Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga) (32 page)

      
His hands and feet were securely tied and numb. He wondered how long he had been unconscious. The darkness impeded his view, but the contours of the land looked distressingly unfamiliar in the eerie moonlight. They had traveled a considerable distance. When he tried to move his arms, pain lanced through his whole body, eliciting a groan, which in turn brought on a fit of coughing. His aching throat felt ready to close off permanently as he struggled to breathe.

      
Rani saw the movement of his golden head from the corner of her eye and quickly rushed from the fire to his side. Merciful Mother, he was alive and at last awake! Agata had said he would live, but after three days Rani had not been so certain that Michel had not overdosed him out of spite.

      
“Here, let me help you sit up. Do not struggle so. I will bring water,” she whispered as she leaned him back against a wagon wheel.

      
Django saw her leave the fire and rush to the
gadjo's
side when he finally awakened. He followed her quickly. When she stood and turned to go for the promised water, he blocked her path. “The cur gets nothing to drink unless I command it.”

      
“He has nearly died from Michel's stupidity. Agata is displeased with you. The elders will mete out
kriss,
not you and your lackeys, brother.” She ducked past him, but he grabbed a fistful of her hair, causing her to swear with pain.

      
Vero suddenly materialized out of the darkness beneath the wagon and growled at Django. “Call off your wolf else I will kill him.”

      
“Release me else he will tear out your throat,” she countered, yanking free of his punishing grasp and kicking him in the shin above his boots.

      
As Rani dashed off to get the water, Django swore at her but made no move to retaliate. Vero eyed him as if he were a spring lamb with a broken leg. He turned from the wolf's fierce, watchful glare and spoke in Tuscan to Benjamin. “So, you are awake, horsetrader. You are not half so clever now as you were when you cost me a fortune at the fair. You will pay dearly for that.” He swung back one booted foot to kick Benjamin, but the wolf growled and moved between the two men.

      
Rani came running back with a chipped cup filled with water. Kneeling by Benjamin, she put it to his lips. “Drink slowly,” she commanded.

      
Benjamin nearly gagged at the putrid smell of the water. Strange objects floated in the filth-encrusted cup. But it was wet and he was too parched to resist for more than an instant. He swallowed the brackish liquid in slow sips, coughing and struggling to breathe. Then he realized the stench did not emanate from the water so much as the girl holding the cup.
Sweet Mother, what does she do to smell so!

      
He studied her small heart-shaped face. Her features, unlike those of the brute towering above him, were dainty, almost patrician. Sooty long lashes fringed wide golden eyes, now opened with concern for him. Her coloring was much the same as the man's, dark with riotous curling black hair spilling about her shoulders. She was literally covered head to foot with gold jewelry of every sort—bangles on her slim wrists, coins linked about her neck, huge loops in her ears. Even her small toes as well as her slim fingers were winking with gaudy rings.

      
“Is your cough gone?” she asked in Castilian.

      
That voice. Now she spoke Spanish instead of Tuscan. Something nagged at the edge of his memory. “My thanks, lady. Do I know you?” His voice was barely audible.

      
She smiled, revealing small straight teeth of startling whiteness in her dark face. “We met near Pavia. You rescued me and Vero.”

      
He looked at the great gray beast that his drugged brain had thought of as a dog. “The peasant girl with the pet wolf. You are
caraque
! ” he rasped accusingly.

      
Her eyes flashed with golden fire as she replied disdainfully, “I am
Romni
and you are
gadjo
. Be grateful I return your earlier kindness or my
phral
would have broken your bones.”

      
“Could your munificent kindness extend to loosening my bonds before I lose the use of my hands permanently? I am a surgeon, if you recall, and have need of them.”

      
Rani shrugged in perplexity. “I must fetch Agata first. She wished to know the moment you awakened.” Turning to Django she said tartly, “I will return swiftly. Vero will not let you harm him until the
phuri dai
speaks.”

      
“Tis Sandor, not that old crone, who decides. He is chief.”

      
“Remember that well, Django. You are not!” With that she commanded Vero to guard the helpless
gadjo
and ran to find Agata.

      
Benjamin listened to the rapid and angry exchange in their strange Gypsy tongue, berating himself for falling into this coil. That dark boy who had given him the drugged wine was one of them. How stupid of him not to have recognized it—or smelled it! The whole place reeked of garlic and sour sweat.

      
Rani found Agata before her campfìre, stirring a pot slowly and sipping from it with a big wooden spoon. Before she could say a word the old woman spoke. “So your physician has awakened.” She stroked the miniver-trimmed cloak that Django had wanted for his wife. It would warm her old bones on many a chill night to come. The golden one could always obtain another...if he had need of it.

      
“Django wants to kill him, Agata. You must stop him! He saved my life and my honor. I told you all of it when first I encountered him.”

      
The
phuri dai
plucked at the hair growing from her chin, then rubbed another wart above her eyebrow. “And you are drawn to his golden beauty, are you not?” She cocked her head almost coyly and studied the girl.

      
Rani stiffened, then wilted in confusion. “I—I do not know. He is
gadjo
and I am
Romni.
Tis forbidden and yet...yet... Well, I owe him my life and that is all there will be to it,” she huffed.

      
Agata cackled and motioned for her to sit down, shushing the girl's protests. “His body is tough and strong as a lion's. He will not be harmed by a few more moments in those bonds. I have something I must tell you. Tis for your ears only, so that you may understand why you are torn between the
Rom
and the
gadjo
.

      
“You do not remember Zanko, your father. He was a splendid man, far more handsome than his sons Django and Rasvan. In every city and village we visited he would attract women—peasant wenches and fineborn ladies. His black eyes would flash and his smile would sing to them.”

      
“How did my mother feel about this?” Rani asked guardedly. Unfaithfulness was very serious among the
Rom
. Rani did not remember her mother, but felt sorry for her.

      
Agata snorted at the question. “Ah, your mother was beguiled by his charm—just like every other
gadji
. ” She waited for the reaction.

      
“
Gadji
! My mother was
Romni
. She died when I was born. Everyone told me—”

      
“Twas a lie. You and your brothers do not share the same mother. When Sara was brought to bed with her third child she died birthing it and the babe died too. Your father had gotten a fine Hungarian noblewoman with child at the same time as his wife. She was desperate to keep her lord from seeing the
Rom
baby she bore and sent to your father, saying he must come for the child else she would have her midwife kill it. He rode to the castle in a terrible storm, leaving Sara in labor to die alone. He returned with a tiny golden-eyed girlchild.”

      
“Me?” Rani swallowed a lump in her throat. “My mother is alive? She did not want me? She was a
gadji
whore!”

      
Agata shrugged. “Your father was the very devil with his charm. She was wed to an ugly old man too selfish to give her pleasure. Such things happen...”

      
“Why are you telling me this now, Agata? Tis because of the physician, the golden man, is it not? What have you decided about him?”

      
The old
phuri dai
stroked his cloak and said, “This gives me the feel of him. There is bitterness in him...and great pain, yet he is a good man. He has lost a woman and needs to find another.”

      
“And I am this woman?”

      
Agata said, “Perhaps you can heal the physician—if you have the courage.” She paused then and continued stirring the pot. “Or, would you rather remain with the
Rom
and be the next
phuri dai
?”

      
“I am not of pure blood. How could I?”

      
“That does not signify. Your father was
Rom
and you have been raised by our laws. Tis enough for me. But, I wonder, is it enough for you?” Her rheumy eyes studied the girl intently.

      
“And what of the golden
gadjo
? Would he die if I did not take him?”

      
“Do you care?”

      
“Yes, I care. I care very much!” How odd, after such numbing revelations, that she could decide something so important so quickly.

      
Agata grunted and plopped the spoon into the pot. “Come then,” she said, stretching out her hand to the girl. Rani pulled her to her feet. “Let us see to the healing of your physician.”

Chapter Seventeen

      
Benjamin watched warily as the impish girl reappeared, walking beside an ancient crone every bit as filthy and as bedecked with gaudy jewelry as she. The old woman's piercing dark eyes seemed to convey an eerie sort of power, for everyone stepped back and nodded in respect as she hobbled past the campfire toward him and the brute called Django.

      
Ignoring Django, who merely stood and glared with his arms crossed, the woman approached him. The girl knelt by his side with a flutter of skirts and offered him another sip of water, which he gratefully accepted, smell be damned.
I will probably die of the bloody flux if they do not slit my throat.

      
“Do I make you uncomfortable,
Barason
?” Agata asked in Castilian.

      
“Not nearly so much as these ropes,” he replied, studying her wizened face for some indication of who she was or what she would do.

      
“Untie him,” she commanded Rani. A slim, wicked-looking dagger materialized from beneath the girl's skirts and she quickly freed his hands, then his feet.

      
Benjamin gritted his teeth in agony as he forced his arms to move and then began to rub his wrists with numbed hands.

      
“You were only tied this morning when it appeared you would soon regain consciousness,” the crone said.

      
“You seem able to read my thoughts as well as speak my native tongue.”

      
“I am Agata,
phuri dai
of this band of
Rom
. This is Rani, who also speaks your native tongue.”

      
Something seemed to amuse Agata as she looked from the urchin to him. “Rani and I are acquainted,” he said. “Benjamin Torres, at your service. Late a surgeon in the Imperial Army of King Carlos.” When Agata nodded, he looked at the brute who guarded him and added, “I have already made Django's acquaintance, unfortunately. He looks ready to kill me.”

      
Agata smiled. “He is. The question is, will you permit it?”

      
Benjamin's lips curved in a rueful grin that he hoped might charm the old hag. “How can I prevent it?”

      
“You are a surgeon. How skilled are you with a knife, I wonder? Have you ever killed a man?”

      
Benjamin's blue eyes leveled on her, all levity erased. “I am a physician, sworn to save life, not take it.”

      
Agata shrugged but Rani spoke for the first time, in a low hiss. “Do not be a fool. She offers you the chance to live. Sandor, our
voivode
, has agreed to combat between you and my
phral
”

      
“
Phuri dai, voivode, phral
—you speak my language yet you do not.” Benjamin rubbed his head. Thank God feeling was returning to his hands.

      
“Agata is our wise woman and Sandor our chief. The two of them influence our tribal council greatly in matters of
kriss
—justice according to
Rom
laws. And Django is my
phral
—brother. Tis him you must kill.” She studied him intently with those large gold eyes.

      
“Bloodthirsty little wench, are you not?” He looked from the brutish Django to the girl's delicate face and saw no family resemblance but for the generous layering of dirt on their dark skin.

      
“Will you fight Django...or die like a coward?” Agata asked.

      
Benjamin, in fact, had killed before, on more than one occasion back on Española when their
hato
had been under attack. His father had schooled him in the arts of using sword and arbalest, but somehow he intuited this fight would be a bit more primitive. He smiled grimly and replied, “I will fight in self defense if there is no other way.”

      
“Good.” Agata turned to Rani. “Bring him some stew and ale to revive his strength. I will speak with Sandor about the combat.”