Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga) (37 page)

      
Benjamin awoke when the warm rays of spring sunshine struck him full on his face. Blinking his eyes, he rolled onto his back, then sat up. Rani was gone. When he turned his head looking for her and the wolf, a sharp pain seized his neck in a vice grip. Rubbing it, he stood up and began to walk toward Averroes. Rani's mare and the wolf were gone. He felt an uncomfortable mixture of worry and relief. What was he going to do with the waif once he reached Marseilles? Or, had she run off and left him?

      
“Where could she have gone alone?” That damned wolf would attract attention and get them both killed. He grinned ruefully then, thinking that Rani alone was enough to incite the most patient of men to murder. His stomach gave a sharp growl of hunger, reminding him of how long it had been since he last ate. “Lord, even a chunk of ash-roasted hedgehog would look good now.”

      
Growing up on Española, he had been taught to hunt and fish by the Tainos, but he had only one knife with him now and this dry open plain was nothing like the lush jungles teeming with small game and streams filled with fish. He had no idea where they were. Perhaps if they were near Vercelli...then he remembered they had no money. He did have his medical instruments and herbs. Perhaps he could barter a scalpel for some bread and cheese.

      
His reverie was interrupted when Vero came bounding up to him with Rani not far behind. She slid gracefully from the mare, then held a dead chicken and a sack aloft. “I have brought us a feast with which to break our fast,” she said triumphantly. She quickly knelt and began to pluck the chicken.

      
Benjamin did not know whether he was more relieved to see her safe and sound or furious with her for running off. “Where did you get the chicken?” He unwrapped the piece of cloth and found it contained a small wineskin and a loaf of bread. He quickly inventoried her gaudy earrings, bracelets and necklaces, unable to tell if anything was missing. “Did you trade a piece of your gold jewelry for this food?”

      
She snorted derisively. ”A
Romni's
gold is her most prized possession. She never gives it away. I found a farm house with a lazy, fat wife asleep when she should have been tending her chickens.”

      
“You stole the chicken—a live chicken? It could have cackled enough to bring the farmer, his wife and God knows who else down on you!”

      
“Do not act like a foolish
gadjo
. I caught the chicken and wrung its neck without it making a sound,” she said dismissively.

      
“And the bread and wine?” He knew he would like this answer even less.

      
“The wineskin was hanging in the well. The loaf I filched from the kitchen as the fat wife and her mate snored away. Twas bread crumbs that lured the chicken to me.” By this time she had the unfortunate creature plucked and was gutting it with her knife.

      
“You are amazingly...efficient,” he said grudgingly. “Here, do not wipe the dirt with the poor bird. We must find some water to wash the blood from the meat before we can cook it.”

      
“Why do you have this obsession with water?” she said crossly. “The blood gives flavor. I do not expect you know how to start a fire, being raised in a rich man's home in the city where live coals ever burn in your fireplace—”

      
“I was raised on an island in the Indies. I can hunt, and I can build fires as well as any
Rom
.” He stressed the word for her people contemptuously as he went to his bags and rummaged for his tinderbox. “You and Vero search out a stream or pond while I build the cookfire.”

      
She muttered a curse in the
Romany
tongue, dropped the gutted chicken at his feet and stalked off. Vero found a small stream about a mile away after a search that took over half an hour. It was narrow and sluggish but would have to serve. At least there was no room for him to swim in it. She shuddered at the memory of her first encounter with water and returned to report. To her amazement Benjamin did have a fire going. He took her directions and rode off with the chicken.

      
When he returned with the carcass carefully cleansed of all traces of blood, entrails and dirt, Rani had rigged two green forked branches at opposite ends of the fire. She reached for the chicken to skewer it on the green willow in her hand. “Nay. I do not want it smeared with mud and blood all over again. Give me the stick.” Rolling her eyes heavenward, she did so.

      
Benjamin roasted the meat, then watched as she pulled apart her half and tore into it, gnawing voraciously and licking the grease from her fingers. “Ugh. This wine tastes exceeding foul.”

      
She shrugged, wiping grease from her face with the last of her bread, then popped it into her mouth. “I have already drunk my fill. It tasted well enough to me, your lordship.”

      
He grinned in spite of himself. “I must appear rather ungracious after you risked life and limb to procure this feast. I do appreciate your efforts, Rani. How far are we from Vercelli? Or do your
Romany
maps tell you that much?”

      
“Of course. We should arrive by noon. The market in the plaza will have all manner of stalls, filled with fruits and meats, even—”

      
“No more stealing,” he interrupted. “Twas one thing here in the country, but in a town you could easily be caught and have your hands lopped off for such an offense. I have some items I can barter for food—or if my disreputable appearance does not put off the good citizens, I can use my medicines to treat the sick for a few coins.”

      
“I have some arsenic. I could poison a few people—just a wee bit and then you could cure them.”

      
“No!” Benjamin leaped to his feet and swore, running his fingers through his hair. “I am a physician. I do not cause people to fall ill so that I may make money by treating them!”

      
Rani chewed her lip in vexation. “If only I were younger, I could be baptized again. That is always good for some coins.”

      
Benjamin blanched and sank down beside her. “Baptized
again
?”

      
Rani laughed, then sobered at his obvious horror. “Tis a simple enough trick. Each time we let one of our children be baptized in the Christian's church, the godparents give a great feast and many presents to the child. The last time I was baptized I was nine. I was small for my age and could act much younger,” she said proudly, as if that explained it all.

      
“Rani, how many times have you been baptized?” He looked up and down the deserted road, fully expecting the Holy Office to pounce.

      
She appeared to count on her fingers for a moment, then said, “Seven, including twice when I was a babe too small to remember.”

      
Benjamin let out a string of oaths exceptional enough to bring a smile of approval to a Marseillaise fishmonger's face. “You must never, never tell anyone this, ever again. Do not even say you were baptized once!”

      
“Are you so religious then? I did not think so,” she said in a surprised voice.

      
“Tis not anything to do with my beliefs—rebaptizing is a capital crime. The Inquisition—you have heard of the Holy Office?” At her vague nod, he continued, “The Inquisition would convict you of heretical practices and turn you over to the authorities to be burned at the stake!”

      
“Christians make too much of such religious foolishness.”

      
“Well I know it. My grandparents were burned as relapsed judaizers and my parents fled Spain to the Indies. While in Marseilles I was a Jew, but when I return home, I must be Christian if I value my neck—and you must cease prattling of such wild and dangerous schemes. Promise me you will never speak of this again.” His eyes pierced her as he demanded her pledge.

      
“Yes, yes. I was too old to try it anyway.” She studied him with renewed interest. “You are a Jew. I have heard some strange things...” Her voice trailed away as her eyes lowered to his groin.

      
“You are a curious little cat, are you not?” Benjamin chuckled. “As to my male parts, you will just have to speculate on that while we ride for Vercelli. On the way I will decide how we may earn enough coin for a clean bed and a bath.”

      
“A bath?” Alarm crept into her voice and she poised, ready to flee!

      
“A bath,” he repeated with finality. “Or you sleep in the stable with the horses—the horses! Of course, how stupid I am!”

      
Rani's expression echoed silent agreement with that statement.

      
“We can sell that white mare for a handsome sum.” He paused. “That is, if she is not a pet you are fond of.”

      
Rani shrugged. “I merely picked her from Django's herd because I knew she was fleet.” She leaped up. “I have a better idea. I can race her! You take the bets of foolish
gadje
and I will beat them. I am a very good rider.”

      
“You would break your neck. Anyway, there is no guarantee you would win. No matter how fast the mare is, there could always be one swifter—and then how would we pay the wagers?”

      
Rani subsided with a sigh. “I would not break my neck or lose, but perhaps you are right. The horse would fetch a handsome price...and I can always steal her back later when we are ready to leave Vercelli!”

      
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes heavenward...and curse...again.

* * * *

      
The room they rented was situated above a busy alehouse. It was bare and rudely furnished with a narrow bed, two splintered chairs and a small table, but the linens were clean and the price cheap. They would have to carefully husband the money they had received for the mare if it was to see them across the mountains to Marseilles. After that, what would he do with Rani? The filthy little urchin was smitten with him. He had to discourage that quickly.

      
Rani wandered about the room, letting her fingers trail over the scarred tabletop. She finally turned, with one last longing glance at the bed and said mutinously, “I will not do it.” Dainty hands perched on her tiny waist, arms akimbo. She dared him to take a step toward her.

      
Benjamin did nothing but shrug. “You will not soil those fresh linens with your odoriferous body and hair. Look, I have even bought you a comb. Perhaps we can unsnarl that mane after you wash it clean.”

      
Rani stomped toward the room's one window. Its shutters were open, letting in the last rays of the sinking sun. “You must at least give me the clothes we bought. After all, twas my horse we sold.”

      
“Twas your brother's horse you stole, by your own admission. No, I will not let you begrime these pretty clothes with your filthy little body.” He held up the simple peasant girl's white tunic and an overskirt of bright golden yellow as if to entice her.

      
“Twould match the color of my eyes and look ever so good against my black hair.” Her voice was wheedling now.

      
“And your blackened skin. No, not until you bathe.” He pointed to the big round tub sitting ominously in the center of the room. A cake of soap, also purchased at the market, lay beside a length of linen toweling on the bed. He picked up the plump round of pungent soap and began tossing it from hand to hand. “Of course, I am not certain there is enough water or soap in all of Vercelli to get you clean.”

      
“Then do not tax yourself. I will not get in that devil's contraption. I will sleep in the stable with Vero and Averroes.”

      
“Good. Then I will use this water, for I
do
wish to be clean.” He began to pull his tunic over his head.

      
“You bathed only yesterday. You will sicken and die!”

      
“Being a physician, I shall risk it. Get you downstairs and order our dinner from the innkeeper's wife. I will join you anon.” He waited until she flounced angrily from the room, then unlaced his hose and removed them. As he lay soaking in the tub he considered the truculent girl. A vision of her high, chocolate-pointed little breasts and slim shapely hips flashed into his mind. He could imagine her clean, with droplets of water curving down her sleek delicate body. With an oath he sat up and began to scrub himself vigorously. “Before we reach Uncle Isaac's house I must decide how to provide for her and rid myself of the troublesome baggage!”

      
When he changed into the clean new tunic and hose, Benjamin felt renewed. “At least I no longer look the ragged vagabond.” As he walked down the inn's rickety wooden stairs, he heard Rani engaged in a shrill argument with the alewife. Her tangled hair hung about her shoulders as she pounded on the sturdy oak table with her small fists. The older woman stalked off with an angry swish of her ample hips, leaving the girl to smirk in satisfaction.

      
“What devilment are you up to now?”

      
She ignored his scowl and replied, “The old cow sent me the most tasteless stew. I had her boy take it back. I told her I wanted it seasoned right and proper—with garlic.”

      
“No garlic. You fair reek of it now.” He walked quickly to the kitchen and called out for the alewife to bring the stew without garlic. When he returned to the table, the serving boy followed, dishing them each a hearty serving of beef, carrots and onions—plain fare but clean and freshly cooked.

      
“Tis tasteless,” she replied.

      
Thinking of the hot spices his uncle imported from the Orient, he smiled to himself. “Perhaps one day I will treat you to a fine delicacy. Tis called curry.”