Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga) (34 page)

      
“There. If the stitches hold and fever does not rage, causing the red swelling and pus, then he may live.” He looked up and met the hate-filled eyes of Rasvan Janos. He turned to Rani. “Another duel?”

      
“No. You have won fairly. Sandor will not permit it. But do not turn your back on Rasvan. He is the treacherous one.”

      
He snorted in amusement as he stood up. “If Django is the honorable brother, God save me from Rasvan!”

      
“You are injured yourself. Django has cut you many places. Why did you take such dangerous risks to give him small injuries?”

      
“I followed your
phuri dai's
advice,” he said cryptically as the old woman scuttled up to him.

      
“I will have his woman tend Django now. Let Rani see to your hurts,” the old crone said to Benjamin. “You did well.”

      
“Will he live?”
Why do I ask her that
?

      
Agata smiled as if overhearing his unspoken question. “Yes, he will live.” She turned to Rani. “There is a soft bed beside my tent and wine and bandages by my fire.”

      
“Come,” Rani said to Benjamin. He followed, too tired to protest or question these strange people further.

* * * *

      
Benjamin awoke slowly, hearing the boisterous noises of the Gypsy camp. Agata's tent was at the edge of the encampment, near a copse of low flowering bushes and pine trees. He rubbed his eyes and felt a dull ache in his shoulder, another on his arm where Django's blade had cut him. Wincing, he began to sit up.

      
“Tis time you were coming around. I was about to give you up for dead. No way for the winner of the combat to behave,” Rani said in a chipper voice. Vero lay beside her, studying Benjamin with intent gold eyes.

      
Benjamin observed the pair warily. By bright daylight Rani looked even more waiflike and bedraggled than he remembered from their first encounter. Seemingly pounds of tangled black hair was tied back from her elfin face with an orange silk scarf. She scratched her small nose with one grubby little hand, then dipped her fingers into a battered iron pot of lumpy stew. The food looked far worse by daylight than it had last evening. “How fares the loser of the combat? Have my stitches held?” he asked, ignoring the growling of his stomach.

      
“Django will live,” she replied dismissively. “Did not Agata say so? Many of our people think you are a great wizard—or a great fool for saving his life.” She shrugged and gestured to the pot. “Here. Share with me. You must be starved.”

      
Benjamin watched her lick her filthy fingers with obvious relish, then dip them once again into the pot and fish out a particularly large hunk of greasy meat, which she tossed to Vero who devoured it with snapping yellow teeth. He scooted nearer to her and the pot, which was sitting on a well-stained wooden board that served as a table. Some hunks of coarse brown bread lay beside the pot. Taking a piece of it, he chewed very carefully, wondering if it had maggots baked in with the suspiciously crunchy dark flour. “What is that you eat?” Probably pork.

      
“Hedgehog, freshly killed yesterday,” she replied brightly.

      
He spit out the bread with a great cough, then swallowed and attempted to catch his breath. “Hedgehog?”

      
“Aye. Hedgehog. The leftover parts were stewed with fine fresh nettles and wild garlic.”

      
“Why did I ask,” he said rhetorically. “Have you any cheese? I would, er, forgo the delicacy in the pot if you do not mind.”

      
“
Gadjo
are really foolish. How do you know you will not like it if you never taste it?”

      
“For one thing, it fair reeks of garlic, which I do not like—and I have tasted that.”

      
“Have some ale while I see about the cheese.” She poured him a cup of foaming warm brew. Wiping the rim, he sipped, then took another bite of bread. Rani turned to where a rickety wicker hamper sat and rummaged through it. She extracted a wedge of moldy cheese wrapped in a filthy cloth. Stifling a yawn, she tossed it onto the board where it landed with a solid thunk. The wolf's eyes followed it hungrily.

      
“You look as if you have not slept,” he said as he unwrapped the cheese.

      
“Someone had to watch over you lest Rasvan slit your throat in the night.” She produced a dagger from beneath her skirts and made a dramatic gesture with it before sinking it into the board next to the cheese. “Vero and I took turns.”

      
“I owe you both my thanks,” he said, remembering the second brutish Janos brother. He began scraping the dirt and mold from the cheese, then pared off a hunk and tasted it. “Either I am starved or this is delicious,” he muttered.

      
Rani beamed. “Tis made from a special recipe using goat's milk left in the sun for a full day. Then after it is curdled we bury it in horse dung for six months. By the next time we come to the campsite tis ready to eat.”

      
Benjamin's appetite disappeared abruptly but he continued to eat, deciding he could at least scrape clean the cheese, which surely was better than nettles and hedgehog.

      
Agata came trundling up to them and sat down by the pot. Her movements reminded Benjamin of the small crabs that scuttled about in the shallows of Española's coast. She began to dip her hands in the revolting stew and eat as Rani did.

      
Her glowing black eyes studied him as she smacked her lips and rubbed her hand across them. “The council has ruled. You defeated Django fairly and because you also saved his life with such magical skill, we offer you the hospitality of our camp.”

      
Benjamin hesitated, uncertain of how to refuse the offer gracefully.

      
“We break camp on the morrow, heading for the south of France,” she said. “That is where you would go, is it not?”

      
“How the devil—”

      
Agata's cackle cut short his question. “Well,
gadjo
, what awaits you with the army now that the emperor has won Italy?”

      
“Nothing,” he admitted grudgingly, still eager to be quit of the Gypsies. He had said his good-byes to Pescara after Pavia. The wily little Neapolitan was on his way home with special commendations from King Carlos for the capture of King Francois. Batagglia was no doubt nursing the mother of all headaches from carousing and would not give him a thought. “I am sick of carnage and would set out for Marseilles post haste if I could have my horse returned.”

      
Agata's face took on a crafty light and she squinted. “Rasvan and Django have claimed your horse in repayment for the sale you lost them at the fair. Perhaps if you were to use your healing skills among us for a while...I might intercede with Sandor and have him return the horse to you.”

      
Benjamin gave a snort of disgust. “It would seem you hold me prisoner then—at least until we near Marseilles I must remain with your band.”

      
Rani clapped her hands in delight and Agata nodded.

      
Just as the old woman rubbed her greasy hands on her skirts, a loud, bawling roar echoed from the far side of the camp.

      
“What under heaven is that?” Benjamin jumped up, his eyes searching for a weapon.

      
Rani's expression turned quite somber. “Rasvan is working a new bear this morning. I hate that.” Vero put his ears down and growled.

      
“What in God's name does he with the beast to make it cry so?” The hairs on Benjamin's nape stood on end. He had heard men screaming with fearful injuries during battle, but never had he heard anything like this from a dumb brute.

      
“To make a bear dance for our customers, our men must first teach it to walk on its hind feet.” Agata said. “You will not want to watch.” She scuttled off silently, leaving Rani and Benjamin alone with the unhappy wolf.

      
“How do they make bears walk like men?” he asked, knowing he would not like the answer.

      
“Come. I will show you.” She rose, the wolf at her heels, and walked toward the sound of the keening.
      
Benjamin followed until they came to a crowd of men standing around a large, flat bed of live coals.

      
Rasvan, Michel and another
Rom
had a young brown bear chained by a ring in its nose. The beast's hind feet were wrapped with heavy leather bindings to protect them from the white-hot glowing coals. His front feet were not. The stench of burning skin and hair hung in the morning air as the bear tried in vain to lunge from the coal pit, lifting one front paw, then the other, while giving out piteous screams.

      
The man holding the chain kept jerking on the nose ring, attempting to get the terrified brute to stand on his hind legs. Michel stood across the coals coaxing the bear with a cup of honey. Only by crossing the long, burning path could the bear end his agony, for Rasvan held him captive with a sharp metal prod. Several times the bear raised his front feet simultaneously and lunged forward, but then he would drop down again and thrash from side to side frantically, bawling in pain.

      
“Sweet Blessed Virgin, can you do nothing?” Benjamin asked Agata. Rani stood by them, ashen beneath the layer of dirt on her face.

      
The old
phuri dai
shrugged philosophically. “I told you you would not like this. It does not take many trips across the fire for the bear to learn. Our men have always trained bears so.”

      
“But that one is too young. Look you, the wounds from where they pulled his claws are not yet healed!” Rani brushed past Benjamin and seized the prod from the startled Rasvan, then turned the sharp point against his throat.

      
“Pull him off the coals, brother. He is not ready. Django was not going to begin his training until fall.”

      
The other man attempted to reach for the girl and disarm her but Vero backed him off with a low, menacing growl and bared yellow fangs.

      
“You meddle where you do not belong. Women filch coins and read palms. Men train bears.”

      
“Pull him off the coals else I will slit you so bad even the physician cannot sew you back together!”

      
Benjamin watched the confrontation between the big man and the tiny girl in dazed amazement, wishing devoutly that he had been able to reclaim his sword.

      
Then Rani called out to him, “Benjamin, come hold Rasvan while I free the bear.”

      
Agata studied him to see what he would do, giving no indication of whether or not she approved the command.

      
Benjamin strode swiftly forward and seized the long wooden lance, holding it to Rasvan's throat. Rani seized the chain and spoke in their strange, sibilant language to the bawling beast. Magically, it ceased its frantic thrashing and meekly turned to follow her off the coals, then sat down by her side like a pet.

      
“We need this bear. Django's old Feodor will work for no one but him and your
gadjo
has seen to it Django cannot take his bear to the fair for months. I must begin with this one now,” Rasvan said, casting a malevolent glance at Benjamin.

      
Rani ignored him after seizing the honey cup from Michel. She sat beside the bear, which was transformed from a thrashing monster to a creature quiet as a lamb, lapping honey from her hands. “Bring your salves, Agata. His paws are fearfully burned.”

      
Agata snorted. “Let the physician prove his skill. He has medicines aplenty in his bags.” She turned to Benjamin and motioned for him to lower the lance. When Rasvan started to move forward, the
phuri dai
gave him a quelling look and he stomped away, muttering curses. “Are you afraid to tend a wounded bear?” Her eyes gleamed with the dare.

      
“I have treated a wolf, why not a bear?” He gritted his teeth and strode after her to retrieve his medicines.

Chapter Eighteen

      
“You have a truly amazing gift with feral creatures,” Benjamin said to Rani. They had just treated the bear, which was completely calm beneath her touch in spite of its cruel mistreatment.

      
Rani smiled. “Ever since I was a child wild animals have come to me. Agata, too, says tis a gift. I sometimes think I understand wolves and bears better than people. I certainly like them better than I do my brothers.” She grimaced, thinking of Django and Rasvan and the disturbing news about her mother that the
phuri dai
had imparted to her.

      
Rasvan watched Rani laughing and walking beside the tall, golden
gadjo
, obviously smitten. Fury boiled inside him. He must consult his elder brother. Django would know how to handle their troublesome sister and the man who had humiliated them both. They would not get a handsome bride price from Michel's family if Rani were soiled by the
gadjo
!

      
Django was still weak and dizzy but his wife had propped him in a sitting position with a mountain of brightly colored pillows and was feeding him when Rasvan approached their wagon. “I have already been told about the bear. You could have ruined a valuable animal. I did not give you permission to work the young one,” Django said, shoving away the spoon his woman held to his lips.