Shelter in Lariaan
The sounds and smells of Lariaan danced around Gratia, filling her head with an amazing patchwork of experiences. Everywhere she turned there was something new to see and explore. Large tables with canvas roofs lay bare herbs, spices, silks of every colour of the rainbow, fruits and vegetables her taste buds were crying out to experience; leathers, furs, glass bottles filled with scents and penny cures, sweet singing birds in pretty brass and reed cages, books and pottery – there was nothing they did not seem to sell. There were large fenced arenas in which animals of all sorts were being sold: horses and cattle, sheep, pigs, all types of creatures, many she had never seen before.
On every side of the labyrinth of twisting roads that meandered through the town, there towered huge buildings that seemed to reach up to the sky itself. Every now and then someone would open a window and there would be a cry of “look out below!” before a cascade of grimy water splashed onto the street and slosh away down a grid in the gutter. There were people wearing little but rags, sitting in the sidings holding out their hands or shaking little metal tins. Then there were the finely dressed men whose mare’s legs threatened to buckle, and delicately threaded golden buttons looked fit to burst free, under the strain of their wearer’s overhanging gut. These were the 'gentlefolk' of the town, the ones with more money and less sense than everybody else.
Gratia looked with awe as they passed on their grand horses and their finely gilded carriages. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to live just one day as they did. How wonderful it would be to eat like a king every night and have others do your bidding whenever you clapped your hands.
Gale couldn’t contain the large grin that flooded over his lips at the sight of Gratia’s widening eyes. Everything seemed to hold some new curiosity for her. She flitted from street to street, having no idea where she was heading, and leaving him to follow behind her. She was like a little child learning of her surroundings. What a sheltered life she must have lived for even the poverty-stricken beggars to hold some fascination for her.
But he was not about to stop her, it would be cruel of him to end her explorations so soon. She appeared to be walking through a daydream. It was only another hour or so before his mother would be serving up supper for the family and there would always be plenty for unexpected guests. Then he would pull her away from all of this for the night, for no doubt she would have plenty of time to see every little corner of Lariaan in the morning.
As the dusky evening rolled in, throwing a cloak of fiery pink across the sky, Gratia found herself being pulled further from the centre of the town to the outskirts. As she followed Gale along a winding path, the houses began to get slightly larger and then gaps appeared between them. Before long, the cobbled stone street had disintegrated into a dusty mud track at the end of which stood a large farm building with a barn behind.
Once again Gratia’s eyes glistened with amazement as they entered the house. The largest Romany in her camp would have fitted at least six times into their dining hall, in which a huge oak table was adorned with silver cutlery and heavy iron candlesticks.
Gale pulled out a chair to the left of the table’s head and she sat down. Then he himself sat in the chair at the head of the table, sprawling one leg over an arm and leaning back on his elbow. Gratia thought about this for a moment and then asked:
“Your father?”
Gale looked uneasy for a moment and then replied, “He is dead.”
“Oh. I am sorry.”
Gale’s eyes lit up and the wide smile began to spread across his lips. “You are sorry for the death of a man you never knew?”
Gratia was unsure why this should cause him such amusement, but she saw his point was quite valid. Not wishing to lose again to his jesting ways, she answered, “No, I am sorry if I brought you back painful memories.”
Gale’s smile faded. For a brief moment he held her gaze with uncomfortable steadiness, then jerked his head aside and stared at his boot hanging over the arm of the high-backed chair.
“The rest of the family will be arriving soon. I suggest, when they ask you a question, you do not tell them of your gypsy origins.”
Gratia, running to keep up with the sudden change in subject, frowned at the indication that she should lie about herself to please his family.
“Why should I deceive your family over who sits at their table?”
“I did not ask you to deceive them. I merely suggest that, for your own sake, you do not play a tale on the fact you are a gypsy.”
“Should I be cast from your table if I was to?”
“No, nothing of the sort, but it would make life easier upon you should you–”
“Well, if that is the case, I should not wish to impose my company on those who do not desire it!”
Gratia began to rise from the table.
“Do you believe I would have brought you here if you were not welcome?”
“Well, it is quite obvious that I am not welcome.”
Gratia began to walk towards the door.
She reached for the door handle.
Suddenly, Gale’s gruff voice thundered through the air, making Gratia jump with the harshness it contained.
“Sit down.”
Slowly, she began to turn back towards him, meeting is eyes in a steady gaze.
“I have been courteous enough to bring you to my table. You could at least pay me the same courtesy by gracing the rest of my family with your presence during the meal. Regardless of what you think of me, you will be doing yourself a favour by staying.”
Unaccustomed to being talked to in such a fashion, Gratia’s meek voice made one last attempt to play the upper hand. “Like you paid me the courtesy of spying on me whilst I bathed?”
Gale’s face remained tainted with irritation, void of any humour she thought her comment may have aroused. He sighed and waved a passive hand. “Fine, go then if that is what you wish. I am too tired to argue with such a petty child.”
A petty child? He had just called her a petty child! And what made him so regal! With that, Gratia strode back to the table and firmly seated herself in the chair.
Inside, Gale laughed out loud as Gratia reseated herself, though his facial expression remained cool and collected. What a woman. He had never seen anything like it. First she turns up bathing in his stream, then she dances him around the streets for a good few hours, and now she sits and insults him under his own roof. He had a feeling he was falling in love with her.
But there was the problem of her gypsy origin. He had no wish to see the reaction on the faces of his family when they found they were dining with a gypsy girl.
His father had been a good man. A very good man. A hard working man with very little in his pocket. He had taken over the field to the west of the city to grow a large calamint crop. Ever since then it had provided very nicely for his family, many of whom also worked the fields.
Then, two years ago, a group of gypsies had wandered into the town, buying supplies and getting their horses seen to. They set up camp just inside the northern boarders of the town. The people of Lariaan had been very tolerant, giving a few coppers when they had come begging and being more than generous with their food. His father had allowed them to take half a dozen baskets of his crop.
Then, one day, a group of young gypsy boys had come to the market place. They had pocketed several handfuls of fruit and one had taken a carved wooden toy. As they ran away from the angry stall owners, they knocked over a wooden stand which had fallen down like a pack of cards, killing an old townswoman.
After that event, the High Excellence of the town had ordered that all strong men must go to the gypsy camp, bring back the three boys who had committed the offence, and evict the rest of the camp from the land.
His father had gone with the other men. The next morning he returned, heralded a hero by the rest of the group, for he had caught one of the young boys. In the confusion that accompanied the eviction of the gypsies, the other two children had made good their escape, leaving their youngest friend behind.
Gale would never forget the look on the six-year-old boy’s face as he stood on that wooden platform, elevated high above the teaming hoard of townspeople who had turned out to watch the event. Tears streamed down the little boy’s cheeks. He stood unnaturally still as the noose was adjusted to fit his neck.
Hands tied behind his back, a dark patch began to spread across the little boy’s ragged trousers. He looked to the preacher who was reading the Lord’s Prayer. The Preacher avoided the little boy’s gaze, burying his head in his bible. Next, he turned his head to the High Excellence who sat in a large chair at the back of the crowd. The High Excellence looked back with cool, collected eyes, offering no comfort. Then the gypsy boy spoke to the hooded executioner tightening the noose.
For a minute, the executioner stood there, unsure what to do. Then he walked to the front of the platform and raised his hands. The two drummer boys on either side began to beat away in the rhythm of the execution. The hooded man waved them silent and then turned back to the crowd.
“Hear yea all, the last words of this vermin.”
With that, he stepped back. A great hush spread over the throng. With a shaky voice, the little boy began to talk in a surprisingly good common tongue.
“I have done nothing wrong! You execute me for what I am, a gypsy, not for what I did, for I have done nothing wrong! You! Preacher!” The preacher buried his head still further into his bible, mumbling the Lamb of God. “You are no godly man. You kill innocent person! God will punish you for this, make you burn in hell for this! You!” He turned his gaze back to the High Excellence. “You are no great leader! You lead the innocent to their slaughter! One day the people shall punish you for this!” And then the little boy turned his gaze in Gale’s direction. At first he thought the child was gazing at him, but then he spoke. “You! Farmer man. You commit the worst crime of all! You believe in these other two people. The two who are not godly and lead innocent to the slaughter. Therefore I shall punish you!”
And with that, the trap opened and men ran forward to pull down the child’s legs and stop the convulsions.
That was how it began. One week later, the remains of the preacher were found sitting in a chair by his fireplace. His skin was blistered and his chair singed. The whole room smelt of burned flesh.
Exactly a week later the people of the town voted the High Excellence out of power. He was so broken by this that he threw himself from the church spire.
And then, exactly a week after that, Gale’s father had become ill. Coughing up blood and running a terrible fever, he had passed away three days later.
And now, he was sitting down to supper with a gypsy woman.
