My Own True Love (27 page)

He turned his glance to the small fires by the tents and wagons. Someone was scratching out a mournful tune on a violin. He could make out Vastarnyi practicing the knife juggling he'd spent the whole trip teaching him. He saw Hadari lead his smelly old bear to a stake driven in the hard ground near the main fire. Apparently the trained bear wasn't to miss his master's wedding. He belonged at the British embassy, but he wanted to be here.

He walked up to Sara and took the long wooden spoon from her hands. He'd made the spoon; Beng had taught him how to carve it. He stared at it for a long moment, holding it as if it were made of gold.

"Get ready," he told her when he glanced up to find her looking at him curiously. "I'll see that your soup doesn't burn. I won't have you looking like a just-tumbled wanton at my friends' wedding."

"Even if I am?"

"Even so. Go on."

She smiled, kissed his cheek, and hurried back inside. Married, she thought, and sighed.

******************

campsite had spread fast. Elders had shown up to greet them as well, and they'd had a lot of news to pass on to the elders from the world outside Bororavia. People gathered quickly for the tales and the wedding and the hastily arranged communal feast. It was a boisterous crowd, too. She noticed the bottles and jugs being passed from hand to hand to add to the merriment and warm up a cold night.

Lewis looked at the happy crowd of gypsies around him and worried. He didn't like it that so many were gathered in one place when the duke had all but outlawed their presence in Bororavia.

"This doesn't make sense," he said to Sara, drawing her into the shadows just inside the large tent set up for the ceremony. People were congregating around lanterns hung up in the center, but no one took notice of them on the edge of the crowd. "Why have the gypsy refugees flocked to Duwal instead of scattering into the countryside?"

Sara shook her head. "Beng told me he'd heard a rumor that all the
kris
were told to gather for a meeting in Duwal. Besides," she added, "it might be easier to survive the winter in the town than in the countryside." She tugged on his hand. Outside, the noise was getting louder, and some of the shouting was almost hysterical. "It's starting. Let's get closer." He nodded, and they moved forward.

Hadari's aged mother stood in the center of the tent. She held up her hands for silence. After the crowd quieted down she spoke, voice high-pitched and carrying to be heard over the party outside. "We have seen death already coming here. Sandor died without the chance to forgive us any wrongs we may have done him. We can only pray his ghost walks to feed among the Polish
gajo
who took him too quickly to see our mourning. He spoke at our last wedding, making the bride and groom married, but we pray he is not with us tonight."

Sara and Lewis exchanged a shocked look. He felt her shudder, and when he realized he'd made the sign against evil he felt himself blush. He found himself saying a quick prayer for the dead under his breath, a simple Anglican prayer. He could only give in to superstition so far.

"I wish she hadn't brought that up," Sara whispered in his ear. "It's so morbid."

"It's just her way of cursing Molly's marriage without pointing out that she's unclean," Lewis whispered back.

"Or protection," Sara countered. "If anything goes wrong we can point the finger at Sandor's ghost and not the ex
-mirame.”

"Not a bad strategy," he agreed. "I just wish she hadn't brought us into it."

Sara gave him a sidelong look, then turned a cool smile on him. "Don't you want to be reminded of your wedding day? I seem to remember you being so anxious for us to get married."

"Sara," he warned quietly, and squirmed inwardly.

"Beng will speak for Hadari and Molly," Hadari's mother continued. She gestured and Beng and the bride and groom stepped forward. They knelt facing each other, on one knee. They smiled at each other.

Hadari's mother placed bread and salt on their knees. Beng stepped forward and began to speak.

Molly looked lovely, Sara thought. She hadn't helped the bride get ready; the women had politely sent her away when she'd volunteered. "It's because you're pregnant, dear," Molly had explained.

"I never said I was—" she'd protested.

"Well, we all suspect that you are. That makes you—you know—unclean."

"Molly!" She'd been shocked at her aunt.

Molly had only shrugged. She had to follow some of the rules. Sara frowned now at the memory.

Beth wasn't in the tent, either, not that the little girl cared about not getting invited to a wedding because she was a
gajo.
She was outside partying with Rom friends her own age. Sara thought that Beth having friends was a good sign, more important than whether she got invited to a wedding right now. And it sounded like quite a party out there. She wondered what all the shouting was about. It was definitely getting louder. It sounded like people were riding through the camp. Horse races in the middle of the night?

Lewis's arm tightened around her waist as he pulled her closer. She relaxed against the warm strength of his body.

Lewis was thinking that he'd do it over if he could. Not just the wedding. Everything. Especially the wedding. He looked at Sara; their gazes met. It hurt so much he almost laughed. "Reality—how would you put it—sucks?"

"Tell me about it," she agreed.

As the bride and groom got to their feet, horsemen crashed into the tent. People screamed, shouted, ran from the heavy, hurtling bodies. Swords flashed. Sara stood frozen, aware suddenly that all the noise was a riot going on outside the tent. But the cavalry was charging around inside it. Lewis hauled her outside, out from under the hooves of a rearing horse, before she could make any sense of what she was seeing inside the tent.

Outside was worse. People were running frantically. Men in green coats, with swords and guns and lances were chasing them down. There were screams of pain and fear. People were swearing and fighting back. Knives flashed against swords in the surreal flickering of the fires. The air was frosted with the breath from screams and the smoke from gunfire.

Only one thought flashed in Sara's head as she and Lewis plunged into this frightening scene. "Beth!"

she screamed. "Where's Beth?"

Lewis wanted to get Sara to safety, but she was right; they had to find the child. He wished they could find all the children and get them safely away. They crouched on the cold ground behind the tent. He pulled his knife. He wasn't entirely surprised to see Sara do the same. He wondered how long she'd been carrying the knife he'd given her?

"Since we got to Bororavia," she said when she saw him look at the knife and his eyebrows go up.

There was a horrific crash as the soldiers turned over one of the
bardos.
"Where is she?" he muttered frantically.

"I don't know!"

"In Maritza's tent!" said a familiar metallic voice.

"In Maritza's—"

"I heard! Stay here!"

"Get real!" she shouted and ran after Lewis as he sprinted away from the tent toward the perimeter of the camp.

He was going to try to circle away from the center, where the Bororavian troops were attacking in force. Sara glanced quickly back. She couldn't tell what was really going on, if the people were being killed, or if the soldiers were out to beat and frighten them and destroy what little they had. There were bodies on the ground; she saw soldiers kicking them. She did see a lance protruding from one still form; it was Hadari's tame bear. The bastards had killed it. She turned and hurried after Lewis. They had to get to Beth!

She saw the glint of light off the saber before she saw the tall man holding it. He came silently out of the night, a gigantic form, sword raised, right in front of Lewis. Lewis's left arm came up to block the man's arm, his knife hand flashing out stiffly. The swordsman jumped back before Lewis connected. The saber slashed again, across Lewis's arm and chest. Lewis fell slowly, face forward onto the frozen earth.

Sara did not scream as the man moved to stand over Lewis, about to finish off the fallen man. She wanted to scream. Instead she stepped forward and almost calmly stabbed the soldier in the back. She shoved his body aside as he fell, so she could get to Lewis.

It was Beth who
found her. The girl came running out of the dark as Sara rolled Lewis gently onto his back. She could hear screams and sounds of fighting in the distance but it had a faded, far-off quality as she glanced quickly up at Beth.

Beth's hand touched her shoulder. "Is 'e dead?"

"I don't know." She felt blood, hot and sticky, on her hands as she ran them down Lewis's chest.

"What are you doing here?" she heard herself ask. A part of her was worried about the girl's safety even while most of her attention was taken up in trying to find out if the man she loved was still alive.

The girl crouched down beside her as Lewis's eyes opened. His hand came up to capture Sara's wrist in a tight grip. He moaned.

Sara let out her breath in a sob. "You're alive." She didn't know how badly hurt he was, but at least he wasn't dead. "We need a doctor." The girl beside her gave a cynical laugh. It was enough to remind Sara of who and when they were. "Beng, then." Sara spoke quickly. "I've seen him treat people as well as horses." Okay, so she'd only seen him set a broken arm and pull a couple of teeth, but Beng was all they had. Lewis moaned again. "We have to find Beng."

Beth jumped up and looked around. "Fighting's dying down. A man came looking for you, Sara," she added. "'E's at Maritza's. I'll get 'im to 'elp."

The girl was gone, racing back toward the camp before Sara could say anything. She pulled off a shawl and draped it over Lewis. The cold could not be doing him any good. It was too dark for her to tell how badly he was bleeding. He was wearing a heavy coat; maybe that had shielded him somewhat from the saber slash. Had she actually killed someone? Were there dead among the Rom? What were they going to do? Where was Beth? What were they going to do?

She bent over Lewis, peering into his shadowed face. His eyes were open, but unfocused. "Don't you die on me," she ordered. "Don't you dare die."

He made a sound like a pained chuckle. "Wouldn't—dare."

"And don't talk." She looked around wildly. “Where's Beth?"

"Love you," he said. Then she felt his body go slack under her hands..

She wanted to scream. She searched for a pulse instead, and started crying when she found it, fast and light, but it let her know he was still alive. She tried to think, but she couldn't remember a thing about first aid. By the time people surrounded her and pried her away from Lewis so they could take him back to camp she was incoherent with shock and terror. She wasn't sure how they got Lewis back to their wagon. She wasn't sure how she got back there herself. Lewis woke on the slow journey back. She heard him fight not to groan with every step the men carrying him took. His efforts left her sobbing.

Beng turned to her after they got the lantern lit and Lewis settled on the bed. He put his arm around her and led her to the door. "You go now. I'll get him drunk and sew him up, then you can tend him. You see to the camp. Help look after things. Keep busy."

Sara was ashamed of herself, but she didn't protest. She had no idea what she could do to help Lewis right now. So she nodded and stepped outside. An icy blast of wind caught her in the face as she jumped down from the wagon; it slapped her around enough so that much of her shock wore off. She looked around her, and for some reason saw a great many people looking back. A crowd was gathered around her
bardo,
most of them people she'd never seen before. In the flickering light of torches held by several of them she read the crowd's stunned expressions. She got the impression they were looking to her for leadership. Maybe they were waiting for Beng to come out and lead them, she didn't know. She did know that something had to be done to put the camp to rights.

She was feeling more like a coward than a leader, but if she didn't do something to keep her mind off the possibility of Lewis dying she was going to go crazy. So she nodded decisively at the waiting people and many of them nodded back.

Beth tugged a tall, slender man forward as Sara came into the crowd. "Mikal," Beth told her.

Sara vaguely recalled the name from somewhere. He was a stranger, but he did seem familiar. Maybe it was because he looked a lot like Jeff Goldblum. He gave her a decisive nod; it almost seemed like a secret greeting. "I came from Duwal," he said. "Tell me what to do to help."

"Mikal," she said slowly. "Mikal the silversmith." He nodded again. She stepped into the crowd, with Beth and the tall silversmith at her side. "First, let's find out who's injured and get them all to one tent and keep them warm. Cala the midwife can organize that."

She continued to give orders and people carried them out. Shelters were found for people whose wagons and tents had been destroyed, debris was picked up. The bodies of two dead soldiers and one dead bear were disposed of. Weapons were distributed and guards were set to defend against the troop's return. Plans were made to disperse the Rom refugees out of one central location so they wouldn't be so vulnerable to attack.

Sara worked through the night, but the work didn't help keep her mind off Lewis. Sometime after dawn she made her way back to the
bardo
at last. Mikal walked with her. It was the first time she was alone with the revolutionary.

"We started the school," he said as they walked along.

"Good," she said.

"I think you should come back to Duwal with me. Stay with my family, they'd like you to."

"I have to look after my husband," she said as they reached the wagon. Beth had been bringing her reports on his condition all night. She knew that Beng said the cuts across his arm and chest were deep but probably not fatal. Probably. She did not like the sound of the word; it was so fatalistic. It was time she made herself take a look at the damage herself. Maybe there was something she could do about it, nurse Lewis back to fine, glowing health, hopefully.