Paxton and the Gypsy Blade

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Paxton and the Gypsy Blade

The Paxton Saga

Kerry Newcomb and Frank Schaefer

CHAPTER I

Wind blew through the trees surrounding the clearing, rattling branches and carrying other night sounds—the whine of insects, the rustle of small animals moving about in the brush, the occasional whinny of a horse or growl of a dog. Parked around the large clearing were a score of Gypsy wagons so sturdily built that they were actually small houses on wheels. The wagons were decorated with colorful drawings of unicorns and flowers, wheels and stars, birds of every color and plumage, and were festooned with bits of bright cloth that fluttered like pennants in the breeze. The horses that pulled the wagons were penned nearby in a rough makeshift corral. Strong, heavy beasts that might once have carried knights into battle, they were content now to rest after their long day's journey. In the center of the clearing, where the remains of a large fire were banked for the night, coals winked like jewels and ghostly trails of smoke undulated upward to be whisked away by the night breeze.

Though there had been a great deal of activity earlier in the evening, tranquillity now settled over the clearing. Most of the Gypsies were asleep in their wagons and in tents that had been pitched nearby, for the wanderers were tired after traveling most of the day from Kent's Grove to the Chiltern Hills and then setting up their encampment. They would be well rested in the morning, ready to prepare for the spring fair and festivities.

All was not peaceful and quiet in one of the wagons, however. Both of its occupants were asleep in narrow beds that folded out from opposite walls, but one of them rolled uneasily from side to side, restlessly tossing her head, tangling her long, thick auburn tresses. She was young but ripe with the bloom of womanhood, as was obvious when, moaning and writhing, she threw back her blanket, revealing a full figure in a thin nightdress.

The violent dreams that crowded in on her as she struggled and tossed filled her sleep with a fear so intense that her breath quickened and the blood raced in her veins. Even as she dreamed, she sensed that the cause of her fear was real and quite close, but it was so well hidden in the shadows of her nightmare that she could only cringe from the specter and never actually see its source. Violence and fear were not all that she sensed, though for there was a man, too, whose face she couldn't make out, but whose presence in the dream served as a calming influence. He had about him an aura of passion, of great strength; he seemed capable of both boisterous laughter and icy rage. She sensed that he was full of everything that made the pageant of life fascinating.

Who are you?
she asked.
Who are you? Speak, I pray you!

He gave no answer. Uninvolved, he seemed poised on the brink of her life, waiting for … what? The proper moment?

Then let me see your face, good sir, that I may know it when the time comes
.

Her fear gradually departed, slowly dissipating like the last vestiges of an ugly storm. In its place, where the man stood, dark shadows rushed in to hide his face, then pulsed outward, soon dispelled by a glowing light that, increasing, became a … tree! A tree, tall and golden, entwined with golden brambles rising like a phoenix from the ashes of her fear.

What does this mean? I beg you tell me, what does this mean?

The image of the tree grew and swelled until there was no room for anything else in the Gypsy girl's mind. A low moan escaped from her throat and she thrashed about more violently. There was nothing frightening about the tree, but a sense of overwhelming power flowed from the image, filling her dream and washing away everything else with the cleansing strength of a rushing river.…

“Adriana!” a voice hissed in the darkness of the wagon. “Wake up, Adriana! What is wrong?”

Adriana bolted awake and her green eyes snapped open. Powerful hands gripped her arms and relief flooded through her as she recognized the familiar shape of her brother, Giuseppe, leaning over her. She took a long, shuddering breath and willed the pounding of her pulse to slow. “I was … dreaming,” she said raggedly, reaching up to clutch his hands and taking comfort from the grip of his blunt callused fingers.

“Do not worry, little one,” Giuseppe said softly. “Your visions have never caused you harm. Nothing will harm you. Have I not always taken care of you?”

“Yes, Giuseppe,” Adriana said, nodding as she sat up. The throbbing in her skull gradually subsided, and she put her arms around her brother and hugged him quickly. “I will be all right now. You can go back to sleep.”

Giuseppe's dark square-jawed face betrayed his concern. “You are sure?”

“Yes,” she promised. “I am sure. Just visions. For myself, I think, but I cannot tell yet.”

He stood and rested a hand on her shoulder as he lingered at her side. “Your moan awakened me. I was frightened to see you in such torment—I thought perhaps you were sick.”

Adriana shook her head and looked up at him. “At first there was fear and terror, but then came a man in shadows and a golden tree.” She paused, realizing how little sense she was making. “Do not worry, Giuseppe. I will sleep now.”

Giuseppe's teeth gleamed as he smiled down at her. “You know best, little one. I am nearby if you need me.”

With a nod, Giuseppe went back to his bed, and Adriana reclined once more on her thin mattress. Her eyes remained open, however, staring into the darkness. She lay quietly until she was certain that Giuseppe's breathing had settled into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep. Then she pushed her blanket back again, swung her legs out of bed, and stood on the wooden floor of the wagon. Despite what she had told Giuseppe, the vision of the tree and the brambles was still as vivid as if it had been printed on her brain. Moving soundlessly, she went to a small window set into one wall, pushed back the curtain, and peered into the night, as thick with shadows as her dream. This was not the first time she had had strange, unexplainable dreams. Usually something about them came true later on. The people who paid their shillings to have their palms read in her tent might scoff at what she told them, but often there was truth in her words. How she knew these truths, and why she had been chosen for this gift, were questions she could not answer. But she knew. She knew.

And now, as she stared out at the stars in the night sky, she wondered what this dream could have meant. There had been violence and fear in her life before: no Gypsy grew into adulthood without seeing things better left unseen. Gypsies had a vision of the world as a strange, dangerous, and magical place. Demons walked the land, fairies hid beneath the oak leaves. A wood sprite might steal your slipper but leave a guinea on the windowsill. The world was an endless display of mystery, life, and death. Hangings, floggings, scourgings, murder. She had witnessed infidelities and lust; jealousy, persecution, and death; and yet she herself had remained safe. Perhaps, because she had been so lucky, fate was waiting to surprise her with something worse in the future. Perhaps ill fortune was lurking there to pounce when she least expected it. But what about the man in the mists of the dream? He had been like no one she had ever known. Would he shortly come into her life and change it forever? Most important, what of the tree, the strange golden tree wound about with a thicket of brambles? The stars winked distantly, the night unwound in silence. Adriana sighed. Only time knew the answers to her questions, and only time would tell.

Fair time! It was spring fair time in Mumford, low in the Chiltern Hills, thirty miles from the city of London. The Gypsies knew what winter in these bleak parts did to the spirits of people who'd been cooped up in smoky hovels, eating a monotonous, starchy diet for six months. They knew, too, how to break through the sullen, oppressive air and elicit, along with laughter, the spare ha'penny and penny on which they made their livings.

The ritual was years old, and each and every man, woman, and child knew his task. The camp woke before daybreak, and within moments the previous night's communal fire was revived and water for tea was boiling. Women cooked while children tended the horses, milked the goats, and cared for younger brothers and sisters. The carcass of a wild boar was encased in clay and set to roast, to be cut up and sold that night. Women began the day-long process of cooking the sweets and puddings and meat pies they would peddle. By sunup, the men had staked out the fair in a plan that would not alter the year long, no matter where they went: a large central commons around which each family was alotted space, the best spots for the eldest and the tribe's leaders, the least desirable for the younger members. Like magic, tents rose and wagons became booths where food and trinkets and notions were sold, where a country lad could try his hand at a game of chance, and where craftsmen plied their trades.

The first fair of the season was always the most exciting, for the Gypsies, too, were tired of the boredom of winter. The day couldn't have been better. Already a cuckoo had called three times, signifying good luck that surely was increased by the discovery of a gold earring that one of the women had lost the year before. The luck held when the sun rose hot and bright, burning off the early morning fog and chasing away the chill of the night before the first customer arrived. Though it was tempered by a vague premonition she attributed to her dream of the night before, Adriana, too, felt the luck as she stood under the sign of the palm over the entrance to her tent. The tent was not large, but it was colorful and eye-catching. Its sides were dyed in alternating vertical bands of red and white, and on top a red pennon flapped languidly in the breeze that rustled the new leaves on the trees. In comparison to the efforts of many of the others, Adriana's preparations had been minimal. The tent had been erected in a matter of minutes, and Giuseppe had carried a bright red rug from their wagon and covered the hard-packed ground inside. On the rug were placed a small round three-legged table and two chairs of lebanon cedar, arranged opposite each other. A pair of unlighted candles in an ornate brass holder completed the decor. Later, the candlelight, heightening the air of mystery inside the darkened tent, would fall on the palms of those who came to have their futures told.