Across the thronged midway, a tightrope walker balanced precariously on a tautly stretched rope, his dangerous antics eliciting gasps and cries for more daring feats.
Astride a white horse, a parrot perched on her shoulder, a beautiful maiden with dark red hair flowing free and dressed in a robe of green velvet caught the eye. Tiny silver bells braided into the horse’s mane jingled melodically, while a funny-faced monkey dressed in his finest sat like a prince on the horse’s rump. A young girl with black hair and eyes danced beside the horse and shook a gaily colored tambourine. Her slippered feet hardly seemed to touch the ground as she pirouetted around a large, playful dog with a ridiculously big ruff tied around his neck. A young juggler deceived and dazzled the eye with his tricks while he cavorted behind them and picked up the coins tossed from the appreciative crowd.
“A thirst! Have ye a thirst!” cried a wine vendor, holding out a leather flagon and a cup.
“Hot sausages!”
“Peppered meats, still sizzling!”
“Apples! Pears!”
“I’ve almonds and raisins!”
Inside a tent, close by the wrestling ring, cakes and ale could be had. Children playing games of hotcockle, leapfrog, blindman’s-bluff, and logget paused only long enough to purchase a piece of gingerbread or cup of cider from the booths nearby. Beyond the stalls, where artisans were displaying their wares, where ribbons and lace, tobacco from the New World, Turkey carpets and antique vases were offered for sale, the grounds had been given over to jousting and dancing. In the distance, pens of geese, pigs, and sheep were grouped in a wide meadow. Under the nearest copse of oak, mares and their foals, frisky colts, and strong-chested draft horses were being auctioned.
In a space cleared behind one of the tents, servants and laborers sought to be hired on the spot. Cheers and horrible cries drifted through the air from the makeshift arena where bull and bear baiting drew its share of eager sideline participants. Opposite, a stage full of players tried to attract the attention of the passersby, their voices raised in bawdy verse, after droll wit had failed to interest an audience.
“Have ye an ache? Losin’ yer hair? Trouble sleepin’?” a charlatan cried, holding up a small bottle of a strangely tinted liquid. “This magical potion, secret of the Pharaohs of Egypt until now and bottled on the banks of the Nile, will cure it all.”
“Find out what yer future be! Fortune? Adventure? Marriage, my fair one?” an astrologer, dressed in Oriental robes, his long white beard snaking beneath the silk-covered table, enticed a young woman standing before the booth. “Let me read the stars and tell ye what tomorrow holds. So much knowledge, fer so small a coin pressed into a my palm. Come, before the moon rises and the planets move.”
“Dice? Cards? Primero! All Fours! Riddles? Any game of chance! Why, a hod carrier not more than half an hour past won a fortune! Told me how he now intends to buy not build a rich lord’s mansion!”
Scattered around St. Margaret’s Hill, the Southwark Fair had opened within hours of the final day of the Bartholomew Fair across the river near Smithfield. Michaelmas was less than a month away, and the many festivals and celebrations accompanying the harvest were already being eagerly anticipated.
A handsome man dressed in a jerkin of forest green, his shirtsleeves of the finest linen, stood before a booth decorated with green boughs and garlands of wild flowers. With a roguish smile and a gleam in his laughing blue eyes, he indicated the drawn curtains of the booth.
“A quarter past the hour! Don’t be late! Don’t miss it! Get a seat up close. That is when the next performance of ‘The Wild White Horses’ will be presented. Get here early, for ‘tis the most popular show at the fair. A quarter past the hour! Don’t forget!” Romney Lee warned, and after bowing to those who were already finding a good seat before the booth, he sauntered off, his smile widening with satisfaction.
“Rom! Rom, wait!” a young woman called to him. With no attempt at maidenly modest, she lifted her skirts high as she ran to catch up to him. Her slim ankles, stockinged in scarlet silk, drew many an appreciative and outraged eye as she flew by, unmindful of all but the tall man making his way through the crowded midway.
Romney Lee casually glanced over his shoulder, not slowing his pace. He’d recognized the voice.
“Rom!”
With a sigh of impatience, Romney Lee halted. A boisterous group now blocked his way.
“Did ye not hear me?” the woman demanded breathlessly, her slender arm entwining around his possessively.
Romney Lee smiled down into her slanting eyes. “Hear? In this din? Now, am I a man to turn my back on a beautiful woman? And I’ve seldom seen ye lookin’ prettier, Navarre,” he said. He did not lie this time, for the gypsy girl, with her black hair and amber eyes, was one of the most beautiful women of his acquaintance.
“ ‘Tis a long time since last I heard ye say so,” Navarre murmured, pressing closer, her lips parted enticingly. She was dressed in a gown of black velvet, but away in front to expose the richness of her scarlet petticoats. The bodice, cut low and square, and trimmed with lack lace and red satin rosettes, revealed the roundness of her breasts. About her small waist she had tied a rectangular piece of fringed, Indian cloth. Gold chains glistened against her dark skin and reflected the amber fire in her eyes when she stared up into Romney Lee’s face.
“My voice has been just one of many,” Romney replied mockingly, the heavy scent she wore filling his senses as she leaned against him and boldly allowed the bodice of her gown to gape wide to reveal a seductive expanse of warm, soft flesh.
“But ‘tis the only voice I wish to hear, Rom,” Navarre said softly, her gaze seeking to hold his glance, but Romney Lee had already looked away, as if searching the crowd for something or someone important.
Navarre’s full lips tightened into an unattractive thinness. “Ye be lookin’ fer her, aren’t ye, Romney Lee?” she demanded jealously. “Ye’d do well to listen to me, Rom, and ferget her. She’s no good fer ye. I’ve read it in her palm. She brings the evil eye on us. Ever since she and that little band of hers joined up with us we’ve all had a spell of bad luck. I say get rid of her and the others before ‘tis too late.”
Romney laughed, pulling his arm away from her grasp. “You expect me to take heed of your warning because of a simple palm-reading? You forget, I’m not one of these fools to be duped. You’re just envious, Navarre. When Lily Francisca rides through the crowd, all eyes follow her-as well as most of the coins. You and the others ought to be grateful that we’ve an attraction like Lily Francisca. There is something captivating about her...but you shouldn’t be greedy, my love, for with your dancing you’ve received more than your fair share during the past few years.
“Alas, times change, and I believe even the little one counted more in her tambourine than you did today,” Romney commented, smiling unpleasantly. “You shall have to keep on your toes, for Dulcie Rosalinda’s mother was Castilian, and the little one dances from the heart. I noticed you were strolling rather than dancing during most of the procession. You must be tiring easier than you once did, eh, Navarre? We may have to replace you with someone more spirited. I believe the Webbs need someone to serve ale in their booth . . .”
“Ye swine!” she spat, raising her hand to strike, but Romney’s fingers closed around her wrist and forced her arm behind her.
“Don’t ever raise your hand against me, Navarre, or against those who belong to me,” Romney warned her, his grip tightening painfully.
Navarre spat at his feet. “Ye think this Lily Francisca belongs to ye? I’m goin’ to laugh in your face, Romney Lee, when she breaks your heart. And she will, my fine one. Ye think ye be good enough fer the likes of her? Pah! Ye be dreamin’, lad. Ye just wait, Rom. Ye’re nothin’ to her. Try to take her, if ye can get past them watchdogs of hers that are always fallin’ over themselves to keep everyone at a distance. I don’t know which is worse, that flea-bitten, four-legged one, or them other two. There isn’t much dif
ference between ‘em now I think about it,” she said with a harsh laugh. “But if ye manage to get close enough to her to hold her in your arms, Rom, and knowin’ ye like I do, ye will, then we’ll see how much in love with ye she be,” Navarre told him, her eyes narrowed to little more than slits. “Ye don’t believe me, d’ye? Ye think she smiles just fer ye? She’d smile that way at a stinkin’ beggar.”
“Be quiet, Navarre.”
“Oh, that cuts, does it, Rom, to know that she thinks of ye like she does them half-wits who’d do anything fer her? Oh, she likes ye, yes, Rom. But as a friend! Or, maybe like some servant, or one of them animals of hers. Not as a lover! Never that, Rom!” Navarre said, her narrowed amber eyes full of malice. She wanted to hurt Romney Lee the same way he’d hurt her when he’d brought Lily Francisca into their camp.
“Lily Francisca. Such a pretty name, don’t ye think? Like a fair flower, and as easily bruised, I’d wager. Remember that, when ye climb into bed with her. She’s still innocent of a man’s touch, Rom. She’s not woman enough fer the rough kind of man ye be. The fair maiden will remain exactly that till the right man comes along, and ye aren’t him, Rom. I’ve seen the look in her eye when she thinks no one is watchin’ her. She’s dreamin’ of some other man holdin’ her and kissin’ her and makin’ love to her. Not ye, Rom. ‘Tisn’t your face she sees. She doesn’t look at ye with that lovin’ glance in them cat’s eyes of hers. She’s not fer a rogue like ye, Rom. What d’ye have to offer her? Not even a heart that will remain true, I’d wager. Ye like the taste of women too well, Romeny Lee. Ye’ve never been faithful to me, have ye, now? And I know ye care fer me more than ye have any other woman. D’ye really think ye’d be true to her? ‘Tisn’t meant to be, Rom. If her father were alive d’ye think he’d let ye anywhere near his fair daughter? He was a fine gentleman, wasn’t he? And her mother, the lady of the manor, she was. Like a princess, Lily Francisca is, ridin’ that fine steed of hers. So cold. So haughty. So out of your reach, Romney Lee.
“Don’t be fergettin’ who and what ye are, Rom. Ye be mine. Remember that, too. We be two of a kind. Not of the true blood, either of us, that’s why our blood mingles into one when we’re together. We become like fire when we lie together, Romeny Lee. It burns in both of us. Ye can’t deny it. No one can make ye feel like I do. I am of your blood, Rom. Same as ye be of mine. Neither one of us can change what we are or what we’ve meant to each other. Listen to me, Rom,” she pleaded, staring up into his flushed face, at the angry disbelief written there, at the pain in the dark blue eyes she loved so. “Oh, ye be a fool, Rom! Can’t ye see she’s bewitched ye with dreams that can’t ever come true?”
Romeny Lee pushed her away from him. Stumbling slightly, Navarre spun around, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of the knife tucked inside the scarf about her waist, but she was smiling when she said, “Go to her then! But ye’ll come crawlin’ back to me, Rom. And I’ll be waitin’, as I always am. I’m not too proud to admit that I love ye, and I always will. Ye think this comes of just bein’ jealous?” Navarre asked with a contemptuous laugh. “She won’t be able to hold ye. I’m not frightened of that gorgio with her pale skin and gentle ways. I’m not the only one who thinks she and them others are bad luck. There’s been talk. There are others who--”
Romney reached out and grabbed her arm. “What lies have you been spreading, Navarre? If I find out you’ve been causing trouble for Lily Francisca, I’ll--”
“Ye’ll what? I haven’t said nothin’ that hasn’t already been said by others. Ye be so blind, Rom, that ye can’t see that she and them others have been takin’ money out of the pockets of the rest of us. Well, maybe not yours, eh? Ye be pocketing half of what they get, so ye be doin’ quite nicely. but there be some, and not just of my family, ones who’ve been travelin with this band fer years, who aren’t happy, Rom. She’s not one of us, and she never will be. She’s takin’ bread out of the mouths of those of us who don’t have no other way of livin’. Ye think that be fair? I got no other place to go, Rom. But her, ye think she’ll starve, or she’ll let that little black-eyed sister of hers go hungry if she can’t make enough money with us? Will she watch that innocent-faced brother of hers turn to thievin’? No, she’ll run back to her family. She’s an heiress. Soon enough, Rom, she’ll tire of playin’ the fairs, and then she’ll ride out of here without a backward glance, and right into the arms of some fancy gentleman who’ll keep her in silks and well rounded with child. If ye think otherwise, then ye truly be livin’ in a dream. Ye go ask the wise one, Rom, see what Old Maria has to say about your fair flower. Ye have to believe her words, Rom. We both know she sees the future. ‘Tis no trick with her. Ask her, Romney Lee. If ye have the courage,” Navarre dared him, and with a seductive swing of her hips, she sauntered away. She hadn’t gotten far before several male members of the troupe joined her, laughing as she flirted with them, knowing Romney Lee stood watching her.
But Romney Lee had turned away and was walking toward a group of performers who were sitting in the cool shade of the trees beyond the clamor and congestion of the midway.
They were sharing a meal of coarse brown bread, cheese, and fruit. Countless apple cores were strewn about the big feet of the man stretched out full length in the shade, his snores rising and falling in time to the tentative tune the young boy was trying to play on a hornpipe.
“He ate my act, Rom,” Tristram said with a wide grin as he nodded toward the apple cores at Fairfax’s feet.
“You did well today, Tristram,” Romney said, for the boy had been quick to master the rudiments of juggling and could now proceed to more complicated tricks. “We’ll have to start practicing with fire soon.”
“You mean it, Rom?” Tristram exclaimed.
“Ye be that good, lad,” Romney responded, but his gaze now lingered on the young woman sitting against the tree, her eyes closed while she rested peacefully on the grassy bank.
“Romney, no, ‘tis too dangerous,” Lily protested, opening her sleepy eyes.
“Lily! How am I ever going to become the greatest juggler in the land if I can’t juggle blazing torches! I’m going to try and walk the tightrope next. Maybe I’ll even try to juggle up there above the crowd. And I bet there’d be a crowd. Hey, Fairfax, listen to this idea . . .” Tristram said, throwing himself down beside the fair-haired giant who had yet to stir. “Fairfax? You aren’t really asleep, are you?” he demanded, giving one of the broad shoulders a shake.
“He is certainly braver than I,” Romney said. Dropping down beside Lily, he carefully pulled up a delicate pink bloom before his foot trampled on it. He breathed its sweet fragrance, then held it out to her. Slowly, his eyes took in her flushed cheeks and the rosy softness of her lips. Just like a child awakening from slumber, he thought, then frowned, for the image brought to mind Navarre’s venomous observations.
“Is there anything wrong?” Lily questioned, reaching out to touch his hand rather than the flower.
Romney stared down at the slender hand covering his. Taking her hand in his, he lightly touched his lips to it. “No, nothing is wrong, Lily Francisca. In fact, this has been one of our better days thus far. I’ve never seen the booths so crowded. I came to remind you that you’ve a performance in less than half an hour.”
“How’s the audience?” Tristram asked, his question causing Romney to smile, for the lad was learning quickly.
“By now there won’t be a place to stand within hearing distance of the booth. So, another ten minutes, no more,” he warned, reluctantly getting to his feet. If only he could lie here in the shade beside this maid forever. The rest of the world be damned, Romney thought as his eye roved along the slender curve of thigh he could see beneath Lily’s gown.
“Will you be there for the performance?” Lily asked.
“I’ve never missed one yet,” he said, grimacing slightly with the unexpected pain when he accidentally punctured the tip of his finger on the prickly stem of the flower. Unthinkingly, he crushed the bloss
om in his fist as he stared at the drop of blood dripping from the wound. With a strange expression on his face, Romney stared at Lily’s heart-shaped face, so flowerlike in its delicate perfection.
“Are you hurt? Here, let me see,” Lily asked in concern, holding out her hand.
“It is nothing,” Romney said brusquely, allowing the bruised flower to fall to the ground. “Don’t be late, Lily. I don’t want to lose any of the crowd that is gathering.”
“I won’t, Rom. You’ve been such a good friend to us, I don’t know what would have happened to us if it had not been for you.”
“You will never forget your debt to me, will you, Lily Francisca?” he murmured.
“Never, Rom,” Lily reassured him, puzzled by the strange look that had entered the friendly blue eyes, darkening them almost to black.
Romney Lee glanced away from the earnest expression on her beautiful face. Then, with a curious smile, he walked off.
Lily’s gaze followed Romney Lee’s figure as he made his way into the crowd. She frowned as she stared at the flower; its delicate petals now crushed and lifeless. Sometimes she didn’t understand Romney Lee. He could be so gentle, so understanding, especially with Dulcie and Tristram, and yet, at other times, she had seen a violence in him that frightened her.
Although he had never been violent with any of them, Lily had watched too many times how easily he dealt with trouble-makers at the fair. Sometimes, it seemed to her that he would join in the brawl too quickly. With a wide grin of pleasure on his face, he would swagger through the mob swinging the cudgel he handled with such skill. But it had been the expression in his eyes when he’d drawn his knife on another member of the troupe one evening that frightened her the most. The man had been drinking, and when Lily had wandered too close to where he’d been sitting, he’d dragged her into his arms. Romney Lee had been quicker than either Farley or Fairfax to come to her rescue. Lily had wanted to ignore the incident, but Romeny Lee had not been willing to allow the insult to go unchallenged. For a long time, there had been bad blood between the two men, and as Romeny Lee had turned away, the man had jumped him. When Lily had seen the knife blade glinting in Romney Lee’s hand, then seen the look in his eye, she had known what the outcome would be and that Romney Lee would show no mercy.
Wild Bells to the Wild Sky Page 35