by Duncan Pile
“Of course it feels right,” she said. “The man in you is waking up and wants what he wants, but I don’t want this unless it’s clear-headed.”
“But…” he began, but didn’t know what to say.
“I really like what you say about honouring me,” Lydia said in a quiet voice. “It means a lot to me.”
Taurnil felt some of his ardour fading. Maybe she was right. He was getting ahead of himself, letting his feelings control him.
“Taurnil, let me tell you something,” she said in earnest. “I’ve never explained this to you fully, and it’ll help you understand me better.”
“Okay,” he said.
She looked away into the distance before starting, ordering her thoughts. “I once told you that gypsy girls give themselves to their boyfriends at about my age,” she started, and Taurnil nodded, not wanting to interrupt. Lydia didn’t often go into a lot of personal detail, and she was obviously trying to tell him something important.
“What I didn’t tell you is that gypsies rarely marry. We believe that few people ever find their true soul mate, but when they do they pair up for life. Like my Ma and Da. That’s why they lead our family. They are soul-bound, and among our people that is something very special. Most gypsies have a number of partners throughout their lives. One at a time of course, and those partnerships can last for several years, but when a couple want to commit to each other for life, they become soul-bound, and it is a cause of great celebration. Do you understand?” she asked, looking at him intently.
“I think so,” Taurnil said, shaking his head at the ideas she was putting forward. “But what about having children? Surely that means that gypsy children don’t have a family.”
“No it doesn’t!” Lydia answered vehemently. “Gypsies get accused of being poor parents all the time because of it, but that’s not fair at all!”
“Sorry Lyd! I don’t want to upset you,” Taurnil said. “It’s just hard to understand.”
“I know,” she said more calmly. “I’ll try not to get angry, but maybe just listen for a moment and you’ll understand better.” Taurnil nodded, not daring to say anything else.
“Gypsy couples have children like everyone else, but because partners don’t stay together for long, they aren’t brought up in the same way as other children. They aren’t raised by their parents, but by the whole family. So in a way they get many parents, and even more brothers and sisters. That’s why we call a gypsy caravan a family, even if there are thirty or more members - because most of them are family in one way or another.”
“Oh,” Taurnil said, dumbfounded by the revelation. “What about you? If your Ma and Da are…soul-bound, then that means you are…”
“…actually their child,” Lydia finished for them. “I’m the exception. I live in their wagon and we’re the only ones in the entire family that have anything like the kind of set-up you think of as normal.”
“You’re not related to the rest of the family?” Taurnil asked.
“No, not by blood. My parents met when they were young, and they’ve only ever had one child. It’s a source of great sadness to them, but they’re very proud of me.”
Taurnil sat in silence for a long while, absorbing what Lydia had told him. It was a totally foreign world to him, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be comfortable with it, but what mattered most was what it implied about his relationship with Lydia. Did they even want the same things?
“So what do you want for us?” he asked, asking the question that scared him witless. He heard the vulnerability in his voice and felt utterly exposed. If Lydia said she didn’t want to commit to him it would break him, but he had to know. There was no going back now. “I mean, if being soul-bound is such a rare thing, do you feel that way about me? Because Lydia, I can’t just be with you for a year or two and then watch you move on to someone else.”
“I know that,” she said intensely. “I’m not playing with you Taurnil. I love you in a way I never could have dreamed of. Everything in me tells me I want to be with you forever. I wanted to speak with my Da about it before having this conversation, but it’s too late for that now.” She leaned forward and placed her hands gently on his chest. “My love, I believe we are soul-bound.”
Taurnil felt a huge rush of relief, the tension flowing from his entire body. He sagged forward, feeling like a giant jelly. “I’m not built for this,” he said wearily, drained of all energy.
Lydia kissed him warmly, embracing him for long moments. “If we are soul-bound, my darling, then wouldn’t it be better to wait before we bed each other?”
“You’re probably right,” Taurnil said, pulling out of the embrace. “But seriously, let’s make this as easy as possible. When does your Da arrive?” he asked.
Lydia frowned. “I don’t know. I expected them several months ago, but gypsies don’t follow a fixed schedule. Hopefully they’ll be here in the next couple of months,” she said.
“Hopefully,” Taurnil responded, and lay back against the gunwale, feeling like he’d been forced to run uphill in full armour. “And when he finally gets here, I’ll ask for his blessing.”
Thirty-Nine
Jonn left the barracks nursing a dozen aches and pains from a hard day’s sparring with the other guards. It had been like this for weeks now, ever since he started drinking heavily again. His heart just wasn’t in it and his reflexes were compromised. Today, he’d taken an embarrassing battering from a guard he used to beat hands down every time, and he was just glad it was over. Sabu had asked if he wanted to go for a drink once they were off-duty, but Jonn had sensed the concern in his friend’s enquiry, and just couldn’t summon the energy to pretend everything was okay. So he slunk out under the cover of darkness and made his way to the Stag’s Bellow.
It was particularly full that night, crammed with more than the usual number of its disreputable clientele. He frowned in displeasure. He came here for the anonymity, and people normally left him alone in the corner, but such a big crowd meant he would be jostled and bothered all night. He was too desperate for a drink to look for a different tavern, so he passed by the bar, picked up a bottle of whisky and retreated to an unoccupied seat against the wall. He downed the first two glasses and settled back to wait for the warm liquid slide to set him loose from his morbid moorings. It wasn’t long before the whisky took the edge off his physical and emotional aches, but even in that numbed state he still felt tense. He just couldn’t shake it. Downing another glass of whisky, he willed the pain away, but it was no good. He could feel himself spiralling downwards, losing control of everything that made him a good man. The deepest pit was opening beneath him, and try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from falling into it.
He looked around in desperation. He needed something, anything to distract him from what he was feeling. His eyes fell on a trio near the doorway, and even in his desperate state, his instincts cried out that something was very wrong. All three of them were heavily cloaked, but two of them had their hoods pulled back and the other, more slight figure had it pulled down over their head. Though the hood concealed their features entirely, Jonn was sure the hooded figure was a woman. The hooded figure started to wriggle, making what was clearly a female noise of protest, and one of the men grabbed her roughly by the neck, speaking harshly in her ear. She kept trying to get away, and as she continued to resist, the two men stood up and pushed her out the door. Jonn sprang to his feet, filled with sudden fury. He was not about to watch a woman be accosted and dragged off like that. Leaving the whisky bottle behind, he strode across the room, barging into several people on his way out.
Assessing his condition, he determined that he wasn’t too drunk to fight. He rested one hand on the pommel of his sword and patted the concealed knife he wore within his clothing with the other. Ready for combat, he pushed the tavern door open and stepped out into the night. There was no immediate sign of the three figures, but there was only one place they could have reached in the time it had taken
him to follow them out of the tavern, and that was a small, dingy alleyway to his right. Taking quiet, swift steps, he rounded the corner and peered down the alley. It was dimly lit, with long stretches of darkness between the occasional lanterns. Fetid water gathered in pools between the cobbles, ripe with the stench of filth.
The muted sounds of a scuffle sounded from somewhere up ahead in the impenetrable dark, and Jonn started down the alley, taking care not to slip on the slimy stones beneath his feet. As he approached a sharp turn in the alley, the sounds increased, punctuated by muffled noises of alarm. Light shone dimly from round the bend, and he was aware that if he took another step he’d be fully visible. There were two of them and only one of him, but he didn’t see any alternative. Stealing himself, he drew his sword and stepped out into the light. What he saw filled him with a dreadful anger so intense it seared away all thought, leaving him with nothing but rage.
One of the men was holding the woman up against the wall while the other held a bundle of cloth hard against her mouth while he fumbled with his trews. The woman’s clothing had been torn open, exposing her body to the lustful eyes and hands of her would-be rapists. Her hood had been thrown back in the tussle, and for a moment Jonn froze, convinced he was looking at Rhetta. Blond hair fell across her dirty, bruised face as she screamed into the gag, blue eyes wide with rage and fear. The man holding her fell back as he saw Jonn, drawing his sword with a noise of alarm. The other man stopped fumbling with the string of his trews and turned his head, staring at Jonn in surprise.
“What do you think you’re looking at?” he growled.
Jonn allowed his rage to focus him. “I’m not leaving,” he said quietly, stepping forward and bringing his sword up before him. His mind was suddenly very clear. He’d have to separate them if he wanted any chance of rescuing her and leaving this alley alive. In that moment, she solved that problem for him. Freed from the restraining grip of the first man, she punched the gag-bearer in the face, causing him to reel back in pain. She kicked out, her foot connecting hard with his crotch, and he collapsed to the floor, rolling around in pain and vomiting noisily. With one swift motion, the other man hit the blond woman across the head with the butt of his short sword, and she fell to the floor in an unconscious heap.
“Looks like it’s just you and me,” the other man said. He was ugly as sin, his heavy-boned face marked by several jagged scars. Stubble grew where it could between the puckered lines of skin, creating a patchwork effect across his wide face.
He took Jonn in with shrewd, dark eyes. “You were in the tavern,” he said, “which means you followed us. Pretty brave to attack two swordsmen when you’ve been drinking.”
“Are you going to talk or fight?” Jonn said, knowing that he was just stalling to give his partner a chance to recover. He wasn’t going to let that happen. Leaping forward, he attacked, slashing across the man’s torso. The man blocked him and counter-attacked, his heavy blade sweeping in a dangerous horizontal arc. Jonn used the momentum of his first attack to carry him forwards, spinning around his enemy to get out of range, but a searing pain across his tricep told him he hadn’t been quick enough. Stepping back, he clamped a hand over the wound. When he lifted it away, it was thick with blood.
He staggered, unsteady on his feet. He was going to have to finish this quickly or he’d be done for. The other man was not a skilled swordsman, but he was very strong and not as drunk as he was. He formulated a desperate plan. It was dangerous but it was the only thing he could think of that might work. Stepping forward, he slashed at his attacker’s torso once again, but this time he deliberately overextended himself. As he’d hoped, the larger man saw his opportunity and swung his sword at Jonn’s exposed chest, but instead of trying to deflect the attack, Jonn stepped inside the man’s guard, exposing himself to injury but placing himself in deadly proximity to his enemy. The other man’s blade cut deeply into his arm, slicing through muscle and hitting bone. The blinding pain almost caused him to black out, but he held onto consciousness through sheer willpower and drew his knife with his free hand. The other man’s eyes widened in panic as he rammed it up through the upper part of his belly and into his heart. Panic changed to surprise and then faded out to nothing as he slipped off the knife and fell to the ground.
Jonn gasped in pain, resting against the slimy wall of the alley as he fought off unconsciousness. If he gave in to it now, he’d not leave this alley alive. The other rapist groaned and tried to rise to all fours. Gathering himself, Jonn staggered over, trying to see through the black spots that threatened to swamp his vision. He hit the man hard behind the ear with the butt of his knife, and he collapsed face first into his own vomit and stayed still. Jonn knew it was time to get out of there before any of the rapists’ friends turned up and finished him off. He tugged at the woman’s arm, hoping to rouse her from unconsciousness, but she didn’t respond.
He would never remember afterwards how he did it, but somehow he lifted her off the floor and swung her over his shoulder. He staggered back down the alley in a state of near oblivion, every step sending shocks of unbearable agony spiking through his body. His breathing was a hard rasp in his throat, the pumping of his blood a deafening thud in his ears. He made it to the end of the alleyway and swung left. He wasn’t safe in this neighbourhood, but if he could stay on his feet and walk along this one long road, he’d emerge onto one of the main streets and be picked up by the guards.
The next few minutes were an eternity to Jonn, a blurred, boundless torment of steps that shouted of his desperate condition. Later he’d recognise that walk as the longest of his life, and the one that took the most courage, but in that moment all he had was the dogged refusal to give up, and when he finally emerged into the brightly lit main street and fell to the paving stones, spilling his precious cargo onto the ground, he stubbornly held onto consciousness until he saw the lamplight gleaming off shining helmets. The arrival of the guardsmen told him she was safe, and it was only then that he gave up and let blackness take him.
Forty
When he came around his left side felt like it was on fire. As he blinked gritty eyes, he saw that he was in a small white-painted room, empty except for the bed he was lying on. Bars covered the single window, and the door was open. It looked like the infirmary, though not any part of it he’d seen before. Memories of the fight came back to him in a flood. The girl! He tried to sit up and almost blacked out, his cry of pain bringing two white-robed infirmary staff rushing in through the door. They went to either side of his bed, one pushing him back down and the other pouring some acrid-tasting liquid into his mouth. He was too weak to resist, the jagged edge of his pain receding as a hot wave of numbness swept through him.
“Where’s the girl?” he asked, struggling feebly to rise once more.
“Lie still,” one of the men said sternly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait till the sergeant gets here before your questions are answered.” Jonn was confused by the man’s grim expression and unfriendly tone. What was going on? Suddenly it became painfully clear, and fury rose in him like a crimson tide.
“You think I attacked her?” he spat, boiling with rage.
“It’s not up to me to think anything,” the man replied, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him down against the bed. “Now lie still or we’ll have to restrain you.” Such was his pain that he gave in, gasping as he waited for a fresh wave of agony to pass.
“Why haven’t you asked her what happened? Why haven’t you healed me?” he asked when the pain had receded.
“No more questions,” the man in white said, his tone brooking no argument.
He didn’t have long to wait before the sergeant arrived, loud footsteps in the doorway heralding his entrance.
“Leave us,” a familiar voice said, and as the healers departed, Brill walked into the room. He was accompanied by two other guards, who stationed themselves at the door. Jonn’s heart sank as all the pieces fell into place. He and Brill used to get on well
enough, but that had all changed when he’d befriended Sabu. Brill despised foreigners, especially when they took what he considered to be local peoples’ jobs. His behaviour towards Talmo and Sabu was disgusting, and that hatred carried over to anyone who was associated with them.
“Well well, look what we have here,” Brill said, his tone insufferably smug.
“Brill you idiot!” Jonn said. “You know I had nothing to do with what happened to that girl.”
“I know no such thing,” Brill shot back angrily. “For all I know you raped that girl, and you’ll sit trial for it like anyone else.”
Jonn’s fury was momentarily pushed aside by amazement. Was it possible that Brill’s prejudice against Sabu went so far that he’d let a fellow guard be wrongfully accused of something so serious?
“Brill,” Jonn started again, moderating his tone. “If we just wait for the girl to wake there’ll be no need for this.”
“The girl is unconscious and has been since we picked her up. She took a serious blow to the head - who knows if she’ll ever come round?” Jonn’s anger resurfaced as he realised he wasn’t going to get anything like fair treatment. “Time to go to jail,” Brill said. “Pick him up.” The other two men stepped forward, their faces closed, reaching out to take hold of him.
“My wounds will open!” Jonn said, desperate to avoid the agony of being manhandled, but it made no difference. Heavy hands grabbed hold of him and hauled him upwards, and a blinding bolt of pain shot down his left side.
“Put him down!” a deep voice spoke from the doorway, and Drillmaster Trask stepped into the room. Jonn fell back in relief. Trask would give him a fair hearing. The drillmaster looked around with narrowed eyes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked Brill, his voice hard and dangerous.
“Arresting a rapist,” Brill said, his lips compressed into a tight, angry line.
“What witnesses do you have for this crime?” Trask asked.