‘What did she see? What did she tell him?’ Emilia was interested despite herself.
‘Who knows? I was not there to hear it. But three years later he had put aside his wife and his baby daughter and married another, the one they call the Witch Boleyn, and in another three years he’d cut off her head and married again, and by the time another three years had passed, there’d been another three wives, and he was sick and foul and feared, where once he had been golden and loved. So what did she tell him? What she saw, no doubt, and more fool her.’
‘And?’ Emilia knew there must be some reason Maggie was telling her this tale, interesting as it was, and so she lifted her head and looked up into her grandmother’s face, all lined and weathered, with eyes black and sparkling between the hooded lids.
‘Kings have come and kings have gone since that time, and queens too,’ Maggie said. ‘But all that time the Rom have suffered because that old witch could not keep a still tongue between her teeth, and, my mother told me, because she broke the chain of charms. It’s a chain of blood as well as gold, so the old tale tells, and if the charms could only be brought again together, even just for a little while, better days will come for all of us.’
Emilia struggled to understand. ‘You think these charms, they can help us, help Beatrice and Noah?’
Maggie nodded. ‘If not the charms themselves, at least those who carry them,’ she said. ‘We are all blood, the Rom. You must go, you must ask them for help, you must bring help back and free us. Else we will hang, I am sure of it.’
All Emilia could grasp among this was her grandmother’s use of ‘you’ and ‘we’.
‘But … but you are free … they have not got you …’ she stammered.
‘Not yet,’ Maggie said. ‘But they come.’
Emilia became aware of the sound of galloping hooves. She had thought it was her heart.
‘Baba, Baba,’ she wept.
‘Emilia, listen well. There are six charms. There is the crown, given to the eldest son of that old Travelling man. I have it now, I have worn it all my life. Take it.’
Emilia found her hand being prised open and something pressed into it. It was warm and round and worn about the edges. Maggie closed Emilia’s fingers about it.
‘The crown is for light and luck and magic. It’s why they call me the Queen of the Gypsies, though God knows we have no kings or queens as they do.’
Emilia nodded. She opened her hand and saw cupped within a very old gold coin, with a hole drilled through so it could hang from a golden chain. The coin was so old it was no longer round but misshapen like a moon two days from the full. Just visible on one side was a picture of a woman with a crown on her head, and what looked like stars about her. On the other side there were letters or runes, almost all rubbed away, and the crowned woman again, with one hand raised, the other holding some kind of wriggly rod or sceptre. Or perhaps it was a snake.
While Emilia examined the golden coin, Maggie was talking still, half to herself.
‘Then there is the charm of the running horse. It is silver, the moon metal, and has the power to charm all the beasts of field and forest, the charm to wheedle that you have, my darling girl. Old Janka Hearne, who was here last night, she has it still, I saw it. Go, go and find them, beg them for their help, wheedle them if you can. They have horses, they have money, and they have the ear of the Lord Protector, who likes them for their horses.’
‘What of the other charms?’ Emilia asked desperately as the thunder of horses’ hooves grew ever closer.
‘Lost, lost, so many are lost,’ Maggie cried. For the first time Emilia heard fear in her voice.
‘But you must know what they are, where they are?’ Emilia asked, slipping the golden bracelet over her hand, so it hung on her wrist, the coin dangling down. It felt very heavy.
‘There was the butterfly in amber,’ Maggie said. ‘The butterfly means change and transformation, that is its power. Last I heard that family, the Graylings, went to London Town. We were all angry. Rom, living in the city! It shows how much times have changed.’
‘What else?’
‘There was the seashell, aye, that’s a lucky charm! It gives protection and power over the forces of the sea and water. It belongs to the Wells family. They went along the seashore, of course, down south, near the old town of Rye. Then there was the lightning bolt charm, which I heard was made from the heart of a fallen star. That belongs to the the Smiths, the iron-forgers. They live and prosper in the Weald, I’ve heard, making swords and cannon for the Lord Protector. They’re strong men and fierce, they’ll be able to help, I’m sure.’
‘Butterfly, seashell, lightning bolt,’ Emilia repeated, staring into her grandmother’s face and trying to commit her words to memory.
‘Gold crown. Silver horse. Butterfly in amber. Iron bolt of lightning. The seashell that sees. What else, what else?’
Maggie was trying not to weep. Emilia was terribly frightened. Maggie never wept. She gripped her grandmother’s hands. ‘One more, Baba. What? What is it?’
‘The herb of grace,’ Maggie said. ‘A very powerful charm, very old. Rue, they call it. Rue, for pity’s sake.’
‘Where can I find it? Who has it?’
‘The Wood family, from the New Forest. Their charm has the power of all growing things, the plants that heal and those that kill,’ Maggie said. ‘Last I heard the Woods had all died, or been sold away. One was hanged as a witch, I know.’
‘So how am I to find them?’ Emilia asked in despair.
‘I don’t know, my darling girl, I don’t know. Perhaps it is impossible. Perhaps it is just a story.’ Maggie’s voice broke, and she dashed tears from her eyes.
‘I’ll find them, Baba, don’t you worry,’ Emilia promised, unable to bear seeing her grandmother cry.
The dogs began to bark a warning, leaping to their feet and hurling themselves to the end of their chains. Sweetheart sat up, scratched her flank and yawned, peering to see who was coming towards them at such a pace, hooves thundering on the rough ground.
Emilia took a deep breath and turned to face the rider, her hand clenched about the golden coin.
It was Luka.
On the Run
He was riding a black stallion, whose wet sides were heaving and whose nostrils flared red. Luka had evidently ridden him hard.
‘On my trail …’ he panted, leaping down and staggering as his legs gave way under him. ‘Baba! We have to get out of here.’
‘No use me trying to run,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m too old. I’ll just slow you young things down. Here. I’ve packed you a bag with what food I had. There’s not much. Those Hearnes ate it all. Emilia, I’ve put my crystal ball in there, and my cards. If those constables found them, they’d burn me for a witch. You must not let them catch you with them on you, else they’ll burn you too. Smash the ball if you must, burn the cards, do whatever you have to not to be caught with them. But if you can keep them safe, do. They are very old. They belonged to my grandmother’s grandmother, and maybe to hers too. Now go! Both of you. Get out of here before those constables arrive!’
‘Here take my earrings. They may come in useful, they’re gold.’ Maggie hurriedly unhooked the large hoops from her ears and pressed them into Emilia’s hand. Emilia had never seen her grandmother without her earrings. She looked different without them, older and more vulnerable. Emilia gulped back tears and shoved the earrings deep into her pocket, embracing her grandmother fiercely. ‘Please, Baba, won’t you …’
‘Nay, nay, I’m too old now. I’ll go and rest my weary bones in that gaol of theirs, and look after my family till you can come and get us out.’
‘But how? How am I meant to get you out?’ Emilia was weeping so hard she could hardly speak.
‘You’ll think of something, my darling girl, I know that. Now, no more chitchat, get going!’
Emilia could hear the sound of horses approaching. Maggie gave her a hard push, and so she bent and picked up the bag and slung
it over her shoulder, then clambered up onto Alida’s back, her legs trembling with the effort.
‘Here, take this demon horse,’ Luka said, and thrust the reins into her hand. ‘I need to get Sweetheart. I promised Ruben. He says the constables will shoot her.’
Emilia hung onto the reins with all her strength as the stallion fought and danced, knowing they had to get him away from the campsite if Maggie was not to be charged with horse-stealing on top of everything else. The stallion was far too strong for her, however, and she could not make him budge a step. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself, knowing her distress and fear was infecting the beast. She could never charm him into following her like a lamb while her breath came in short, sharp bursts and her sweat stank of her terror.
Then Luka came running back, Sweetheart ambling along beside him, pleased to be taken for a walk. Alida, of course, was used to the huge old bear but the stallion went mad with terror. Emilia could not hold him. He reared, trumpeting, and then took off at top speed, dragging Emilia from Alida’s back and onto the ground, breathless, her arms almost jerked out of their sockets.
‘Well, he’ll be in the next county before he stops,’ Luka said, running towards the shelter of the copse of trees, Sweetheart loping beside him. ‘Shame, though. He was a good horse. I’ll have to walk on my own two legs now.’
‘I didn’t mean to let him go,’ Emilia said crossly, hurrying after him, Rollo bounding along behind her. ‘You couldn’t have held him either.’
‘Nay, he was devilishly strong,’ Luka admitted, holding up a branch for her and Alida. ‘It was all I could do to ride him here. He almost had me off a dozen times. That pastor must be stronger than he looks.’
‘He was the pastor’s horse? You stole the pastor’s own horse?’
‘Aye, of course I did. If I hadn’t, I’d be back in that filthy cell. Come on, stop chitchatting. Let’s get going.’
Hidden in the shelter of the trees, Emilia cast a miserable glance back at the half-circle of caravans. The constables had arrived at the campsite and were shouting at Maggie as they knocked over the neatly piled bundles and scattered clothes and cooking utensils everywhere. The dogs were barking so loudly Emilia could not hear what the constables were saying. One kicked out at the dogs and caught one in the ribs. It yelped and slunk back under the caravan, but the others continued to bark and snarl, fighting to reach the men.
With the constables was the big man in the steel helmet, who Luka said was called Coldham. Emilia thought it a very good name for him. He had little piggy eyes and a snout, and a thick neck and big slabs of shoulders, and his skin was broiled pink and bristly. He had his pistol drawn and was watching closely as the constables tipped out baskets of clothes and opened chests and boxes. When the constables found nothing, he pressed his lips together and looked very dour.
Maggie sat on her caravan step, her lips clamped on the stem of her pipe, her arms folded over her chest. A constable stood over her, yelling at her, but she did not reply, her eyes hidden under her heavy lids. The constable raised his hand as if to strike her, but she did not respond, and his hand dropped and he stepped back as if ashamed. Coldham gave him a dirty look, then stepped forward smartly and struck Maggie hard across the face. Her head snapped around, but she did not speak or respond in any way, and so he slapped her again.
Emilia took a deep, shuddering breath, tears pouring down her face, then turned and broke into a stumbling run, following Luka as he scrambled down the rough hillside, ducking and weaving from one blackberry bush to another, and leaping over the rocks and bracken, Sweetheart lumbering after him. Alida trotted behind, her ears pricked forward, and Rollo raced on ahead. Zizi was back on Luka’s shoulder, her paw on his ear.
‘South, we need to go south,’ Luka panted as they took shelter in another small wood. ‘Jacob said to go and find Felipe Hearne and beg him for his help. He’ll be horseracing on the Downs, he said, at Epsom.’
‘Aye, Baba said the same,’ Emilia said. She put up her hand and grasped the gold coin hanging from the chain about her left wrist. It was warm to the touch.
The crown is for light and luck and magic …
‘Are they following us?’ she asked, turning to look back up the hill.
‘Not yet,’ Luka said. ‘Come on, let’s keep moving.’
Emilia nodded, and used a fallen log to mount Alida. ‘We’ll take turn and turn about,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about the stallion.’
‘Couldn’t be helped,’ Luka replied. ‘What will they do with Baba, do you think? And the horses and dogs?’
Emilia shrugged. It didn’t bear thinking about.
‘Come on,’ she said, and kicked Alida into a canter. Luka ran behind her, Zizi on his shoulder, pulling on Sweetheart’s chain so that it tugged at the ring through her sensitive nose. Grumbling and moaning, Sweetheart followed. She was not used to running.
There was a shout from behind them. Heart sinking, Emilia glanced over her shoulder. Silhouetted on the hill behind them was Coldham, pointing and waving to the constables to follow him. She urged Alida on faster. When she next glanced back, it was to see Luka falling behind, unable to keep up with the swift mare. Three men on horses were galloping down the hill after them. Emilia wheeled Alida about and rode back for Luka.
‘Hop up,’ she cried. ‘They’ll have you in a minute!’
He did not waste breath in arguing, but leapfrogged up onto Alida’s bare back. Zizi jumped from his shoulder to Emilia’s, then down to crouch on Alida’s neck, clinging to her flying mane. Behind them, Sweetheart was forced to run even faster. As if sensing their danger, she stopped moaning and broke into a heavy, ponderous, ground-eating gallop. When she wanted to, Sweetheart could run very fast indeed.
Even under their double weight, Alida soon left their pursuers behind. Both Emilia and Luka were very thin and light, and only thirteen years old, while the men were all heavy and beefy, and their horses mere hacks. Alida was swift as the wind, and nimble over the treacherous heathland, easily weaving in and out of the brambles and the yellow-flowering gorse, and leaping over the sudden outcrops of chalky white stone.
However, the ground was too rough to canter for long. Emilia did not want Alida to break a leg. As soon as they were once again within the shelter of the trees, she slipped down to the ground and let Luka ride awhile as she scouted out their path.
In order to escape, the two gypsy children had had to head south-east, away from the road. They needed to curve around and start heading south-west if they were to reach Epsom. The danger was that the constables would see them as they doubled back and realise where they were headed. So, while Luka concealed Sweetheart behind a great gorse bush, Emilia rode Alida through a damp marshy patch of ground where her hoof prints would leave a deep indentation. She then made the mare step daintily backwards, putting her hooves back in the same spot so that it looked as if she had gone onto drier ground. Walking backwards was a simple enough trick. What was difficult was making sure the mare did not make new prints, or blur the outlines of the existing ones.
Then Emilia concealed Alida behind the gorse bush and swung herself up into the trees just as Coldham led the constables into the wood at a gallop.
They slowed their pace once within the trees, and Coldham leant from his saddle to stare at the ground. He saw Alida’s trail and spurred his horse on, followed close behind by his men. In a few minutes they were out of sight, but the two children dared not move or breathe until they were sure their ruse had not been discovered. Then, exultant, they dropped down out of the trees and hurried back the way they had come, going around the bottom of the hill and crossing the highway once they were sure the road was clear. Together they scrambled over the stile, Alida hopping over it as nimbly as Rollo, and then disappeared once more into the woods, heading due south.
Conscious that their pursuers might cast back and pick up their trail at any point, the children did their best not to leave any tracks. It was impossible, though. The
forest floor was thick with shrubs and honeysuckle, and it was difficult to force their way through without breaking branches and scuffling the thick underlay of leaves, especially as they were trying to travel quickly. They could only hope the constables were not good trackers.
They reached the bottom of the valley, looking back over their shoulders so often Emilia began to get an ache in her neck. A broad stream wound its way through the glen. Sweetheart’s eyes brightened, and she strained against the pull on her chain, eager to reach the water. So Luka and Emilia stopped and drank deeply of the clear water, and let Sweetheart splash about in the shallows as they discussed what they should do next. Emilia was all for staying in the wild, while Luka thought they should find the road so they could make quicker progress. He was tired of being scratched to pieces.
They scrounged in the bag and found some apples, which they shared with the animals, and then to their delight Sweetheart caught some fish. The first few she tossed straight into her mouth, but Luka was able to wrest the fourth one from her, and killed it with a stone. They would normally have lit a fire then and there and enjoyed the fish roasted on the coals, but they dared not attract any attention to themselves. Luka wrapped the fish in leaves and stowed it in their pack, even though Emilia screwed up her nose at the thought of the fishy smell it would leave behind.
They waded downstream as far as they were able, glad of the opportunity to leave no tracks. Alida did not much like walking in water, and the rocky floor of the stream was treacherous, so after a while, they clambered out and went on, their feet numb with cold. Emilia walked behind, doing her best to conceal the deep tracks left by Sweetheart’s heavy paws in the mud by the stream. Even the most inexperienced tracker could not mistake a bear print.
Both Emilia and Luka were growing tired, and the ground was steep and rough. Alida was having great difficulty scrambling up some of the big, mossy rocks, and Sweetheart dragged on her chain and moaned unceasingly. They had no idea where they were, or if the constables were still on their trail.