the little orange fireflies come out,” I said.

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  “I like the ass of a really fine woman, how it curves up at the lower back and spreads like a cut peach in the middle. The tits are the icing: the ass is the cake. I don’t really care if the woman has large breasts, you see,” said

  “And what of Us? Does anyone want to hear Our favorites?” said the Queen.

  “What are they, my Queen?” I asked.

  “When Carlos sleeps, We pleasure ourselves in bed, and then, when We are with you, Carmen. Your lips taste like candy.”

  “We also like your brown breasts with their small purple nipples standing out hard like two bullets when We take them in my mouth, and the taste of your woman’s flower on my tongue,” she replied.

  “I have long wished to see two women making love,” said Jito.

  “That is a privilege reserved for the King,” she replied. “Don’t’ get all wroth, Carmen. He watches from a peep hole in the wall, and he plays with himself. It is as close to sex as he will ever get. Have pity on my Carlos.”

  “You better ask me to have pity on you, Marie.”

  “Don’t be angry, carina, (darling). He means no harm. He is pathetic, and it’s his one true physical pleasure. Don’t ask for Us to deny him.”

  “Marie Luisa, you betray me.”

  “Betrayal is part of love, my sweet. And We know the Duke will never tell,” said the Queen.

  “Well, Marie, perhaps you are right,” I said while looking into the Duke’s eyes.

  “The Duke has no opinion?” asked the Queen.

  “I would tend to agree,” said Jito looking into my eyes.

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  “More favorites,” I said. “The feel of the mud between my toes as I walk in tiny, clear streams and the little burnt sienna and mint green stones one finds at the bottom of the creek. And the careening of summer clouds across a bright turquoise sky.”

  “Spoken like a true gypsy,” said Jito. “When I drink a fine glass of red wine, so sweet, so powerful, so quenching.”

  “Now Us” interjected the Queen. “Our days in Paris as a child. The maid cruelly lacing up the stays in my corset, and the feel of clean, pristine starch on the collars of my blouses. The feel of linen, velvet and lace on my skin. The wrinkles around my father’s eyes, and Our mother’s cool, ivory hands on Our forehead when We had a fever. The buttery croissants Our servants used to bake Us for breakfast. Oh, yes, and the bowing.

  We loved that best of all.”

  “What do you love now, my Queen?” I asked.

  “The reins of the Kingdom in Our hands, Carlos, and you two.”

  “You can love him, Marie?” asked the Duke.

  “Yes, he suffers so. It is not his fault he was not born strong. Carlos is in Our heart. We will protect him to the death. And who do you love, Duke,”asked the Queen.

  “A gentleman never tells but I love Your Highness.”

  “Dear, that is understood,” she said holding out her hand to be kissed which he did,

  And, Carmen, who do you love?”

  “That is understood. You two, and my Antonio.”

  “The Queen is tired of favorites. Let us talk of destiny,” said Marie.

  “Character is destiny. Each person writes his own,” he said.

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  “You do not believe in Divine Providence?” asked Marie.

  “Not so much. When I married Marcella, I knew what I was getting. Sloth and laziness, and six rather large tracts of land. They had to offer a lot to get anyone to marry her!”

  “Duke, you are a rank opportunist,” said the Queen.

  “Perhaps, or perhaps I was just the right man for the job! Do you know what opportunist means, my gypsy?”

  “It means the Duke is a bastard,” I said.

  “True, but there are worse things I could have been. What do you think of destiny, Carmen?”

  “I think destiny is life. You are dealt the hand, and it is out of your control. Then you play the hand you are dealt; and a poor player is doomed.”

  “And who deals the hand, Our Lord Highest?” asked Marie.

  “We gypsies believe it is our patron saint. She is called St. Sara.”

  “Perhaps, Torquemada is right about you, Our sweet gypsy,” said Marie.

  “Don’t even joke about it, Highness. Carmen is in some serious danger,” he said.

  He will come for her. He believes his authority exceeds your own, my Queen.

  He believes he is the Angel of God.”

  “To hell with him. We will kill him first!” said the Queen. “You two stay and converse. We must attend to Carlos as he is feeling unwell.” We both rose and bowed as she left the room.

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  “A hell of a woman and only twenty seven. The weight of the empire rests on her shoulders,” he said. “Now what do you intend to do with all those handsome French lords while you’re away.”

  “Not a thing, Jito.”

  He asked me to spread my legs, and he pleasured me to a satisfactory conclusion while preventing me from touching him. He held back himself to remind me of what I would be missing. The Duke was, indeed, a bastard. My bastard.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The day was approaching when I would have to take Antonio to stay with his mentor and I determined to find out what manner of man he was. I had seen his paintings all over the palace. Most were rather somber and caught the dignity and power and grandeur of the subject. But two most interested me, Los Borachos, (The Drunks) and Vieja Friendo Juevos (An Old Woman Frying Eggs). The life of the common folk was represented, the joy, the hilarity, the basic earthly events of mankind. In these he departed from his somewhat pensive and severe representations of the royals. I realized he could not show a royal laughing or dancing, or just enjoying life. A portrait of a royal had to be dignified and show the spiritual power of the subject. I wanted to see for myself if he, himself, was rigid or severe.

  I met the man and he was generous and open and very warm. I noticed the smell of oil paints and turpentine, such arresting and clean scents, when I entered his studio.

  He said, “Bienvenido, Carmen, esto es mi casa y tu casa talvien”. (Welcome, Carmen, this is my house and your house as well). And he wished me joy and prosperity for all my life, and said he had been most eager to meet me. He instructed his wife, Juana, to bring on the wines and cheeses. He was not a handsome man but his eyes were very black and piercing as if he could really perceive the character of those he met. I walked around the studio looking at all the paintings and saw he was very fond of warm colors like red, pink, and orange. No ghastly portraits of dying saints were present.

  “Senora, I want to get you drunk, and since you are a gypsy, I want you to conjure up a mountain of silver sovereigns that I might have a wealthy, and prosperous old age,” he said and laughed like thunder coming from inside a barrel.

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  “Would that I could. I’d do it for my self as well. But f
or your talent, senor, you do deserve a mountain of sovereigns. I compliment you especially on your painting, Las Meninas, (The Maids of Honor), your greatest masterpiece. The whites are so rich, and the pinks in the little girls’ complexions are so exquisite. One feels as if one could reach out and touch them. I am most impressed.”

  “What greater thing in life than a wedding or a birth, mi gitana (my gypsy). I hope I am free to call you that. I feel as though I know you already.”

  “You may call me anything, my friend. Flora Mala, (Evil Flower), if you wish.”

  “Never, madam. The life force is strong and vital within you. So many vapid, pretty faces I have painted. It is a pleasure to see a woman so alive. Beauty fades: power endures. Will you sit for me?”

  “You flatter me, senor. I notice your little daughter plays in your studio.”

  “Ay, flaca (thin one) is most happy with her papa, and I feel the same. Her name is Francisca. My younger one, Ignacia, died in child birth. It was a great sorrow for Juana and me. I am delighted to have another child, a boy of immense talent. I ask you again to sit for me. Antonio can work alongside me. It will be a great lesson for him.”

  “I agree and I am honored.”

  He then told me he would school Antonio in philosophy and languages as he had been schooled and he had already hired someone to school him in the strategy of war and battle.

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  “A boy must be hard as well as soft. He will engage in war games and boy’s play as well as paint. A man must be well versed in the things of this harsh world. I will teach him Italian and French and German as well. The rest he will also learn.”

  “You are not dismayed that we are gypsies? Tell the truth. Were you forced to take him?” I asked.

  “At first, yes. But when I saw his renderings, I was eager to apprentice him.” I must tell you he understands many things beyond his years but he cannot speak.

  The doctors cannot cure him.”

  “The Queen said as much but I will still teach him languages. We live in a vast and dangerous world and the more he knows the easier it will be to survive. I hear he is a hearty, robust boy in good health. I will keep it that way. Juana loves to cook, clean, and do all the womanly things.”

  That is well, Diego, for France breathes down our neck and Louis XIV shadows every move we make. There could be more wars.”

  “They say you are very politic, very astute, and well versed in the events of the kingdom. My friend, Count Olivares, who got me my position as court painter, says you are a brilliant woman.”

  “I regret there is great unrest among the hidalgos over Olivares’s policies. You must warn him, Diego. They threaten revolt or worse.”

  “He knows, madam, but he trusts to fate that he will prevail.”

  “He must not trust fate, senor. What will you do when Antonio misbehaves?”

  “I will punish him and explain his mistake. I may use some physical punishment but I will not thrash him with brutality and harshness. I never injure my children.

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  Yes, when words fail, a show of power is necessary. No harm must come to him.”

  “You seem to be the right kind of man to raise my Antonio. I am well pleased.”

  “I believe in showing kindness in this world. My people, the Jews, have endured much cruelty and mistreatment, and I am not high born and must dance to whatever tune the royals choose to play.”

  “The gypsies have fared no better in this world. The law still states that a nobleman may shoot a gypsy on sight as a public nuisance. We are viewed as no better than cattle.”

  “So, we have much in common, mi Gitana (my gypsy). Let us eat, dance, get drunk, and generally misbehave. This is a happy day for me to find a new friend and to get a son. Juana,” he shouted, “Bring the cakes and more wine and get yourself out of that kitchen. We are all celebrating.”

  I looked at the jolly Velasquez, his dark hair a halo of curls about his head, his thin sharp face and warm, black eyes, and I felt happy, totally happy. Then I glanced at Juana, plump and rosy like a juicy, fat plum and I knew my Antonio would be well cared for. My Antonio would be a great man. A great man.

  My joy was short-lived. When I got back to the castle Marie was beside herself with anger and grief. Carlos had presided over the single largest Auto de Fe in all Christendom. One hundred twenty-one prisoners were judged and twenty one were rage..

  She sent for me right away. When I arrived she was trembling with rage and she was pale as winter ice.

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  “Carlos has murdered twenty-one people, mi gitana (my gypsy), at the behest of that monster, Torquemada. And he judged one hundred others guilty and they will probably be murdered too. He is so easily influenced: he thinks he has done something great. This approved slaughter must be stopped. What of my position with the Spanish people, The Beloved and Merciful. Gone. All gone. My husband is a murderer no better than Torquemada. We must confront Carlos together, mi gitana. I am afraid of what I will do to him. Afraid of what I will say. I have never corrected Carlos before in a manner he could tell I was doing it. He told me and I walked away because I wanted to harm him. My sweet, childish Carlos, where has he gone? He told me they were bad people, witches, heretics, murderers, Protestants, and Jews. He is like a child, so easily influenced: Torqemada is such a powerful orator and Carlos basically has no education.

  They just let him run wild when he was a child because he was so weak and feeble. He is not a fit King.”

  We went to the royal chamber and found the King pacing the floor, and ringing his hands. His Confessor was there with him telling him he was a great King and had acted valiantly to save the kingdom. Marie dismissed him harshly and firmly. Upon leaving he said, “His Majesty is great and good. The King has served God well on this day.” He hesitated and looked for a moment as if he wanted to contradict the Queen but thought better of it. He bowed his way out of the room. Carlos looked fearfully at her and said, “My Queen is angry with Us but We did the right thing. Those people were witches and criminals. murderers, and Protestants, and Jews. They were evil souls who committed grave sins.” I noticed his hands were shaking and he was sweating profusely.

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  He put a tentative hand on Marie’s shoulder and she glared at him with the eyes of a wild beast. She then reached out and slapped him hard.

  “Cabron, (Bastard) you were manipulated by that monster, Torquemada. He would have never approached you if We were here,” said the Queen.

  “We were not manipulated. We made the decision on our own. The King is never manipulated; He acts according to his own will. We heard the charges, murder, thievery, sorcery, and treason. Even blasphemy against Our Dear Lord. It was just. We were not wrong.”

  “The charges were likely to be false done for political gain. Did he say your place in heaven was assured. Did he call you a saint?” asked Marie.

  The King blushed and dropped his head. “It is not right for you to question His Highness, Marie. But why would he lie to Us? He’s Inquisitor Highest, the Lamb of the Lord.”

  “He is no Lamb, nor is he a good, simple prelate. He has political ambitions. In his mind they were not lies. But that does not make them true. My King, have you ever listened to their stories, visited them, tried to find the truth. Torquemada is a mad man with too much power,” I said.

  “But he was so sure and even the prisoner’s agreed to the charges. That was why We believed. How could he have the nerve to lie to Us, his King?” If you were put on the potro (wrack) or tortured by having water poured down your throat, the toca, you would agree to anything. Perhaps by confessing to things they did not do, they thought they would be absolved. Torquemada says he wants to cure people of their sins.” I said.

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  “Now, I know you are telling me lies, Gitana,” said the King.

  “He is mad with power, Carlos. Will you let him torture Carmen when he comes for her? How about Us too, Carlos. The Inquisitor does not permit love between two wom
en: he says it’s a sin. Perhaps We are also next,” said Marie. “By law We are also a sinner. Sodomy is a sin and you know what We and Carmen do, Carlos.”

  “We would not permit that, and you are confusing Us, Marie.”

  “Not even if it insures your place in heaven according to him?” said Marie.

  “No, We would not allow that. We love both you and Carmen. Carmen is like Our own family. The Lord died on the Cross for our sins. We cannot allow people to sin.”

  “It does appear as though we are doing the same,” said Marie.

  “How can that be: Jesus never sinned,” replied the King. The King began to have a vague, chastened look in his dull eyes.

  “Neither did those poor people. To be tortured and confess does not mean one actually did the deed. They confess to anything just to stop the torture. They know not who their accuser is nor of what they are accused,” I said.

  “Torquemada is a just man. We will not listen to these lies.” The King crossed his arms over his chest and began to pout.

  “My King, these evil practices are a way for the church to acquire land and wealth without paying for it. They confiscate the land and property of the accused and make beggars of his wife and family. It is also a way for an evil neighbor to get revenge on someone whom they feel wronged them. More men are imprisoned for envy than any actual act of wrong doing. Do you know how many wealthy men you have in your 135

  dungeons? How many do you know? Torquemada is a monster and you have done his bidding,” I said.

  “Stop this We command you as your King,” said the King putting his hands over his ears. “We will not be confused or tricked. Of course, We did the right thing! To rid the world of murderers, thieves, witches, and adulterers. We will not listen anymore.

  They deserved to die. They were human vermin! Any more talk from either of you and you both shall find yourselves in the dungeon with all those wonderful people. We have spoken.”

  Then he began to froth at the mouth and convulse on the floor. Marie put a pillow under his head and a rough clothe in his mouth to keep him from biting his tongue.