THE BARTERED BRIDE

Margaret Rome

As if she were involved in a miming play, Marielle watched the two groups clowni
ng and bargaining --gold coins being offered, scorned, accepted.... Only afterwa
rd did she learn that she had participated in a Romany wedding. Now, Marielle Mo
ore was a Romany wife obliged to obey her husband--Rom Boro, leader of the gypsy
tribe in all things. "I will not tolerate being bought like an article across a
shop counter," she declared angrily. But after all, what could she do? Her life
depended on Rom!

CHAPTER ONE MARIELLE came to a standstill on an island, cut adrift by a surge of

hooting, impatient traffic, and gazed upwards at the tall surrounding buildings
. So this was Warsaw: the city she had reached by taking such a great risk that
even now her nerves reacted with a leap whenever she allowed herself to dwell up
on the possible consequences! It had seemed a harmless enough deception at the t
ime. Sharon, her room-mate and closest friend, had landed a job with a troupe of
girl dancers booked to appear in nightclubs all over Europe. Marielle, an accom
plished dancer herself, had arrived too late for the audition and not even her e
xplanation of how a series of mishaps had caused her to be delayed could alter t
he fact that all vacancies had been filled and the management were no longer int
erested in interviewing applicants - however eager their desire to visit Europe.
Then, only twenty-four hours before she was due to leave, Sharon had slipped on
a greasy patch of road and had fallen heavily, breaking numerous bones in her a
nkle. Her woebegone face had lightened only fractionally when Marielle had turne
d up at the hospital carrying a holdall containing everything her friend would b
e likely to need during what she had been assured was to be a prolonged stay. "W
ho on earth will they get to take my place at such short notice?" Sharon had wai
led, her pain momentarily submerged by worry. "They'll find someone," Marielle h
ad assured her. "Accidents happen - to dancers even oftener than to most, or so
it sometimes seems. Keep calm, my dear, they're sure to have a substitute on the
ir books." She had tried to steer Sharon's mind away from the problem by changin
g the subject, but her friend's brow had remained worryridden even as she had an
swered absentmindedly Marielle's enquiries about the accident.

"Why don't you take my place?" Sharon had burst out impulsively, interrupting Ma
rielle's given opinion of people whose cars were allowed to spew oil on to the r
oadway, thereby adding yet another hazard to the pedestrian's lot. Marielle's mo
uth had frozen open with surprise, but the ensuing silence had teemed with quest
ions. "How can I ...?" she had finally stammered, her eyes begging to be told ho
w the unattainable could be reached. "Easily!" Sharon had jerked upright, then w
inced when made painfully aware of the need for caution. "Madame Glory, who's to
be in charge of the troupe, knows us both well, but you recall how vague she ca
n be about names and faces - often when we've worked with her in the past she's
mistaken me for you and vice versa, so it would require no effort at all to dece
ive the old dear." Marielle had nodded thoughtful agreement, but her expression
had been unsure when she had objected, "But there's Anthony James, he'll recogni
ze me as a stranger to the troupe!" "Him!" Contemptuously, Sharon had dismissed
her boss. "He's purely and simply a leg man! Although he did the auditioning and
had the last say about who was to be signed up he wouldn't recognize one of his
girls above thigh level." They had both collapsed into giggles at this indictme
nt of the man noted for his predilection for long limbs, and for seconds afterwa
rds the girls had been incapable of serious thought. Only lovely, long-legged En
glish blondes, the impresario had often been heard to say, were acceptable as me
mbers of his troupe. Known all over Europe as the Rose Garland - a title the gir
ls disliked - they were expected to live up to their title by appearing each nig
ht fresh, dewy-eyed and dawn-sweet however overheated the nightclub or arduous t
he engagement. Their laughter had faded, together with rising hope, when Mariell
e had remembered, "I've no passport!" They both engaged in silent,

furious thought. It seemed such a small detail - a passport - easily enough obta
ined if only one had the time. But there was no time. With a defiance Marielle f
ound infectious, Sharon had snapped her fingers and ordered, "That to red tape!
Use my passport, we're enough alike to be able to share that dreadful photograph
and Madame Glory can be nudged into introducing you as Sharon Shane. Do it! I d
are you! For years you've maintained that you'd give anything for a chance to vi
sit your aunt in Warsaw ...!" So here she was in the city her mother, by way of
description and tender insight, had taught her to love. As a child she had been
an eager companion on her mother's retrospective visits back to the large house
in the square where she had shared an enjoyable childhood with her parents and h
er baby sister Sophie, who, her mother had laughingly affirmed, had been a child
of almost unmanageable spiritedness, the alternate despair and pride of her lon
g-suffering family ... As Marielle wandered across the street, only half mindful
of the traffic, her mother's beloved features were recalled to mind. Even now,
six months after her mother's death, Marielle felt barely able to accept that sh
e would never again hear that gently-accented voice sharing bitter sweet memorie
s of the city she had loved, and of Marielle's father, the man she had adored fr
om their first moment of meeting. It had been an instant attraction, accelerated
by the onset of war. As a young man, Charles Moore had studied law at universit
y in England. A scholarship had enabled him to continue his studies in Europe, a
nd as he had been particularly interested in the Polish legal structure he had d
ecided to spend the whole of his allotted time in Warsaw. Upon arrival, he had b
een introduced almost immediately to Eva, the girl who was to become his wife, a
nd for six wonderful months their love had blossomed in the city that rang with
the romantic melodies of Chopin, the very essence of poetry imbued in the music
of its greatest son. Then, with dreadful suddenness, Poland had been invaded. Ch
arles had swept aside Eva's doubts about her ability to cope in a

strange land and her misgivings about leaving her family. His duty was to his co
untry, he had insisted, as hers was to him, to be near him to offer the comfort
and love essential to a man at war. Somehow Marielle had never learned how - the
y had both escaped to England where Charles had enlisted in the Air Force. Their
marriage, short but infinitely happy, had ended a year later when he was killed
in action, leaving his young widow alone in a strange country with an infant da
ughter whose need for attention was the one factor that had helped her to remain
sane... Marielle was brought suddenly to earth by the blaring horn of an irate
motorist. Her footsteps quickened, obeying his furious signal to remove herself
from his path, and as she stumbled on to the pavement she experienced sudden dis
appointment. Did nothing remain of the mysterious city her parents had loved? It
seemed the only music remaining was the beat of footsteps treading hard pavemen
ts, the nearest thing to poetry the rhyming headlines upon a tattered hoarding in fact, the greatest mystery was that there was no mystery at all! She shrugge
d, and glanced at the paper she was clutching. At least she had her aunt's addre
ss and according to directions she had been given the place was within ten minut
es' walking distance, so she would have no need to deplete her scant resources w
ith the expense of a taxi fare. She was surprised to find that the address she h
ad been given was that of a factory. She swung through the gates, dodging betwee
n groups of women hurrying towards a canteen, until she caught sight of an offic
e which suggested itself as a reception centre. She walked in, clutching the scr
ap of paper as if it were an official pass, and waited to be noticed. "Might I b
e of assistance?" a young man queried in Polish, eyeing her with a glint of inte
rest.

"If you would," she replied, blessing her mother's foresight in insisting upon h
er learning to speak the language fluently. "I am anxious to contact my aunt, So
phie Barewska, and I was given this address. Perhaps, if she works here, you cou
ld find out for me what time she is due to finish and I'll wait for her outside?
" The young man's mouth twitched, but his voice was controlled when he informed
her, "That will not be necessary, your aunt is one of our directors and she woul
d be most annoyed if her niece were to be left to loiter outside. If you'll foll
ow me I'll take you up to her office." In open-mouthed silence she followed him
up a flight of stairs; her mother's description had prepared her up to a point t
o expect a livewire, but to picture any sister of her gentle, pliable mother as
a captain of industry was an impossibility! She clutched at her reeling senses a
nd requested, even as his hand hovered over the knob of the door, "Please don't
announce me, I'd like my visit to be a surprise." With typical Polish charm, he
clicked his heels and bowed. "As you wish," he smiled, showing unexpected unders
tanding. She waited until he reached the bottom of the stairs before knocking on
the glasspartitioned door leading into the office. When she was bidden to enter
she stepped inside, closing the door carefully behind her. A woman was seated a
t a large desk immersed in business papers and as she did not look up immediatel
y Marielle waited, her hands clenched tightly, until she should be noticed. Curi
ously she studied her aunt, trying to trace some resemblance to her own fragile,
wistful-eyed mother in the competent, smartly dressed woman who was her sister.
But never in a lifetime could her mother have coped with the job her aunt was c
arrying out with such seeming efficiency; incredibly, she .suited the position o
f manager of industry better than many men could ever have hoped to do.

She started when her aunt's amused voice reached through her absorption. "Well,
now that you have examined me thoroughly, perhaps you will state your business?"
She stood up to walk around to the front of the desk, perching on one corner wh
ile she sought a light for her cigarette. Her dress of grey wool reached to the
top of black knee-high boots of supple leather. A wide scarlet belt nipped her w
aist and matched perfectly the silk scarf knotted under her collar with clever e
ffect. Sartorially perfect, she reflected a sophisticated femininity which her s
uccess as a business woman detracted from in no way. Now that the moment for int
roduction had arrived Marielle found speech almost impossible. She cleared her t
hroat when her aunt frowned, then managed to stammer, "I ... I'm your niece from
England... Marielle Moore. I wrote to you when my mother died, but you didn't r
eply..." It was her aunt's turn to become lost for words. Surprise, disbelief, i
ncredulity were all visible as Marielle waited anxiously for her final reaction.
It came suddenly, a deep sigh of emotion, together with the reaching out of arm
s to offer an eager, involuntary embrace. "Eva's child! My darling sister's baby
...!" Marielle ran willingly into the arms held out to her and for several laug
hing, crying, incoherent minutes they were bound by ties of family love. Sophie'
s mask of sophistication had disappeared completely when she held Marielle at ar
m's length to devour her features, searching for a resemblance to the elder sist
er she had adored. "Yes, I see her," she murmured, "you have inherited from her
your silver pale hair and wondering grey eyes, also your fine cameo profile - ev
en in build you are as delicately graceful. However," she tipped her chin with a
gentle finger, "I detect in that mouth a hint of stubbornness that must come fr
om your father. Only a man of his strength of will could have succeeded in prisi
ng my dear sister away from everything familiar and well- loved to face life in
a strange land."

"They were very much in love," Marielle told her, the sudden hardness of her aun
t's tone putting her on the defensive. "Of course they were," Sophie answered a
shade too quickly, "everyone knew they were right for each other. Their love was
a beacon that shone through the darkness of those desperate days and cast a glo
w over everyone around them. That is why everyone was so eager to help them esca
pe - in some strange way it was as if they took a small part of those that were
left with them into freedom, and when the news of their safe arrival in England
filtered back a celebration was held that puzzled the Germans so much they were
running around in circles trying to find out the cause." She laughed aloud at th
e memory and Marielle joined in, but the lump in her throat sabotaged her effort
and the laughter came out sounding unsure, traced through with puzzlement. Her
aunt's manner was pleasant, but forced, as if the memories she had resurrected w
ere not wholly happy. "Why didn't you answer my letter, Aunt Sophie? I wrote to
you immediately after my mother's death because I knew she would have wished it.
Naturally, when I received no reply I began to worry - so many things could hav
e happened to prevent its reaching you - a change of address, perhaps, or even b
eing lost en route - I couldn't bear the idea of the only remaining member of my
mother's family being left in ignorance of her death, that's why I came in pers
on to find out if you knew." Sophie's hands were trembling as she reached for a
second cigarette and she used the pretext of fumbling for her lighter as an excu
se not to meet Marielle's questioning eyes. The stream of smoke she projected di
d not quite screen her uneasy, shame-shaded expression. "I'm sorry," she jerked
out apologetically, "it was remiss of me not to answer by return of post - I mea
nt to, really I did - but the news when first it came upset me so much that for
days I could not go beyond recalling all the little things I remembered about he
r, the way her

eyes lit up when she smiled, her impish sense of humour and the gentle concern s
he showed for those in trouble ... I had barely reached adolescence when she lef
t for England, but the bond of affection between us was so strong the news of he
r death shocked me dreadfully." Marielle's mouth trembled with compassion. She w
ould have accepted her aunt's explanation without the need of further words, but
Sophie, it seemed, had decided she must say more. Colour stained her cheeks as
she forced herself to be candid with the girl whose misty grey eyes could have b
elonged to the sister who, in the past, had never been satisfied with less than
the truth. She stumbled, lowvoiced, over words as with a sweep of downcast lashe
s she confessed, "Deep down, I resented what I then regarded was your father's h
igh-handed kidnapping of my sister. There were times when I blamed him bitterly
for the loneliness and despair she suffered, so much so that even after his deat
h I hated his memory ..." A hurt gasp from Marielle brought the desperate admiss
ion. "I was wrong, I know that now! After the war Eva could have returned to War
saw, but she refused, saying that in England she found solace in the home they h
ad once shared. Only then did I begin vaguely to realize the extent of their lov
e for each other!" Marielle backed away, her eyes wide with hurt as she accused,
"You were jealous! You didn't bother to write to me because you felt I, too, ha
d usurped your place in my mother's affections! For years I've longed to meet yo
u, even more so since my mother died because I foolishly thought your presence m
ight help ease the pain of her loss, but now ...!" She swallowed further accusat
ion and swung towards the door, only to halt on the. threshold as her aunt plead
ed, "I deserve to be despised, Marielle, everything you've said I admit to, but,
" tears chased fluidly through her words, "I'm so sorry, please believe that and
try to forgive me!"

She would not have been her mother's daughter if she had not responded to such a
cry from the heart. Her aunt's willingness to ignore her existence had hurt bad
ly, but she herself was too conscious of being alone to dismiss lightly the unde
rlying need to be loved her aunt had just betrayed. She had shown herself to be
possessive beyond reason, a martyr to jealousy and to an overwhelming desire to
have undisputed rights over the affections of those she loved. But now she had n
o one left to love ... and probably no one to love her! Slowly Marielle withdrew
from the door and turned to face her aunt, then with a cry of forgiveness she r
ushed into her waiting arms.

CHAPTER TWO THE club where the Rose Garland troupe was due to open had an unpret
entious, slightly tawdry look in the harsh light of day, but Marielle hardly not
iced its depressing frontage as she hurried towards the back entrance, the fact
that she was late for rehearsal uppermost in her mind. Madame Glory, although va
gue in some matters, was a martinet when it came to work, and excuses for late a
rrival were invariably met with grim displeasure and in some cases even with a f
ine. Luckily, they were not due to appear until the following night, so this eve
ning the girls were to be allowed to do as they wished - within reason - and alt
hough Madame Glory had hinted at the benefits to be derived from ail early night
most of them were determined to catch the farewell performance of the star whos
e act had been drawing capacity audiences for the previous six weeks. The dressi
ng-room was empty when she reached it, and the sound of a piano thumping from th
e direction of the stage confirmed her fear that rehearsal had started without h
er. Swiftly she flung off her outdoor clothes, but even as she shrugged into her
leotard a puzzled frown marred her forehead. She and her aunt still had much to
discuss and many years of memories to breach; why then, instead of the cosy tte-tte she had suggested, should her aunt have been so insistent upon spending the e
vening here at the club? "Ah, so you have finally decided to honour us with your
presence!" Marielle jumped with shock when the door crashed open, revealing Mad
ame's angry figure quivering on the threshold. Hastily, she apologized, "I'm tru
ly sorry, Madame, I did try to be on time, but I took a wrong turning and became
completely lost. It won't happen again, I promise, and," she began to coax, "I
am only a very few minutes late..."

She heaved a silent sigh of relief when she sensed a softening of the old lady's
demeanour. In her youth Madame Glory had herself been a member of an internatio
nal dancing troupe, so she was no stranger to the fascination strange new cities
held for the novice traveller and luckily her sense of youthful adventure had n
ot diminished with age. "Very well, Sharon, I will excuse you this once, but it
must not happen again, do you understand?" Shamefaced, Marielle nodded. As alway
s, when addressed as Sharon, she squirmed inwardly. The deceit she was having to
practise upon her kindly gaoler was abhorrent to her nature, resulting in her e
xperiencing a sense of guilt that made her determined to work herself to a stand
still in order to appease her troublesome conscience. Rehearsals lasted all afte
rnoon. Madame Glory was in a finicky, dissatisfied mood so that by the time she
had dismissed the troupe the girls were exhausted, desiring only to reach their
rooms in a nearby hotel to relieve their aching feet before venturing out on the
night's activities. Marielle was fortunate, most of the girls were having to sh
are, but she had a small room to herself and as she kicked off her shoes and rel
axed upon the bed she felt more than usually gratified by the absence of a chatt
ering companion. She needed to think, so many questions were revolving around he
r mind and they needed to be mentally tabulated so that she might present them t
o her aunt in order of importance ... She awoke with a start, alerted by the dus
k-shad- owed room to the fact that she had overslept. A quick glance at her watc
h confirmed that she had left herself a mere twenty minutes in which to get read
y, so with a speed that owed much to rigorous training and to the expertise of q
uick costume changes demanded by her job, she ran to turn on the shower, whipped
underwear from a drawer, and began pinning up her hair under a shower cap while
she searched her wardrobe for a hasty choice of outfit. She arrived at the club
with seconds to spare, looking immaculately groomed in a slim-fitting

blue trouser suit with matching blouse, her blonde hair brushed to the sheen of
satin and swinging with deliberately planned casualness across her shoulders. He
r aunt's car drew up just as she reached the front entrance, so together they de
scended the flight of stone steps leading into a large converted cellar. As they
entered, they flinched from the noise rising from packed tables crammed around
a tiny dance floor. Vivid eye-catching murals spread themselves over four walls
and trails of greenery garlanded the ruby and emerald wine bottles hung strategi
cally to catch sparkles of light spinning from a revolving witch-ball in the cen
tre of the ceiling. Dexterous waiters were scurrying between the tables where gu
ests, their eyes glued to the deserted dance floor, were being served enough dri
nks to last out a siege. Music played in the background, but desultorily, the mu
ted sound in keeping with the air of expectancy hanging over the waiting crowd.
An unseen hand extinguished the lights, leaving only a spotlit circle in the cen
tre of the floor. The crowd hushed to silence, then burst into hysterical applau
se when a man's figure detached itself from the shadows to enter the illuminated
circle. There were no seats unoccupied, and all available standing room was thr
onged to capacity, so Marielle and her aunt were fortunate to be allowed to sque
eze to the front of the outer circle of spectators. But even from such a distanc
e Marielle felt the force of the man's personality. From the crown of his ebony
head, from every lean brown sinew, he oozed untamed, barbaric appeal. Impervious
to the battery of eyes feasting upon his every movement, he hooked forward a st
ool, placed one foot upon its surface, then rested his elbow on his raised knee.
Casually he plucked the strings of a guitar anchored around his neck by a strap
of vivid red suede. The same striking colour was taken up by the gypsy diklo en
circling

his strong throat. He wore a white silk shirt with voluminous sleeves caught tig
htly at the wrists, with a neckline plunging in a deep vee down to the red cumme
rbund clasping his waist. Tight black trousers completed an outfit which on any
other man would have looked theatrical - he looked magnificently untrammelled, a
proud, fullblooded Romany. His lean fingers ripped a crescendo of notes from ta
ut strings, then, after a probing, slightly cynical glance around his rapt audie
nce, he launched into a melody so tempestuously beautiful it scarred the emotion
s. For thirty unforgettable minutes he pandered to their demands, moving his fem
ale listeners to nostalgic tears with his rendering of hauntingly sweet love- so
ngs, then sending the blood coursing through the veins of their companions with
stirring compositions recalling deeds of strength, passion and glory. Just when
emotion was at its height, he snatched the fruits of pleasure from their lips by
scything to an abrupt finish and melting silently into the shadowed background.
Like hounds deprived of prey, the audience rose to its feet demanding more and
went wild with delight when eventually he reappeared. He waited, one eyebrow rai
sed, a quirk playing around his lips, until silence reigned, then he bowed once
from the waist and made his adieux in Romany: "Akana mukav tut le Devlesa - I no
w leave you to God." It was many minutes before the thunder of applause died suf
ficiently to allow speech. Marielle waited, questions burning her tongue, the gr
ip on her emotions so tight she sounded breathless when she appealed: "Aunt Soph
ie, who is he?" Her aunt smiled. "His name is Rom Boro - an international star o
f cabaret known and loved by millions all over Europe." Marielle's brow furrowed
. "Then why have I never heard of him? London is surely a Mecca for talent such
as his, but to the best of my knowledge he has never appeared there."

"Nor will he, unless he feels he wants to," her aunt assured her. "Rom works onl
y where and when he feels like it. He is a Romany, and true Romanies know no bar
riers. Every country is their country, so they treat boundaries and frontiers wi
th a contempt they feel is deserved. One week Rom will appear in Paris, the next
in Budapest, then perhaps a little while later in Rome. He is a counterpart of
your Scarlet Pimpernel - one moment here, the next gone. Managers all over Europ
e have tried to pin him down with promises to appear on agreed dates, but he wil
l have none of it. The Romanies are always on the move, and Rom is one hundred p
er cent loyal to his tribe and they to him, as the name he has been given indica
tes: Rom Boro - the Big Man - an accolade, indeed, from a race which considers e
very man an equal and gives only to men of very special qualities such measured
praise." She gave her niece time to absorb her words before offering casually, "
Would you like to meet him?" Marielle, still wrapped in a daze of pleasure broug
ht about by the unusual and very exciting programme, took a while to assimilate
the question, but when she did her flush of anticipation was answer enough. "Com
e," Sophie smiled as she began leading the way backstage, weaving between tables
packed with people reluctant to leave the atmosphere of tense excitement genera
ted by the star performer. They had almost reached the door leading to the dress
ing-room when a voice hailed Sophie. It was a loud, domineering voice that compl
emented the appearance of its owner, a tall, erect man wearing the uniform of a
high-ranking Russian officer. He rose to his feet and bowed stiffly, his piercin
g eyes cataloguing every detail of Marielle's appearance. "Sergei, I did not exp
ect to see you here this evening! " Sophie faltered, her voice breathless with e
mbarrassment. "Marielle, may I introduce a friend of mine, Comrade Ivanov, who i
n the past has helped enormously by disentangling me from much of the red tape

entailed in the running of a factory." Her pleasantly spoken words held a warnin
g Marielle did not miss; she was afraid of this man with the cobra's unblinking
stare and was silently imploring her not to react unfavourably towards him. Unfo
rtunately, youthful impetuosity allied to an upbringing in which fear had played
no part made Marielle resentful of his air of arrogant self-importance, so the
nod with which she acknowledged the introduction was cool and extremely brief. H
is narrowed eyes reflected affronted dignity which was in no way appeased when S
ophie hastily breached the awkward silence. "Marielle, my niece, is English ..."
She bit her lip, realizing from Marielle's raised eyebrows that her remark had
sounded like an apologetic excuse. "Sharon, my dear, now that the show is over I
do hope you intend to be sensible by having an early night!" It was Madame Glor
y, rounding up her flock, too fussily anxious about the well-being of her girls
to notice the effect of the bombshell she had inadvertently dropped. "Sharon?" S
ergei snapped alertly, his expression more than curious. "A stage name," Mariell
e flipped, betraying none of the panic that was sending cold shivers down her sp
ine. Before Madame Glory could create further havoc, she assured her, "Give me j
ust ten minutes, no more, then I'll leave." Satisfied, the old lady nodded, then
drifted away in search of other strays, and Marielle reacted by following quick
ly behind her, tossing over her shoulder as she went, "Don't be long, Aunt Sophi
e, I've no time to spare.. When her aunt caught up with her a few seconds later
she was shaken and visibly angry. Marielle was sauntering along a corridor when
she heard her name called. "Marielle, wait!" The door of an empty dressing- room
stood open and Sophie pushed her inside. "Now, an explanation, if you please!"

she demanded angrily, her back against the closed door. Marielle shrugged. The t
ruth was not so terrible, after all, so there was no reason why her aunt should
not be informed of the whole silly prank. But when she had finished telling the
tale, Sophie's face had become so ashen Marielle felt a stirring of misgiving. "
You fool!" Sophie forced through tightly compressed lips. "Reckless, unimaginati
ve little idiot!" Fear feathered across Marielle's skin even as she protested, "
That's a bit strong, all I did was borrow a friend's passport, no harm's been do
ne...!" "In Russian-occupied countries no one borrows another's passport! You mu
st be pitifully ignorant of our way of life if you imagine this escapade will be
dismissed with a reprimand and a pat on the head. At this very moment Sergei Iv
anov will be questioning your employers, and if there is the least hint of suspi
cious circumstances you will be held for questioning, probably for an indefinite
period!" Nervously, Marielle laughed; the picture her aunt had portrayed was to
o melodramatic to be taken seriously. But her laughter had an uncanny effect upo
n her aunt. An unreadable expression clamped down upon her features and the hand
that grasped Marielle's arm to propel her out of the room and along the corrido
r dug into her flesh with the inflexibility of a jailor. She was pushed rather t
han led into the passageway outside the star's dressing-room where a crowd of fa
ns were waiting for a sight of their idol. A swarthy man stood guard outside the
door, arms folded across a massive chest, his eyes expressing contempt of the t
hronging crowd. To Marielle's surprise his impassive features split into a grin
of welcome at the sight of Sophie, and when she spoke Rom Boro's

name with an enquiring inflection he ushered them both through the door, making
certain none of the surging fans slipped past his detaining arm. Inside, the roo
m was empty, but beyond a connecting door drawers could be heard slamming, and a
tuneless whistle interspersed with muttered imprecations indicated Rom Boro's i
mpatience to be finished dressing. Her aunt seemed full of suppressed excitement
when she instructed, "Give me ten minutes alone with him. I shall introduce you
later, but there is something of the utmost importance we must discuss." She di
d not wait for a reply, but rapped sharply upon the door which was flung open im
mediately. "Luba!" The endearment came swiftly to his lips. Marielle jerked with
surprise; her aunt had not indicated that she was on terms so familiar he shoul
d address her as sweetheart! Seconds later her aunt disappeared inside the inner
room, and although Marielle tried not to listen she could not avoid recognizing
that the tone of the conversation which primarily had been one of surprised del
ight began developing swiftly along the lines of a fierce argument. She paced th
e floor, trying to block out the sound of her aunt's pleading voice, wondering w
hat favour the gypsy performer was so emphatically denying her. Her aunt's voice
gradually escalated as she pleaded her cause, but his tone, though coldly resol
ute, remained even. Marielle pricked up her ears when she heard a sob, muffled,
but unmistakable. Her aunt was crying! It was so unbelievable she was rooted to
the spot, but when the sound came again she moved into action: celebrity or not,
Rom Boro was going to have, to account for his behaviour. In her temper she did
not hesitate, but flung open the door without ceremony just in time to see him
leaning over her aunt mopping up her tears with a large handkerchief, and at the
same time voicing reluctant surrender.

"Very well, Luba, I shall do as you ask, but remember," he tipped up her chin an
d looked long and deeply into her tear-filled eyes, "I do it only because you wi
sh it and not because I feel sympathy for this irresponsible fool on whose behal
f you plead." Marielle backed away unobserved. His words made no sense, but the
look on her aunt's face was explanation enough. Adoration shone in her eyes and
her lips, usually so firm and uncompromising, seemed to be trembling an invitati
on to be kissed. Marielle had no intention of hanging around to find out if the
invitation was accepted. In her haste to leave she stumbled into a chair, sendin
g it crashing to the ground with noisy force. She sped across the room, anxious
to escape, but even as she reached the door her aunt's voice rang out. "Marielle
, don't go! I want you to meet a dear and very special friend." She abandoned al
l thought of escape and turned reluctantly to meet the man who seemed to count f
or so much in her aunt's life. "Rom, my dear, this is Marielle Moore, my niece f
rom England. Already, after watching only one performance, she is a great fan of
yours, is that not so, moya droga?" she urged. Marielle swallowed hard before t
aking up her cue. "Yes, indeed, I found your act most entertaining." He bowed. "
Thank you, Miss Moore, you are very kind," he replied in perfect English, his to
ne dry to the point of sarcasm. Momentarily, as his eyes flicked over her, she f
elt rendered invisible. A gnat or a fly would have made a greater impression upo
n the bored-looking gypsy. Sophie dissolved into laughter. "Miss Moore ...?" she
mocked. "No, no, I refuse to allow it! My only relative and my dearest friend m
ust not stand on such formality. I insist that you call her Marielle, and you,"
she instructed her embarrassed niece, "must call him Rom."

Marielle wondered at her aunt's lack of perception. The reluctance Rom Boro show
ed must have been obvious to even the most insensitive; she herself could sense
the effort he was making to appear interested, and although she had never consid
ered herself vain it was a shock to encounter for the first time in her life a c
omplete unawareness of her not inconsiderable looks from a member of the opposit
e sex. The contrasting warmth of his answer was a tribute to her aunt's influenc
e. "Very well, if it will make you happy, Marielle it shall be. Provided," he dr
awled, "your niece does not object ? " Suffering the scrutiny of two pairs of ey
es, Marielle had to give in gracefully. "Of course not," she replied, then wonde
red at the quick amusement he betrayed. "Good!" Sophie ran pleased eyes over Mar
ielle's flushed cheeks and Rom's inscrutable smile - giving to them both a meani
ng completely undeserved - then suggested, "Now that you have been introduced sh
all we find somewhere to eat, a place where, at the same time, you can further y
our acquaintance ? " Marielle immediately stammered a refusal. "I'm sorry, Aunt
Sophie, I would love to join you both, but I simply must be getting back to the
hotel." She was not searching for an excuse, she had upset Madame Glory enough f
or one day and besides that, there was the growing conviction that the gypsy's e
fforts to be polite would very rapidly wear thin if he were to be subjected to m
uch more of her company. But he surprised her by insisting, "I know of an eating
place very different from anything to be found in the city. It is not far away,
but we'll need to go by car. I'm sure you'll agree after we've eaten that the f
ood more than compensates for the journey." He strode across to the door. "Rupa,
" he instructed the man standing guard outside, "fetch the car to the back entra
nce." He added further rapid instructions in a language Marielle did not underst
and, then returned to look down at

Sophie. "Well, it is done. Are you happy now?" She nodded, looking as if at any
moment she might succumb to tears, then she recovered and returned his grave smi
le. Marielle shivered. For no particular reason she felt apprehensive. There was
a smell of intrigue in the air and the glances of silent communication exchange
d between her aunt and her inscrutable friend served only to deepen the mystery.
Impatient with herself, she shrugged away her doubts; she was allowing the even
ts of the past hour to colour her imagination. After all, what possible ulterior
motive could be hidden in an invitation to supper?
The alleyway was dark and shadow-filled as Marielle stumbled up the steps in the
wake of her aunt whose movements, so silently careful, could have been describe
d as furtive. She rebuked Marielle when, after stubbing her toe on a stone step,
she cried out with annoyance. "Hush, can't you! " she hissed. "Must you let the
whole neighbourhood know we're here ?" Marielle was too surprised to answer. Th
ere seemed no logical reason why she should be expected to creep noiselessly up
the back stairs of a nightclub, but the request was in keeping with her aunt's s
tealthy attitude. The atmosphere became so tense that by the time they reached t
he alleyway she found she was subconsciously imitating her aunt's shadow-hugging
methods and instead of querying her whispered words she obeyed with a quickly b
eating heart the command that she should accompany Rom Boro in his car while her
aunt travelled in her own with Rupa as passenger. Marielle saw Rom Boro's mouth
tighten as he waited until Sophie's car reached the end of the alleyway to turn
into the main street. He made no attempt to start the engine, but when a second
car glided from out of nowhere and began following closely behind her aunt's

she began to suspect why. Sophie's tenseness, her demands for silence, her insis
tence that they should travel separately, were all born of an instinct that told
her Sergei Ivanov had given instructions that they were to be followed. She was
acting as a decoy, and Rupa, slumped in his seat and obscured by shadows, was s
ufficiently indistinct to excite no comment from men with minds complacently adj
usted to the tailing of a certain car carrying an expected number of passengers.
She jerked upright as the full implications hit her. Sophie's plan was working
beautifully; she could keep the secret police occupied for hours while her niece
was being spirited out of the vicinity by Rom Boro! Even as the engine of Rom B
oro's powerful car roared into life the remarks he had made to her aunt began to
make sense. Very well, Luba, I shall do as you ask, but remember, I do it only
because you wish it and not because I feel sympathy for this irresponsible fool
on whose behalf you plead! She was the reason behind her aunt's pleas for help what a. fool she was not to have realized it earlier! The car had left the subu
rbs and was speeding through open country by the time she had sorted out her tho
ughts. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded. He gave all his attention to neg
otiating a sharp bend before biting out, "Does it matter?" She reacted violently
to the sting in his tone. "Of course it matters! I have a show to do tomorrow a
nd whether my aunt likes it or not I intend being at the club for the opening! D
on't think I don't realize what you and she are up to," she flashed. "My lack of
passport is an embarrassment to her friend, so she has decided to remove me fro
m his orbit until the fuss has died down. At all costs the rapport existing betw
een herself and the authorities must be maintained, even at the expense of famil
y loyalty!" She drew in a deep breath before choking

out, "How could she? How could any woman collaborate with such a man! " He swung
the wheel round with such force that her shoulder came in sharp contact with th
e framework, but she was so burnt up with anger she felt no pain. Almost before
the car came to rest upon a grassy verge he was blasting back, "So that is what
you think! You have been in the country only a matter of hours, yet you deign to
overrule the opinions of those who know from bitter experience what to expect!
Your attitude is that of a stubborn child, Miss Moore, and in place of my previo
us resentment at being made responsible for your escape, I now feel privileged t
o be the one chosen to get rid of you...!" Silence seethed around them as they s
ped through small villages, passed isolated farms identifiable only by squares o
f lighted windows beaming far back from the road and by outlines of barns that l
oomed into their headlights, then faded quickly into the darkness. Marielle's ey
elids began to flicker as tiredness overtook her. She was keyed up to a peak by
the stimulating events of the day, but the warmth of the car combined with the m
onotony of the journey to create a sensation of drowsiness that was becoming inc
reasingly difficult to combat. She was jerked awake when the car left the road t
o bump across rutted ground in the direction of a wood. He made no effort to pro
tect her by slowing down, but continued over the rough terrain with an expressio
n of satisfaction that could have had its origin in the fact that she was being
tossed around in her seat like a disjointed doll. She hung on, determined not to
protest, but when he finally applied the brakes she felt all the muscles in her
body had been jerked from their sockets. "We'll walk from here," he ordered, al
lowing her to find her own way out of the thicket of prickly bushes into which h
e had driven the car. If she had accused him of deliberately manoeuvring the sit
uation he would no doubt have pointed out the need for camouflage, so she

fought her way alone out of the branches that bit into her jacket, her pants, an
d even her hair. She stumbled after his retreating figure, wondering bitterly wh
y in a country noted for the gallantry of its menfolk she should have been lande
d with such a specimen, then quickened her steps when she heard in the distance
the ferocious barking of many dogs. Minutes later the path opened on to a cleari
ng where about fifteen covered wagons were drawn into a circle. Gypsy women wear
ing deep-coloured dresses and many gold pieces made up into earrings, necklaces
and bracelets sat around campfires tending iron pots whose contents filled the a
ir with a rich, gamey smell. It was a beautiful, theatrical setting into which t
he women fitted perfectly. All had shiny blue-black hair worn long and braided.
Their very full, ankle-length dresses of many layers had bodices cut loose and l
ow, the glowing colours contrasting sharply against tanned matt skin and dark ex
pressive eyes. Several men lay in the shelter of an oak tree, desultorily gossip
ing while they waited for their womenfolk to dish up the meal, each wearing a sl
ightly tattered, work-soiled replica of the outfit worn by Rom Boro during his p
erformance. Marielle's imagination was so captured she would not have been in th
e least surprised to hear the tuning up of an orchestra in the background or a c
horus of voices joining the upward rise of thin corkscrews of bluish smoke spira
lling from the glowing campfires. "Droboy tume romale!" At the sound of Rom's gr
eeting everyone's attention swung in his direction and in a matter of seconds he
was surrounded by jubilant back-slapping men and their excited wives all talkin
g at once in a language interspersed with smatterings of Polish but consisting m
ainly of a tongue Marielle found completely unfamiliar. For the second time that
day she felt invisible as the volatile gypsies jostled to greet Rom Boro withou
t acknowledging by even the flicker of an eyelid his slender companion who stood
out amongst them like a pale daffodil in a field of glowing poppies. It was a r
elief to hear him explain to them in Polish, "My friends, I

bring a companion to share our journey. She will be completely in my charge, so

you need have no misgivings. I hope you will welcome her and bear with her inexp
erience of our ways." Wary eyes assessed her, giving away no inkling of their ow
ners' thoughts but somehow projecting an animosity she found frightening. A youn
g girl pushed her way forward to stare insolently. She seemed savagely aware of
her own beauty as she stood with swaying hips and flashing eyes taking in every
detail of Marielle's appearance. Then suddenly her lips pursed and to Marielle's
disgust she spat, deliberately and contemptuously, on the ground at her feet. "
We want no Gaje women here!" she hissed. A murmur of agreement ran through the a
ssembled gypsies. They had trouble enough dodging the police and other petty off
icials who would interfere with their lives, without drawing their attention by
sheltering one of their women. Rom enunciated coldly, with narrowed eyes, "I hav
e stated that she will be completely in my charge - is my word no longer enough?
Perhaps," his tone became silky as he eyed the sullen men, "during my absence t
his tribe has succumbed to petticoat tyranny and my word must come second to tha
t of the girl Lala?" This was altogether too much for the men to stomach. A swif
t push sent Lala staggering back into the crowd and with one accord they growled
, "You are still our leader, Rom Boro. The girl can stay." By tacit agreement th
e women dispersed, leaving the men to form a council of discussion. But before j
oining them Rom drew her to one side and commanded, "From now on you must obey a
ny instructions I may give you. Once I have explained the circumstances, I've no
doubt the council will be willing to allow you to remain, but only on condition
that I hold myself responsible for your every action. Your own safety - and the
irs - will depend upon your implicit obedience, do you understand?"

Her head tilted. "You forget," she countered fiercely, "that I have no wish to s
tay. It wasn't my idea that I should run away, and I'm sure the whole melodramat
ic operation is totally Unnecessary. If you and my aunt had not interfered the w
hole ghastly misunderstanding could have been cleared up with a simple explanati
on. After all, I did, nothing wrong! I might have bent the law a little, but not
even the Russians can make a petty prank into a criminal offence!" He exerted g
reat control to keep his tone even, but the thread of anger running through his
words was taut to snapping point. "If it were not for your aunt," he gritted sof
tly, "I would deliver you to Sergei Ivanov personally, just so that I might expe
rience the pleasure of making you eat those words!" He sounded so sure of what h
er reception would be that her assurance faltered, and some of her indecision mu
st have shown because he sounded complacently sure of her answer when he demande
d, "Well, are you willing to cooperate?" She shrugged, then grudgingly admitted
defeat. "Very well, for the time being I shall do as you ask." She was relieved
when he made no attempt to enlarge upon his victory, but her heart beat fast wit
h misgiving when he beckoned to one of the gypsy women. Her approach seemed relu
ctant, but Marielle felt none of the animosity shown by the young girl, Lala, wh
en Rom Boro introduced them. "Marielle, this is Kore, wife of my very good frien
d Rupa. We will be travelling as part of their kumpania - family unit," he enlig
htened "and as she speaks enough Polish to make herself understood I'm sure you
will get along very well together." Kore's lustrous eyes searched Marielle's fac
e and when her scrutiny was borne without flinching the beginnings of a slow smi
le appeared.

Rom relaxed, and with a satisfied nod strode off to join the council of waiting
men. "Are you hungry?" Kore asked with a timidity that hinted at expected rebuff
. Marielle expelled a deep, relieved breath. "Very much so. It seems ages since
our last meal and whatever it is you are cooking smells wonderful." Kore looked
anxious. "We must not eat before the men have been served, but I will put enough
aside for you to satisfy your hunger." Then she smiled and with a hint of misch
ief offered, "But come, I will fish out some small titbits for you from the pot.
If the discussion becomes interesting the men will forget the need to eat, and
you cannot be expected to suffer hunger indefinitely." They laughed like childre
n as they filched from the aromatic stew enough meat to drive the hunger pangs f
rom Marielle's protesting stomach, then, ignoring the hostile looks of the rest
of the women busily tending their pots, they sat down and began a halting explor
ation of each other's minds. "Have you children, Kore?" Marielle asked, curious
to find out as much as possible about the race of strangers who lived a life of
constant motion, like waving branches or flowing water. Kore's eyes reflected ma
ternal love as she waved her hand in the direction of what looked like a giganti
c eiderdown laid out on the ground between the caravans. "Two," she answered pro
udly, "a son, Putzi, and a daughter, Mozol, which name in your language means 'b
lackcurrant'." She laughed when Marielle's eyes widened and continued, "Although
we travel together in a tribe, each family has its own van and each wife cooks
and washes and cleans for her own family, so that although we travel together we
can respect each other's need for privacy. Of course, if any family should need
help we give it, but in communal conditions such as these we find it

necessary to remain in some respects apart in order to retain a degree of indivi

duality. Except for the children,"' she qualified, "they never feel in need of s
olitude and so they are content to be in each other's company all day as well as
all night. As you can see," she pointed towards the great eiderdown and Mariell
e turned in time to see it moving convulsively as if a minor eruption was taking
place underneath, "the children all sleep together under one large dunha. One o
f them is restless tonight, and there will be much giggling and scuffling from t
he others until he finally settles down to sleep." "But don't you tire of always
being in the same company?" Marielle wondered aloud. "Do you never wish to see
a fresh face or hear different views ? " "Oh, but we do!" Kore twinkled. "We are
not permanently in one tribe. Some day soon my husband, Rupa, or one of the oth
er men will decide to leave this kumpania to join up with another. Perhaps at th
e next crossroad we will see signs indicating that the kumpania of a brother or
a cousin is in the vicinity and we will leave this tribe and go in search of the
others. That way we keep in touch with our families and learn all the news; who
is dead, who has been born, and who is to be married." The conversation had so
captured Marielle's attention she felt the return of the men as an intrusion, an
d when Rom Boro and Kore's husband, Rupa, appeared out of the darkness demanding
food her impatience must have shown. "Don't you want to know what has been deci
ded?" Rom asked dryly as he sat down beside her and began eating out of the bowl
of stew Kore had pushed into his hand. "As my opinions seem to be of no consequ
ence, I hardly think it matters," she answered tartly.

"True," he nodded infuriating agreement. "However, I think I owe it to Sophie to

make it clear that only because you are her niece, and it is her special wish t
hat you be protected, has the council's decision turned in your favour. For my s
ake, they had already agreed to let you stay, but you have Sophie to thank for t
he fact that as long as you remain here you will be accorded the courtesy of an
honoured guest provided," he scooped out the last of his stew and stressed, "you
r presence does not become an embarrassment. To the Romany, the ways of the Gaje
are strange, so they must be forgiven for being apprehensive as to whether you
will cohabit successfully with their own women." Marielle was just about to prot
est that she had no intention of being put on probation when a figure glided int
o the firelit circle to whisper an urgent message in Rom's ear. He tensed with a
nimal alertness, then silently he sprang to his feet and she was whipped upwards
into his arms. "Don't move, or say a word!" he hissed fiercely when she began t
o struggle. As he carried her into the darkness she heard coming from the perime
ter of the camp the sound of many arguing voices, but the sounds became muffled
when she was lowered to the ground and thrust under the voluminous eiderdown tha
t covered the now soundly sleeping children. It was only when Sergei Ivanov's vo
ice echoed loudly round the camp that the true seriousness of the situation beca
me clear. Her heart was thumping so loudly she thought it would burst, but his w
ords reached her with spine-chilling force. "You people know the penalty for har
bouring a criminal," he grated, "so if my soldiers find the English girl in your
camp you don't need to be told what to expect! The woman is a spy, and she must
be caught! " Sharply he rapped out an order to his men to search the vans, and
Marielle trembled under her covering as the sound of splintering wood and smashi
ng crockery verified the ruthlessness of the searching soldiers.

One of the children whimpered in his sleep and immediately the Russian was alert
ed. "What was that?" he demanded. "A restless child who whimpers in his sleep,"
she heard Kore's calm reply. "Please, try not to disturb him." Heavy boots crush
ed twigs underfoot as he walked towards the sleeping children. In a sweat of fea
r Marielle waited while far above her he brooded down at the concealing eiderdow
n, deliberating whether or not to remove it. She felt faint with reaction when h
e decided against it and moved away. Half an hour later, when every van had been
stripped almost bare, Sergei Ivanov commanded his men to cease searching. They
piled into cars and drove with tyres screeching back into the darkness, leaving
behind amongst the debris of the camp, proof of the gypsies' deeply ingrained tr
adition of compassion for the hunted.

CHAPTER THREE THE sturdily built covered wagon was perched on high wheels, there
were three small windows on either side curtained with faded, once brightly-col
oured material, and double doors at the front opening onto a wide porch-like boa
rd. The walls were of plain wood, natural coloured oak heavily varnished, and th
e roof was white. A vivid eiderdown was heaped upon an upholstered bunk designat
ed as a bed. A couple of stools and a few plump feather-filled cushions complete
d the furnishings of what, for the next few weeks, was to be Marielle's home. Sh
e sank down upon the bunk and subconsciously her hands gripped tightly on to the
eiderdown as the tension of the last terrifying moments held sway. A lamp threw
Rom's elongated shadow upon the bare walls, and as he towered over her it seeme
d every square inch of the van was stamped with his taunting presence. "Well, do
you still believe our efforts to get you away from Sergei Ivanov were melodrama
tic and totally unnecessary?" he questioned dryly. She looked up, hating his sup
eriority, his insulting lack of concern for her ravaged feelings, and the words
tasted bitter when she forced out the admission. "I was wrong, I realize now tha
t my only hope of freedom lies with you and your people. I will do everything I
can to make myself amenable to them." "How wise." He sounded bored, a little dis
appointed at her lack of usual fire, and the suspicion formed that being so used
to adulation both from his audiences and from his people that the sparring whic
h had begun almost immediately they met was to him quite a novelty. If that were
the case, she decided, he was due for further disappointment because in future
she meant to keep the almighty Rom Boro at a distance. Her safety depended upon
this man who

sparked off in her instinctive resentment, but as nothing must be allowed to jeo
pardize her chances of remaining with the tribe she intended being as pleasantly
servile as possible to the arrogant gypsy.
1
She watched him pour ruby wine into slender glasses and, swallowing her self-dis
gust, decided this was as good a time as any to begin acting out her newly- plan
ned tactics. She accepted the wine with a shy upward glance through a tangle of
lashes, sipped a little, and murmured, "Thank you, it's delicious. Is it a produ
ct of your Spanish vineyards ?" When his eyebrows shot up she sensed she had mad
e some foolish mistake, but he was in no hurry to enlighten her. "Why my Spanish
vineyards, particularly?" His amusement caused her to blush a deep pink. "I ...
I'm not sure," she stammered. "Somehow I've always associated gypsies with Anda
lucia, with flamenco music and dancing, with sun and Manzanilla wine..." "Ah, yo
u are thinking of the Gitanos of Spain, a semi-nomadic, almost sedentary people
like your English gypsies, the Sinti of Germany or the Rudari of Rumania. Romani
es are pure nomad, they travel not within the boundaries of one land, nor even o
ne country. Their tribes can be found in Russia, in America, from Oslo to Istanb
ul, from Malaya to South Africa and Brazil. Does that surprise you ?" She frowne
d. "You say 'their' and 'they' as if you yourself do not identify with them?" sh
e questioned, her grey eyes wide with enquiry. Her show of interest surprised hi
m and after a slight hesitation he hooked forward a chair and sat down facing he
r, the lamp playing

upon his raven head, softening his stern mouth into lines of indulgence. When he
began to speak the words came slowly at first, then more rapidly as if he found
it a relief to unburden himself of long-buried memories. "My life with the Roma
nies began on a bright moonlight night in May of 1940," he bewildered her by con
fiding. "I was just three years old, but I can remember vividly waking up in my
bed and hearing a faint purr overhead in the night sky, followed by what I thoug
ht was the rumble of thunder. I felt no fear, my parents were sleeping in the ne
xt room and a call would have brought them immediately, so I lay there listening
until gradually the soft purring grew ominously louder. I ran to the window, te
rrified but fascinated, and saw wave after wave of black swastika-emblemed bombe
rs surging over the rooftops. Now and then one of them would tip its wings and f
all from the sky like a wounded eagle, screaming at a high pitch, then exploding
as it hit the earth, creating devastation. I wanted to run to my parents, but I
was rooted to the spot, then suddenly the whole house seemed to explode and cru
mble slowly around me into a pile of dust, bricks and splintering timber." Marie
lle smothered a shocked gasp. Although unemotionally portrayed, his word-picture
had captured her imagination to such an extent she could actually feel the pain
of the frightened child at the window. "And your parents ? ". she whispered. Hi
s brown throat worked as he drained his glass dry. "Both killed," he replied bri
efly. "The next thing I remember is being jostled along amongst a crowd of hurry
ing people. The roads were packed with trucks and buses; hordes of bicycles, som
e with riders, some laden with blankets, mattresses and battered suitcases, were
being wheeled along the pavements out of the path of trundling traffic. No one
noticed me - or if they did they must have thought I belonged with

one or other of the fleeing families - so eventually when I was so exhausted I c

ould walk no further, I crept into a field and lay down to sleep." A glint of we
ll-remembered pleasure chased some of the bleakness from his eyes as he continue
d slowly, "I awoke to a breakfast of steaming soup ladled out of a pan bubbling
over a campfire only inches away from my feet. Smiling brown faces urged me not
to be afraid, to eat up my soup and forget my fear of being alone. Providence ha
d led me to the Romanies and they, in their infinite compassion, accepted me imm
ediately as if I were one of their own." She remained silent when his words pete
red into a mute stillness full of secret thought. She felt overawed and slightly
inadequate at being the recipient of the innermost confidences of her aloof com
panion. Then reason told her she need not feel flattered. To him she was almost
non-existent, an irritation - a fly on the arm - but otherwise negative. He coul
d have as easily conversed with shadows, so superfluous was her presence to his
needs. But, consciously or not, he had betrayed loneliness and a hint of yearnin
g. He was the Romanies' leader - not their chief, because the independent race b
owed to no one man's authority - yet between them, unspoken and mostly ignored,
lay the fact that his blood was not theirs. Feted and respected though he was, t
here was not one amongst his many friends and admirers whom he could claim as hi
s own. As if to discount her theory of isolation, he stood up to stretch luxurio
usly, then strolled to the door with an air of having wasted enough time in casu
al conversation. "I hope you don't find the bed too uncomfortable," he offered w
ithout, she felt sure, caring a damn. "If you need me for anything I shall be ne
arby." Curiosity impelled her towards the window to pinpoint his exact whereabou
ts. The camp was silent, still bodies wrapped in dunhas were spread inside the m
oonlit circle around the embers of dying campfires. An owl hooted, causing her a
thrill of misgiving which

gave way to a sense of reassurance when she saw Rom's tall figure stretched out
on the ground at the foot of the steps leading to the van. As she slowly undress
ed hundreds of questions crying out to be answered crowded her mind. She felt ce
rtain, even as she snuggled into the warmth of the eiderdown, that she would not
manage to sleep, but her heavy lids closed before she had pondered for even a s
econd over the events of the momentous day. She awoke to the sound of hordes of
children laughing and screaming as they ran between the vans, under the feet of
tethered horses and round the perimeter of the camp, rollicking gleefully like a
herd of healthy young animals. There was no sign of Rom or any other of the men
when she tripped sleepily out of the van in search of water, but Kore was just
preparing to leave the camp with two buckets slung over her arm. When Marielle c
alled out she turned and waited smilingly until she caught up. "I am going for w
ater to wash clothes," she told her. "It is just as well you join me, because th
ere are rules I must explain if you are to remain with our tribe." "First I need
a wash," Marielle grinned, "after that I will gladly listen to your rules." Kor
e shook her head. "Listen before you wash," she insisted firmly, "otherwise you
might offend against the laws of marhime, an offence so serious it would have to
be taken before the Kris - our council of Elders - for punishment to be decided
." The river was reached before Marielle could put further questions and her ama
zement knew no bounds when Kore began drawing imaginary lines to divide the rive
r into sections. With the utmost gravity she instructed, "Water for drinking and
cooking must be taken farthest upstream, next comes the water for washing dishe
s and bathing and farther downstream, in order, is water for the horses and for
the washing of clothes. Separate buckets much be used to fetch water for each pa
rticular use, otherwise the water becomes marhime - unclean. A Romany must never
touch anything marhime." Marielle's concept that gypsies were

not too particular in their habits suffered a quick reversal and she felt sudden
ly humbled as she began carrying out Kore's instructions. It was fun to wade bar
efooted into the shallows to fill the bucket supplied by Kore. The water had a c
hampagne sparkle, it tingled icily around her toes as she attempted to balance o
n submerged mosscovered stones in an effort to fill her bucket from a pool just
out of reach. "Be careful, Marielle!" Kore chuckled, amused by her antics, but t
he words had hardly left her lips when Marielle's feet flew from under her and s
he landed with a tremendous splash neck-deep in the pool. Peals of unkind laught
er came from the direction of the bank as Kore struggled to help her out of the
water. Her blonde hair was sculptured to her head, giving her the look of a star
tled urchin, and her sodden trouser suit felt a ton weight as it dragged around
her shivering body. Kore was trying hard not to laugh, but her amusement was kin
d, unlike Lala's which was unashamedly gloating. She stood on the bank making no
attempt to help, giving rein to peal after peal of laughter as she watched Kore
exerting all her strength to heave Marielle out of the sucking water. "Rom's Ga
je woman looks more like a boy than ever now!" she shouted, her eyes flashing sp
iteful enjoyment as she ran complacent hands over her own generous curves. "How
I wish he were here to see for himself what the water has revealed - that beneat
h the clothes of a man lies hidden the body of an undeveloped child!" Water almo
st turned to steam as Marielle in her fury reacted to the insolent tirade. By We
stern standards her figure was faultless, but compared with Lala's voluptuousnes
s she looked slender as a reed, and the knowledge stung.

"Beauty cannot be eaten with a spoon!" she retaliated fiercely, the half-forgott
en homily of her mother's coming swiftly to her tongue. Much to her surprise, La
la flushed a deep red, then, with a vicious look, turned on her heel and spun aw
ay. Beside her she heard Kore give a surprised gasp. then to Marielle's amazemen
t she collapsed into a paroxysm of laughter. "How could you have known?" she fin
ally gasped, hugging her aching sides. "Lala's one great handicap is her inabili
ty to cook even the simplest of meals, and your words have pricked her vanity in
the only way possible. Not for nothing do the men of the tribe shy away from pr
oposals of marriage! Yes," she twinkled, "that round must surely go to you, alth
ough I fear your shot in the dark will add impetus to Lala's well-known tendency
to extract revenge for even the smallest slight." She sobered quickly to warn,
"Watch her carefully, my dear, you have made of her an enemy." Kore's offer of d
ry clothing had to be accepted; Sophie's carefully laid plans had not included f
or the provision of luggage, therefore every article Marielle possessed was clin
ging wetly to her chilled body. Inside Kore's van she stripped and rubbed down w
ith a coarse towel until the blood was once more surging through her veins, then
doubtfully she donned the unfamiliar articles of underwear, the voluminous skir
ts and low-cut silk blouse which Kore unearthed from out of the tin trunk that s
erved her as a wardrobe. She felt like the heroine of a musical comedy when fina
lly she clasped together the buckle of a wide belt that narrowed her waist to th
e circumference of a hand span, then twirled on her heel, experimentally flounci
ng her skirts. Kore, still searching the depths of the trunk, turned to remark s
lyly, "The costume becomes you well. Rom will have no difficulty in distinguishi
ng you from a boy, as even Lala will surely now admit."

She chuckled when Marielle's cheeks reddened, then gave a cry of satisfaction as
her groping hands alighted upon the objects she had been seeking. "These will a
dd the perfect finishing touch," she offered, her hand emerging from the trunk c
lutching a fistful of goldcoin trinkets. "Oh, but I couldn't!" Marielle proteste
d. "They look valuable, I wouldn't dare risk losing them." Kore looked bewildere
d. "But I make you a gift," she faltered, hurt darkening her beautiful eyes. "It
is our custom to offer the best of what we have to those we admire," she finish
ed in a whisper. Marielle's heart jerked at the enormity of her error. Kore was
deeply upset by what she imagined was a rejection of her friendship; the only wa
y to soothe her ruffled feelings was to accept the proffered gift in the spirit
in which it had been intended. Appalled by the hurt she had administered, she dr
opped to her knees beside the dejected girl and apologized, "I'm so sorry, Kore,
please forgive me - I didn't understand." Immediately a white-toothed smile tra
nsformed Kore's face. "Then you will wear them?" she urged, pushing the baubles
into Marielle's hands. "Thank you, I'll wear them with pleasure," she accepted,
with the added reservation, "If you're quite sure Rupa will not object?" "He wil
l be proud," Kore assured her. "It is well that we share the riches brought to u
s by the generosity of our leader. Only a few years ago our tribe was one of the
poorest of all Romany tribes. We suffered much poverty and hardship and could s
ee no way of changing our fortunes. But then," she heaved a sigh of satisfaction
, "Rom decided to go in search of money. Not for himself, you understand," she h
astened to explain, "but for us, his people. And

now," she puffed up proudly, "we have full bellies, healthy children and good va
ns and livestock. Rom is a very rich, man - a millionaire," she told a thoroughl
y confused Marielle. Kore had not mentioned any specific currency, but her impli
cation of great wealth puzzled Marielle greatly. "But if Rom has spent all his m
oney how can he be rich?" she faltered. Kore looked her astonishment. "Because o
nly a millionaire can spend a million," she stated with such simple logic that M
arielle was speechless. As she fastened bracelets and necklaces around Marielle'
s wrists and throat she babbled on, "Rupa receives a larger share of Rom's wealt
h because he accompanies him everywhere he goes .and shares with him the frustra
tions of the Gaje world. So, after attending to our needs, he exchanges what mon
ey is left into gold pieces which will be kept as a sumadji for our children." "
Sumadji?"" "Heirloom," Kore struggled to interpret, "an investment to ensure the
y will never want." With such a debt of gratitude owing to Rom by his people, Ma
rielle reflected, the devotion he received was hardly surprising. The frightened
, neglected orphan plucked from the morass of fleeing refugees had amply rewarde
d them for their act of unselfish humanity. As the day progressed she became so
adjusted to her borrowed garments she was able to forget that initially they had
felt cumbersome. She spent her time helping Kore with the chores and trying to
establish contact with the rest of the women. At first they were wary, reluctant
to meet half-way her tentative overtures, but her genuine desire to be friendly
, plus the amusement she afforded as she struggled to communicate in their own l
anguage, soon broke down their barrier of reserve.

When the men arrived back at camp after a day spent bartering at a nearby horse
fair it was hardly surprising that within the melee of busy women bustling aroun
d steaming cooking pots, harassed by dozens of mischievous children, Marielle sh
ould be momentarily overlooked. When Rom strode out of the dusk she was almost u
nder his feet before she was noticed. He straddled the edge of the campfire, eye
s narrow as a fox, watching her stirring the contents of an iron pot with a larg
e ladle. Quite unaware of his presence, she ran a finger along the edge of the l
adle to scoop a sly helping of gravy into her mouth. The flickering firelight ad
ded delicacy to her cameo features and made moon silver of her hair. Shadows car
essed her body, masking her curves with a coquetry a man might find tantalizing.
She was adding salt with grave concentration when his sardonic voice mocked, "I
f you are playing charades, might I attempt to guess whom you are supposed to re
present?" The ladle fell with a clatter into the pot, his words dispelling the m
agical contentment that had made her able to hum softly as she carried out her c
hores. As if pulled by a string, her muscles jerked into taut knots, his amused
presence flooding her with a selfconsciousness that chased all the grace from he
r movements. A solitary yellow-haired mongrel pricked up its ears when he crowne
d her humiliation with the brutal statement, "In the race for emancipation Weste
rn women have deprived themselves of the art of femininity. You ought to stick t
o trousers." A spark flared, its reflection captured in the depths of cool grey
eyes. "Do you speak with authority, or are you merely surmising?" she countered
frostily. He breathed a laugh and sauntered nearer. "I have eyes, and a modicum
of experience. To woo a gypsy woman is as exciting as

bedding down a tiger, but you, I imagine, would offer as little challenge as a w
ide-eyed doe." Unbearably taunted, she spat, "I know all there is to know about
sex!" "Perhaps, but you have everything to learn about love," was his cool reply
. "Sex is a cold, clinical word completely out of context when used to describe
the melting of two hearts and minds and bodies into one. You must reject all tho
ught of emancipation if you wish to experience the perfect unity looked upon by
our women as their right. Superficial wit and a sophisticated veneer might satis
fy Englishmen, but we Romanies have no use for a candle that is all wax and no f
lame."
Later that night, screened by darkness and rain, the caravans stole away. Moving
as silently as possible, the horses' hooves padded with straw and bound with st
rips of coloured cloth, they avoided the roads and travelled cross-country throu
gh rugged terrain which only the high-wheeled wagons could have tackled. Mariell
e felt guilty as she luxuriated dry and warm inside the van while Rom sat up fro
nt in driving rain urging on the horses with low clicking sounds. At times the c
aravan slowed to a crawl and he would jump down, ankle-deep in mud, to push his
shoulder against reluctant wheels. At other times it would suddenly pitch forwar
d, sending her hurtling amongst the pots and pans to collect bruises which, at t
he time, she felt barely aware of. Young men of the tribe rushed backwards and f
orwards helping stragglers bogged down in the morass of deep mud mashed by horse
s' hooves, wagon wheels, and people on foot.

After what seemed hours of punishing travel, a repeated whistle could be heard c
oming from the direction of the lead wagon, lowpitched, but piercing enough to c
arry right down the line. In contrast to the belting rain, the suck of horses wa
ding through mud, and the occasional wail of an infant from a nearby van, the wh
istle carried a strangely reassuring message. Almost immediately afterwards Mari
elle was startled by a low rumbling as the wheels raced again on firm ground. Th
e padding had long since worn off the horses' hooves and once more they were pou
nding along a paved road. The door swung open and Rom strode in, his entry sendi
ng a sweep of cold air around the van. His teeth showed white in a grin of pure
enjoyment after his battle with the elements and under black plastered strands o
f hair his eyes shone. "We have crossed the border into Czechoslovakia," he told
her with great satisfaction. "Although still in Russian territory, we have put
many miles between ourselves and Sergei Ivanov and tomorrow, with a bit of luck,
we will add even more." His smile flashed whiter. "Not long now, moya droga, un
til we part company for good! " Moya droga! My dear! Many times Marielle had hea
rd the soft Polish endearment from her mother's lips, so-it was hardly surprisin
g that the unexpected words should tug at her heartstrings. The interior of the
van seemed to shrink as he moved forward. She backed away, her slender outline o
n the wall overshadowed by his superior bulk. Her timidity shamed her, and it wa
s with intended asperity that she turned on him, only to be betrayed by a tremor
that ran through her words. "I, too, am impatient to return home; your pleasure
is no greater than mine." A clock ticked loudly, emphasizing the silence that s
eparated them. For a startled second their eyes met, his dark and aware, hers a
misty, mysterious grey.

"Do you have relatives in England?" he asked suddenly, as if for the first time
she had registered upon him as a person. A breath caught in her throat; she had
wondered what it would be like to really capture his interest - it was not altog
ether pleasant to find she felt grateful and as eager to please as a fawning pup
py. Selfscorn added sting to her answer. "My only relative is Sophie," she retor
ted, her tilted chin defying sympathy. "But I have friends." "Friends," he ponde
red curiously. "And do you find friendship an alliance intimate enough to satisf
y your innermost needs? Perhaps amongst these friends you mention there is one s
pecial person with whom you hope to develop a deeper relationship?" The heat sco
rching her cheeks held his interest to an astonishing degree, and her indignatio
n heightened when one eyebrow crooked, signifying that he had drawn his own conc
lusions from her obvious embarrassment. Goaded by exasperation, she retaliated,
"No, there is no special person, but I do hope to embark upon a full and very sa
tisfying career, an ambition you no doubt consider out of character for one of m
y sex?" To her chagrin his expression went blank. "It is of no interest to me wh
at you do with your life," he shrugged. "Once we reach Austria it will be compar
atively easy to arrange transport for you to England. After that, I doubt if our
paths will ever cross again." He moved towards the door and advised, "Try to ge
t some sleep, we will be on the move all night, but the roads are smooth and the
van will travel light." As swiftly as he had spoken he withdrew, annoyingly dep
riving her of the chance to frame a cool, face-saving answer. She slept until th
e sun's heat began penetrating the van, then, impelled by curiosity and the need
for fresh air, she went outside to join Rom, whose night of activity had left h
im heavy-eyed and blackjowled. He ran a hand over his bristled chin and cocked a
n eyebrow

in silent apology when she clambered over the wooden bench to sit next to him. T
he caravans were heading uphill in a slow-moving train, the horses' slow clip- c
lop echoing their weariness and the weariness of the drivers who held the reins
slackly in tired hands. Rain had washed the earth clean, and the sun's appearanc
e served as polish on every glistening leaf and blade. Streams gurgled their way
downhill in a spate of sparkling life and a chorus of birds added to the song o
f thanksgiving for a new day. She did not stop 'to wonder why she should be feel
ing so vitally alive and happy as she sat perched high, swaying with the movemen
t of the van, breathing blossom-perfumed air, and enjoying a feeling of companio
nship she had never before experienced. Even Rom, his teeth clenched around a me
erschaum pipe, seemed content to allow her to share his company without further
punishing slights or sarcasm. Marielle flung out her arms to encompass the whole
of nature and expelled on a breath: "What a wonderful way to live! How can you
bear to leave all this for stuffy nightclubs and crowded cities?" He bit deeply
on the stem of his pipe. "By not thinking about it until the actual moment of de
parture," he answered tersely, her question disturbing his enjoyment of the mome
nt. "The Rom have taught me to live in the perpetual present; memories, dreams,
desires, hungers, the urge towards a tomorrow, are all rooted in the present. Wi
thout now there is no before, just as there can be no after." She pondered on hi
s words, repeating them to herself, then felt a shock of thankfulness at being a
llowed to share this moment of perpetual present - even if, for them, there was
to be no after. A joyful whistle set the horses' ears pricking and straightened
the drooping backs of the drivers. A revitalizing spurt ran through the whole of
the train when with a whoop of glee the driver of the lead van stood up in his
seat to urge his horses over the brow of the hill.

With excitement running like a drug through his veins, each man followed suit an
d the air rang with piercing whistles, rattling wheels and the pounding of horse
s' shoes. Terrified but exhilarated, Marielle hung on as the van charged rapidly
forward, swaying and leaning at such an angle it seemed certain to overturn. St
eam rose from the sweating horses, but the sound of chains, hatchets, washtubs a
nd a miscellany of other objects rattling together seemed to act upon them as a
spur. They thundered up and over the crest of the hill, then down towards a circ
le of strange caravans already camped. Women and children ran forward, recognizi
ng familiar faces, and greetings were screamed back and forth long before the ad
vancing caravans came to rest. As the two groups converged Marielle recognized d
istinct family resemblances, and as cousin greeted cousin and brother greeted si
ster a festive air began to emerge. Hastily, cooking pots were dragged on to rev
ived fires and while young men attended to the horses, older men swapped news an
d the women set to preparing breakfast for their unexpected guests. Marielle cre
pt into the van, forgotten and superfluous to the success of the reunion. She fe
lt shy of the strangers and loath to intrude, so she sat alone at the window" pa
ssing the time by guessing who was related to whom and which of the pairs of gay
-eyed youngsters might progress even further than flirtatious friendship. But th
e pastime soon palled, and soon she was invaded by a niggling depression. Regret
that she and her aunt should have parted on such unfriendly terms was the main
source of her misery and the terrifyingly alone feeling known only to solitary o
rphans was, for the first time, allowed to fasten its grip. She slid down the bu
nk and closed her eyes, defying hot tears to surge to the surface, deliberately
occupying her mind away from thoughts of family and friends. But misery had her
in a stranglehold, and a sound inside the van alerted her too late to erase the
dampness from her cheeks. The sound was made by Rom. Silently he looked down at
her as she pretended to yawn, then stretched her limbs as if just awakening from
sleep. His unemotional

mouth betrayed no secrets, but when he touched her gently on the shoulder and be
ckoned her to follow she knew he understood completely the reason behind her jou
rney into the no-man's-land of lonely isolation. No words were exchanged between
them as he led the way towards a group of chatting people. When she saw them ap
proaching, Kore began raking the fire to heat a huge, red enamelled coffee-pot,
then, when Marielle was seated, she placed in front of her an enormous black iro
n cauldron holding the remains of a mixture of fried onion, tomatoes, red pepper
s and meat. She thought the food would choke her, and was just about to say so w
hen, with innate good manners, her companions averted their eyes and began conve
rsing amongst themselves, giving her confidence first to taste then finally to e
njoy the thoughtfully-kept meal. That night the resident tribe gave a patshiv in
honour of their guests. Around the fires the men talked and drank in true gypsy
fashion, freely, courteously and with unrestrained enjoyment. The women bustled
around supplying food to satisfy appetites sharpened by pleasure and good humou
r, then later, when the children were asleep, they joined their menfolk around t
he fires to hear again ancient history, related through the medium of song, by T
roka, an old and very much revered tribesman. As if by right, Marielle was place
d next to Rom and as Troka's voice reached out, reedy but full of emotion, he so
ftly translated, breathing the words through a cool mouth that hovered just a fr
action from her ear. She drank in the poetry of the words until, as couplet foll
owed couplet, she felt drugged by sheer romance and strong emotion. When the sin
ging finally ended, old Troka sank back into the arms of his sons, his strength
sapped, leaving everyone hushed, lingering as if time had stood still under the
impact of the songs. Rom started to hum a gypsy dance tune. It broke the tension
and the rhythmic melody gradually took a hold as other young men joined in.

Girls clapped and beat out the rhythm with their feet, then one of them, more fe
rvent than the rest, jumped into the circle and began to dance. Marielle's eyes
widened when she recognized Lala, but dislike became tinged with admiration as t
he vivacious girl postured and pirouetted in front of her audience. Her expressi
on was aloof, but there was a touch of mockery in her flashing eyes as she beat
the ground with small, angry-sounding steps. Encouraged by clapping hands, she s
tamped her feet faster and louder, spinning around the circle with skirts flying
, her quick glance skimming every face in search of someone. She stopped with st
artling suddenness before Rom and began moving with slow undulating gestures, pr
ovoking, teasing, daring him to turn down the challenge she was so plainly offer
ing. Close to him, Marielle felt him tense, then a flood of searing anger sprang
from somewhere deep inside when, after slight hesitation, he leapt into the cir
cle to join Lala. As he grabbed her by the waist the onlookers shouted and whist
led their approval, then a second couple joined them, then a third, until very s
oon all she could see of Rom was a quick glimpse of his laughing face when occas
ionally the dancers parted. As if to them dancing was an earnest, personal chall
enge, the young gypsies charged freely into the fray, slapping their knees, clic
king the toes and heels of their riding boots in succession on the ground and tw
irling their partners around with an enthusiasm that sent delighted screams to t
he girls' lips. Marielle was so mentally involved that it was a shock to hear a
softtoned voice questioning directly, "Would the Gaje girl care to be my partner
?" She looked up into the face of a solemn young rogue. His pleasantly voiced re
quest did nothing to disguise the recklessness, crushed but visible, in his bold
eyes.

"I can't ...!" The words escaped before she had time to think. His eyes followed
hers towards Rom. "Can't?" he mocked dangerously. "Or daren't ...?" The anger s
he was trying to suppress reacted as a damped-down fire to his sly prod. For som
e unexplainable reason she had felt slighted before the eyes of the whole camp w
hen Rom had deserted her in favour of Lala, and the young gypsy's innuendo prove
d her suspicion correct. She turned to him with more fire than he expected from
one of her race and set his teeth flashing in a grin of pleasure by accepting. "
Yes, I'll dance with you...?" "Kalia," he supplied quickly. "Thank you, Kalia. S
hall we go?" It was no fun being held so tightly she could hardly breathe and ha
ving a strange, seeking face thrust so closely against her own that her back was
bent almost double attempting evasion. The surrounding crush gave him ample exc
use to pull her even closer as the dancing continued without a break, and after
suffering almost half an hour of embarrassment she felt she would have given any
thing to escape his hot, amorous clutches. Her chance came when Kalia, his atten
tion straying more and more to her pale face and less and less upon the other da
ncers, collided with another couple whose flying feet came into contact with Mar
ielle's ankle. Her cry of pain was almost a scream as she sagged against him fig
hting scorching waves of pain. "May your brains flow out the way beer flows from
a barrel!" Kalia viciously cursed the colliding couple. When he turned to atten
d to Marielle, the cursed gypsy scowled, then lunged at Kalia, causing him to lo
osen his hold upon her only

seconds before he was sent spinning into the crowd of dancers. Feelings ran high
, as inflamed by excitement and too much wine, the men took sides in a free-forall which sent the women screaming for protection. Men's bodies were hurled thro
ugh the air to crash into the undergrowth, their opponents closely following beh
ind. Dishes, buckets and anything else to hand were used as weapons to implement
fists, feet and heads lowered as battering rams against vulnerable stomachs. It
was a sickening spectacle and Marielle, full of revulsion, staggered across to
a van and screwed her eyes tightly shut to avoid watching the orgy of brutality.
A whistle shrilled above the noise of the skirmish, but was ignored. A second b
last, more prolonged, penetrated and braked inflamed passions to the extent of s
lowing down the rate of blows exchanged. When she heard Rom's voice above the re
ceding din she opened her eyes and saw his tall, angry figure dominating the gat
hering of sullen men. With knife-edged words he berated them, his lashing tongue
deriding their irresponsible behaviour with a scorn that caused rough tides of
colour to stain tanned cheeks. Their shuffling feet were turning towards the van
s when Lala's clear tones raised their bowed heads. Her words were forceful and
her eyes, when they searched for and found Marielle's white face, were imprinted
with hate. She pointed a damning finger and shouted: "It was she, the Gaje woma
n, who caused the trouble! We did not want her here, but you, Rom Boro, insisted
, so you must share her blame!" Passionately, she turned upon the disgruntled cr
owd and urged, "This woman's evil influence must be removed from our tribe. If R
om Boro and the elders who agreed to her presence will not send her away then we
must appeal to the Kris for justice! Are you all agreed?" To Marielle, tremblin
g against the side of the van, the gypsies' roar of assent sounded frighteningly
like that of a guillotine crowd thirsting for vengeance.

CHAPTER FOUR THE Kris, Rom explained in tight-lipped monotone, was the Romany le
gal structure presided over by a panel of judges, the krisatora, whose wisdom ov
er the years had acquired legendary stature. For countless generations their jud
gement had enforced restraint over the more powerful groups of gypsies who would
have imposed their will over weaker parties. Without respect for the Kris, the
Romanies would long ago have reverted to savagery, into a society of thugs corru
pt by the power possessed by those of superior physique and ruled by only one la
w - the law of violence. Marielle sensed his resentment of the position in which
Lala's outcry had placed him. It was galling to his proud spirit to have to sta
nd accused of injustice; his erect shoulders, stern mouth, and the crushed anger
spilling over the calm surface of his words hinted of a control so tightly held
that nothing short of devastation would result if ever it were allowed to slip.
She paced the floor of the van, feeling his eyes following her movements with a
dislike she found unnerving. When she could bear the silence no longer she appe
aled, white-faced: "I did nothing wrong, nothing! How could I have known that to
dance with Kalia would have such repercussions? Anyway, I hated every minute of
it, and if you had not left me alone as you did none of it need ever have happe
ned!" Rom was leaning against a door jamb, detached and, except for his smoulder
ing eyes, composed, but her accusation stung him into action. A couple of lithe
steps brought him so close she had to tilt her head. She waited for the storm, c
ertain that she had presented him with the excuse he had been seeking - to blast
her with words into a quivering pulp. But the words remained unsaid. Instead he
shattered the tense atmosphere by moving to pour out a measure of wine, then, a
fter a shrug of indifference when she refused to join him, he lowered himself up
on the bunk and propped himself up on one elbow to drink

deeply. His lips were stained wine red when, after supping to the dregs, he shoc
ked her by harshly admitting, "You are right, of course, you were placed in my c
harge and I neglected my duty both to you and to my comrades. For that I deserve
to suffer, but only God and I know how much it will cost me to redeem myself in
the eyes of my people." Physically, he demonstrated the extent of his frustrati
on by hurling the wine glass to the floor, shattering fine splinters into the fo
ur corners of the van. Fear grabbed her by the throat when he swung to face her.
For nameless seconds she was pinned by a black spear of anger, then, when he tu
rned sharply away, she collapsed on to the bunk drained of all courage. The door
banged behind his retreating figure and she shivered, his cryptic words dancing
a ritual of fire through her brain. What dreadful punishment was he expecting t
o have meted out to him from this race of barbarians? Unmentionable horrors pres
ented themselves, then were thrust from her mind as hysterical imagery. But noth
ing could erase the memory of his outburst, and instinct told her that only the
prospect of disaster could be responsible for the worry betrayed by Rom Boro, th
e man the tough, rugged gypsies had themselves christened: The Big Man.
For days as they travelled on the episode, scrupulously ignored by Rom, remained
in the forefront of Marielle's mind. Worry was her constant companion and only
that prevented her from becoming completely engrossed by her growing insight int
o the Romanies' network of communication. Everywhere along the road numerous sig
ns had been left by other gypsies travelling ahead. At every crossroads and bend
men jumped down to examine twigs that had been left positioned in a certain way
, indicating the passing of another kumpania and its destination. Even scraps of
coloured cloth hung upon branches at eye level were clues left for following ca
ravans.

Instead of veering off the trail as she had come to expect, the train made slow
steady progress, being joined by other vans at various crossroads until the colu
mn began stretching out over several miles. Surprisingly, she discovered that th
e use of the telephone was an accepted practice. Friendly Gaje - those who displ
ayed no undue curiosity towards the gypsies - were tolerated to the extent that
they were used as "points of contact". Mail was forwarded to them and they also
served as relays for long-distance telephone messages sent from many different c
ountries. Rom, she learned, had his own personal contacts, as did every importan
t member of the other tribes, and in exchange for their services these contacts
were accorded a brand of loyalty given only to a fortunate few. To Marielle, the
Kris began to assume- awesome proportions as the giant trail snaked its way tow
ards a meeting place. Everyone was quiet, subdued in the company of herself and
Rom but muttering together in undertones when out of hearing. Rom made no verbal
recognition of their changed attitude, but as the miles melted under the wheels
his lips thinned gradually into lines of corrosive bitterness and the few words
he threw in her direction became more and more terse. In a way, she reflected t
earfully, she would be glad to reach the end of their journey; the sooner the or
deal began the quicker it would be over. So when eventually she spotted on the h
orizon a huge gathering of caravans she felt no fear, just an overwhelming relie
f that soon, for better or worse, the trial would begin. The camp site was enorm
ous. Settlements of caravans were scattered over an area so large their roofs me
rged with the skyline. Young men driving loaded taligas, small two-wheeled carts
, shunted backwards and forwards stacking provisions for what, it seemed, was to
be a protracted stay; even children were hard at work gathering large quantitie
s of firewood with which to feed the rapacious fires. Kore entered the van just
as Marielle was turning from the window, tired of searching the smoky shadows mo
ving in the distant firelight. Shortly after their arrival, Rom had disappeared,
instructing her

before he left: "Stay inside the van until I return. The tribe is angry the less
it sees of you before the trial the better." The realization that she was to be
treated as a prisoner should have angered her, but her mind was so confused tha
t his taciturn command had sparked from her no greater response than a grave nod
. Kore was carrying a large watermelon. "Here is a treat!" she offered, her atte
mpt to appear lighthearted defeated by the worry shadowing her eyes. She sliced
through the sweet juicy pulp with a large knife, laying bare bright red flesh gl
istening with black seeds. "I'm not hungry," Marielle refused listlessly when a
portion was pushed forward to tempt her. Kore abandoned the fruit to plead gentl
y, "Do not grieve so, Marielle, not all the tribe are against you. Many, like Ru
pa and myself, have sense enough to see that spite lies behind Lala's accusation
s. I did warn you," she reminded, "that Lala was your enemy." Anguish was appare
nt when Marielle whispered, "For myself, I don't care what the tribe believes, b
ut I do not want Rom to suffer. If the Kris should decide to deliver me to Serge
i Ivanov I would not complain - not so long as only I were punished ... What wil
l they do to him, Kore?" she pleaded with wide frightened eyes. Compassionate ar
ms closed around her when she began to cry. "There, there," Kore soothed. "The k
risatora are wise and just men, you need not fear their judgement. Rom is well-k
nown and respected throughout the Romany world, so much so that the accusations
of Lala and her ignorant friends will lie-as easily as a feather on his head. No
, whatever the krisatora decide, it will be Rom's pride that will suffer, not hi
s reputation. Unfortunately, he declared himself your guardian, so under our law
he must account for your actions. The krisatora will understand the burden he u
ndertook when he

shouldered the responsibility of a young Gaje girl unused to our ways." Marielle
's sobbing ceased as she drew comfort from the confidentlyspoken words. "I hope
you are right, Kore," she gulped, "but even if you are and the krisatora do deci
de to be lenient, will Rom ever forgive me?" There was a smile in Kore's voice w
hen she stood up to leave. "If he feels as you do, then certainly his forgivenes
s will be no problem." "As I do... ?" Marielle echoed dully. Kore walked towards
the door, her swaying hips complementing the impishness of the smile she displa
yed when she half-turned to tease across her shoulder, "But yes, because you mus
t greatly love him who manages to anger you or make you cry."
The Kris convened next day, late in the afternoon. A little apart from , the vas
t crowd of gypsies who had travelled miles to have their grievances resolved - s
ome trivial, others serious - were gathered a small group of men: the krisatora.
There was no pageantry, no outward symbols of their rank, they wore the same cl
othes as the rest of the men, yet in some indefinable way they exuded authority.
A solemn silence heightened the importance of the occasion as the judges took u
p their positions in a half circle, moving with an easy dignity devoid of pride
but nevertheless projecting an air of stately correctness. Marielle waited with
Rom until their case should come up on the agenda. He was silent, pulling on his
pipe with every indication of a calmness she envied as her own nerves gradually
stretched like tightening elastic. There were a number of complaints investigat
ed before their own; some were deferred, others completely dealt with to the see
ming satisfaction of all concerned. Then, after an

hour of torment, she heard her own name mentioned. In her relief she made to rus
h forward, but Rom grabbed her arm, indicating with a nod Lala's presence before
the judges. She began pleading her cause with great eloquence, flashing her bea
utiful eyes over the impassive judges as she reviled Rom's lack of judgement and
contested his right to impose upon his tribe a woman of evil influence - one of
the hated Gaje. Murmurs of agreement from her supporters gave her confidence, a
nd Marielle's heart began to thud when she sensed that Lala's impassioned pleas
were being heard with sympathy. She hardly dared look at Rom. Since Kore's extra
ordinary remark every natural word and movement had been smothered by a blanket
of shyness that turned their every encounter into an oasis of awkward silence. S
he doubted whether he had noticed - he seemed even more unaware of her than befo
re - but the terrible shyness persisted and grew to such an extent that her nerv
es tensed immediately he appeared in her vicinity. What had Kore meant? she pond
ered as Lala's voice intoned in the background. Rom had made her angry on many o
ccasions, but to suggest that it was he who was responsible for her tears was ri
diculous. Nerves, she decided, were responsible. The ordeals of the past few wee
ks were catching up with her... "Well, they're waiting!" Rom nudged her impatien
tly. "You do choose the most inappropriate times to daydream!" The shock of his
words brought colour rushing to her cheeks, and as she stumbled after him across
the rough grass the crescent formation of krisatora appeared to her over-imagin
ative mind to be as hostile as a razoredged scimitar. Rom faced the judges with
arrogant pride, his distaste for the proceedings clearly evident, and as the sil
ent panel examined her Marielle drew closer to his side, searching for protectio
n against the animosity she felt from all sides. The eldest of the panel address
ed Rom. "We have heard from your council their reasons for allowing the girl to
join their tribe, and we are in full agreement with their

decision." She sagged with relief, only to jerk upright when he continued, "We a
ll owe Comrade Sophie our allegiance, and it is unthinkable that any request of
hers should go ignored. But, at the same time, the well-being of your tribe must
be taken into consideration, and that is why, Rom Boro, before we pass judgemen
t we must be convinced that your charge will never again be allowed to escape yo
ur vigilance." Rom cleared his throat to answer, but Marielle forestalled him. G
rey eyes that were pools of earnestness swept the jury as she stammered her assu
rance. "I won't, I promise! Believe me, I'll obey every order I'm given if only.
.." "Shut up!" Rom's angry command sliced through her words so abruptly her lips
froze. Aghast, she stared up into his darkly aggravated face as dimly she began
to suspect that once again she had committed some error. An upsurge of mutterin
g from the gypsies confirmed her fears even before Rom ejected through clenched
teeth, "The krisatora must be addressed directly only by men. If a woman wishes
to be heard it must be done through a male mediator!" "I'm sorry," she gasped, q
uelled by the enormity of her crime. "I thought..." "Don't think!" he interrupte
d fiercely. "Don't think, don't speak don't even move!" It was humiliating to ha
ve to stand silently listening while he apologized on her behalf, but by biting
her tongue and keeping her eyes downcast she managed to look sufficiently abject
to mollify the judges. "I must ask your indulgence for the behaviour of my ...
ward," he began tersely. "Besides being ignorant of our ways she is, I fear, hea
dstrong and she takes a misguided pride in being what she terms liberated." The
krisatora looked taken aback at the idea of a woman aspiring to freedom and Mari
elle fumed inwardly when, after their

initial surprise, they all began sporting huge grins of amusement. It was too mu
ch for her pride to bear, and not all the quelling looks in the world would have
prevented her from defending her case if, at that moment, Rom had not glanced d
own in time to read her mutinous face. His hand shot out to fasten upon the soft
flesh of her upper arm and for a split second she endured agony. Tears of pain
spurted to her eyes as he mutely demanded obedience, and only when she nodded su
rrender did his grasp slacken. Unaware of the contest of wills, the jury went in
to consultation, glancing upwards every now and then as if seeking reassurance o
f their decision. While they waited, Rom watched her narrowly, the shadow of a c
omplacent smile relaxing his lips. He was more at ease now than he had been all
day, she reflected, therefore he must be feeling that things were going well. Sh
e was filled with a great thankfulness that whatever supreme sacrifice he had su
spected he might have to make was now to be proved unnecessary. After a great de
al of nodding and whispering the eldest of the judges lifted his head. She felt
Rom tense as the old man studied him. She had no idea why, but she felt he was f
ull of sympathy for Rom when he began to address him. "There is but one act whic
h will convince the doubting members of your tribe of your complete dominance ov
er this woman. Are you willing to comply with it?" Rom did not move a muscle, bu
t his sharply-indrawn breath evidenced his dismay. For one swift second his blea
k eyes swept her puzzled face, then an answer fell grudgingly from his lips. "I
am." Disturbance rippled through the crowd like wind through a forest, but no vo
ice was heard.

"And the girl - is she willing?" All eyes were trained upon Marielle as she stru
ggled to understand the cryptic question. Was she willing to do what? Obviously
she was to get no help from Rom, whose granite features resisted her unspoken pl
eas for help. The crowd pushed forward, anxious to hear her reply, and a decisio
n was thrust upon her. She had no idea to what she was committing herself, but i
f Rom were to be helped out of the spot in which she had put him she had no alte
rnative but to follow his lead. "Yes, I agree," she stammered into thin air, min
dful of the protocol that decreed that no female must address the judges, then f
elt the sky was ripped asunder by the lusty cheers torn from hundreds of delight
ed throats. From then onwards everything that happened was a complete mystery to
Marielle. It was as if she were involved in a miming play much activity, but fe
w words. Half the members of the krisatora ranged themselves at her side while t
he rest joined Rom. Much clowning and bartering commenced, gold coins were offer
ed by Rom's supporters only to be rejected scornfully by hers. More coins were t
hen offered and accepted, only to be returned when argument again broke out as t
o whether the sum received was sufficient. All the while, surrounded by her supp
orters, she tried to attract Rom's attention, but either he was too caught up in
the senseless game or he was deliberately avoiding her eyes. Finally, the barte
ring ended and someone produced a bottle of fine old brandy wrapped around in a
silken scarf and decorated with a string of gold pieces. With great ceremony the
bottle was handed to Rom. He threw back his head and drank recklessly, his stro
ng throat moving spasmodically as he downed almost half the contents. When he ap
proached her, glinting dangerously, she felt a spasm of apprehension, but his ha
nds were gentle enough when he passed her the bottle and indicated that she too
should drink. As the satiny spirit slid down her throat she coughed, then felt h
er breath cut off as liquid

flame ran through every vein, filling her with a warm glow. As if at a signal, t
he spectators cheered and Rom bent to sweep her high into his arms. Confused by
the speed of his action and by the potent spirit, she did not struggle when he s
trode with her, followed by chanting gypsies, to the door of her van. Even when
he kicked open the door and strode inside she did not protest; it was only when
the laughing crowd had departed leaving them isolated in a vacuum of meaningful
silence that doubts and intransient fears began to form. He deposited her on the
bunk, but when, instead of moving away, he remained staring down at her she beg
an to tremble. He laughed unkindly, then shocked her by laying a caressing hand
on a shoulder bared by the disarrangement of her wide-necked blouse. She shrank
from the intimacy of his touch, the blood freezing in her veins. "Please... plea
se go ..." "What? And disappoint all our friends?" he laughed without humour. "D
isappoint? I don't understand..." He leant even closer and muttered, "No, of cou
rse not, how could you?" He withdrew from her to sketch a bow and with eyes brig
ht as living coal he mocked, "You and I, moya droga, have just participated in a
Romany wedding. Behold, my wife, your new husband"

CHAPTER FIVE MARIELLE was staring at Rom with wild, disbelieving eyes when Kore
burst into the van carrying a white satin dress. She shooed Rom towards the door
, chastising him playfully, "Your impatience is understandable, but as you well
know, a bride must never appear too willing, so your patience must be contained
until you have fought for her capture." Only when Rom, after sketching a derisor
y salute, had disappeared through the door did she turn her attention upon Marie
lle's ashen face and wide terrified eyes. With an excited laugh, she pulled her
to her feet. "It is good that you look frightened; the tribe will need no more t
han a look to be convinced that you are a virgin who stands in awe of her new hu
sband! " Husband! The word jabbed her frozen senses alive. Fiercely she turned u
pon Kore. "He is not my husband! I .was tricked into taking part in a charade th
at held for me neither interest nor meaning, and certainly not commitment!" "But
you agreed - with my own ears I heard you...!" Kore faltered, astonished and a
little angry. "The question was not outlined! I agreed, yes, but I had no idea t
o what! How could I have suspected that marriage was in mind when I had received
neither a proposal nor even attention from the man concerned? The situation is
too ridiculous even to discuss!" She expected Kore to argue, to demand obedience
to the ruling of the Kris, but all she did was gurgle softly. Brimming with an
understanding Marielle found exasperating, she soothed, "We Romany women are not
wooed until after the wedding, and a man may not propose directly to the girl h
e has chosen but must wait until his family and hers have agreed upon a settleme
nt. That is why, in your case, the krisatora themselves intervened. As neither y
ou nor Rom have family or close relatives the judges split into two groups -

one to decide upon the price of the bride and the other to argue the price down.
All in all," she beamed, "you brought a very good price for one so wilful and h
eadstrong. Many gold pieces are owing to you from Rom as the price of your favou
rs." "You mean I was bought?" Marielle flashed, writhing with humiliation. "And
do you seriously expect me to consider the exchanging of coins and the sharing o
f a bottle of wine a legally binding marriage ceremony?" Her head tilted proudly
. "I am an educated Western woman, Kore, and when I marry it will be to a man wh
o will respect my intellectual as well as my physical needs. Certainly I will no
t tolerate being bought like an article across a shop counter!" Kore shrugged, l
etting the dress she was holding fall with a silken sigh to the floor. "It is to
o late to protest - the main part of the marriage ceremony has taken place. You
belong to your husband, his tongue now speaks for both of you, your actions will
be accounted his. Do not try to jump over your own shadow, for the wrath of a R
omany husband against an erring wife must be visibly demonstrated if he is to ke
ep his respect in the eyes of his tribe, and your proud Western ideals will prov
e a useless cushion against the sting of an angry husband's hand." "He wouldn't
dare!" Marielle scoffed, her forced laugh ending on a shaky, uncertain note as c
onscience whispered that he did and would dare. As she watched Kore smooth out t
he creases from the retrieved bridal dress her mind was assessing the incredible
situation. As far as the Romany were concerned she was now the wife of one of t
heir chiefs - one who must be seen to do no wrong. Unnoticed, a hurt sigh escape
d her, when with sudden clarity she remembered the dismay Rom had registered at
the judges' verdict. An enforced marriage was what he had feared most. While she
had pictured unimaginable

punishment being meted out to him he had suspected rightly that the outcome woul
d be their mutual bondage. And what of Sophie, whose name cropped up surprisingl
y often on the tongues of the Romany? No one, not even Kore, would discuss the r
easons for the allegiance her aunt inspired. That she was well loved there was n
o doubt, so much so that Rom had endured the supreme sacrifice of marriage to a
woman he despised rather than have to hurt one whom he loved .. She shuddered, t
hen, icily calm, came to a decision. Her presence had brought nothing but troubl
e to her aunt, to Rom, and to the Romany tribe. Somehow she had to get away, mak
e her own way to England, before her stumbling feet became further entangled in
the skein of their lives.
Preparations for the marriage feast were in full swing when just after dusk she
heard a furtive tapping on her door. Marielle barely moved in acknowledgement; a
ll afternoon she had sat alone plotting and eventually discarding every plan of
escape presented by her exhausted mind. She could find no way out of the situati
on; she had neither money nor transport and in the clothes she was wearing she w
ould stand out even in a crowded city - should she ever manage to reach one. Her
head was aching with concentrated thought when the knocking came again. Wearily
, she dragged herself from the bunk and stumbled towards the door; neither Kore
nor Rom ever bothered to knock, so she was half prepared for the sight of a stra
nger. "Kalia!" she gasped, horrified by the reckless disregard for convention th
at had brought him to her door. To the gypsies it was unthinkable that the wife
of their leader should offer hospitality to a young mi- attached male. "Go away!
" she hissed, fearfully probing the dusky half-light that might be sheltering sp
ies. "Go away this minute, do you hear!" Treading as delicately as a deer in the
forest, he slipped past her, closing the door behind him. "Are you mad?" she ap
pealed. "Rom might return any time!"

Kalia's eyebrows lifted. He was of a poor, backward tribe, one that had never so
ught to better its living standards, with the consequent result that its often s
tarving members passed on to their children an inherent formula for living which
embraced both cunning and deceit lightly skimmed over with roguish charm and si
lvery speech. He began to practise that charm with just the right amount of conc
ern in his voice to make her sore heart feel grateful. "I was worried about you.
Lala is spreading a rumour around the camp that your marriage to Rom was an act
of convenience forced upon you as a result of my actions, and I cannot bear the
thought that I, in my stupidity, should have pushed you into the arms of anothe
r man. Tell me Lala has lied, little flower, that I may make her pay for her sha
me." His genuine anguish on her behalf soothed some of the sting from her hurt a
nd she responded with all the pleasure of a lost child finding shelter in a wild
erness. He represented salvation, the solution that had evaded her all afternoon
stared bright with promise from his eager face. "Lala does not lie, Kalia," she
admitted in desperation. "I must get away! Please, will you help me?" Subduing
a flash of triumph, he assured her swiftly, "We will go tonight. I have a plan,
but as timing must be exactly right and there is no time to explain fully I must
ask you to carry out my instructions without question and to trust me implicitl
y." He waited until she nodded before outlining rapidly, "Take part in the celeb
rations and act the part of a happy bride with as much conviction as you can man
age. That way, no one will suspect anything and my plan will have a better chanc
e of success. Later this evening, when everyone is merry with food and drink, Ro
m will be called upon to enact the ceremony of abduction, and it is then," he li
cked his lips, "that I shall act! Do not be afraid - surprise will be the elemen
t of victory, and we will be miles away before the befuddled fools manage to har
ness their horses."

His lips curled in a half-snarl of scorn that caused Marielle misgivings. Doubtshadowed her eyes, but when he saw her hesitation Kalia reminded unkindly, "It
must be tonight or never. I need hardly remind you that tomorrow will be too lat
e ..." He nodded, satisfied, when her rising colour indicated his implication ha
d been fully understood, and moved to go. "Remember," he stressed when he reache
d the door, "play up for all you're worth, especially to Rom. A lion replete wil
l use his energy to purr - see to it that his claws are kept well honeyed!"
The results of the women's incredible spate of activity were sending waves of ar
omatic air floating above the furnace-red flare of the campfires and upwards int
o the deep indigo blanket of night sky. Chicken and geese spit-roasted crisp bro
wn, flavoured with sage, thyme and marjoram and stuffed with currants and apples
, sizzled temptingly beside cast-iron pots full of vegetables. Mounds of onions
and fried potatoes, boiled cabbage leaves stuffed with chopped meat and spiced r
ice waited to accompany chunks of meat sliced from whole roasted piglets piquant
with just a hint of aniseed, and alongside these lay half flanks of smoky beef
seasoned with rosemary and sprinkled with cayenne peppercorns. Laid down the len
gth of long improvised tables covered with red chequered cloths were large bowls
of lettuce and tomatoes, dishes of cucumber in brine, beans vibrant red from pa
prika seasoning, plates of potato salad and chunks of Bryndza cheese. Stacks of
freshly-baked bread spread with salttanged butter stood in precarious heaps wait
ing to satisfy the appetites of those whose stomachs preferred to be humoured, a
nd a choice of black wine, blond beer, and mellow brandy had been supplied to wa
sh down the food. The bride and groom did not eat until their guests had been se
rved, Rom told her, so obediently Marielle helped him to serve, flitting so slen
der in her white gown that she seemed sometimes to be lost in

enshrouding moonbeams. All evening Rom hardly left her side, and although she kn
ew he acted from duty the mellow curve of his mouth encouraged her to ask under
cover of the ensuing hilarity, "Why are there no flowers? The tables seem to lac
k just that one finishing touch." "Gypsies never cut flowers," he answered with
an indulgence that made her heart race. "We feel they should be left alone as pa
rt of nature. Besides," his glance was lazily teasing, "cut flowers are a symbol
of death, and are we not at present celebrating the perpetuation of life?" The
perpetuation of life? Children. Rom's children! For one startling moment emotion
almost choked her, then common sense forced her back to reality. She was just a
bout to accuse him stiffly of compounding a he when she remembered Kalia's warni
ng and just in time swallowed back the hasty words. The lion did, indeed, seem i
n a mood for purring. Never before had she seen him with mouth so relaxed, eyes
so free of shadows and mood so mellow. A flare of recklessness possessed her. In
a few hours she would be gone, cut off for ever from the Romanies and their lea
der, why should she not use the short time that was left to prove to herself tha
t the strange emotions that bedevilled her in his presence were born of a pique
that would quickly fade once she managed to gain his complete attention? It beca
me unbelievably easy, as the night went on, to find Rom's eyes with her own over
the heads of their merry guests. Each time they became separated she looked for
his dark head above the crowd, then moved with the instinct of a homing pigeon
back to his side. Finally, although they were both very much in demand, he place
d an arm firmly around her shoulders, drawing her to his side with a possessiven
ess that rocked to the foundations her sincerely held views on the liberty of wo
men. As they danced and laughed and ate together she waited for her rampant emot
ions to subside, but his

touch continued to play havoc with her nerves and his low, tender voice played l
ike a cantata in her ears. She was being held closely against him as they danced
, the music romantically tender to match his startling change of mood. Somewhere
in the background a receptive musician was tearing the heart from the strings o
f a violin when Rom's lips hovered above her ear, then finally descended to curv
e lightly across her flushed cheek. "You have the skin of a peach," he growled o
n a half-laugh. "What will you do, I wonder, if I should decide to bite?" He gat
hered her trembling body closer and laughed tenderly when her hot face burrowed
into his shoulder. He did not speak again, seemingly content to allow the silver
-stringed violin to work its magic unaided as they swayed together in the moonli
ght, presenting to the covertlywatching gypsies a pleasing picture - a handsome,
smiling bridegroom engrossed in his bewitchingly shy young bride ... Kalia and
his plan were forgotten as Marielle surrendered completely to his competent mano
euvres. She pressed her head against the strong, steady beat of his heart, hypno
tized into believing that here, in arms that held her with such sensitive feelin
g, she would be content to remain for ever. She was so bemused that the shock wh
en it came was great. Rough, playful arms wrenched her from Rom's embrace as a t
hrong of laughing youngsters separated them completely. Her deprivation was comp
lete when the youths linked arms to form around her a protective wall, then unde
rstanding dawned as she remembered Kore's reminder to Rom that he must fight for
his bride's capture. Obviously, the youngsters were to be her champions in the
ceremony of abduction. Even though the marriage had taken place, the bridal pric
e paid, and the union celebrated with a festive meal, the bridegroom still had t
o fight for his bride's surrender. In the midst of the good-humoured preliminary
skirmishes Marielle waited, her slender, apprehensive outline licked by flares
from

glowing campfires. A sudden hiss of flame as a burning branch collapsed into the
heart of the fire speared the darkness and in that split second her eyes sought
and found Rom, who sent a reassuring grin across the width dividing them. Immed
iately, her heart began to sing, and its song lasted all through the jostling an
d pushing she endured as Rom's side began to force a way through her barrier of
supporters in a bid for her capture. Pandemonium reigned as the scuffle grew fie
rcer. In the darkness it was impossible to distinguish faces, but she knew by th
e way her ring of champions began closing tighter and tighter that Rom's side wa
s winning. The excitement was so intense she could not suppress a scream when ha
nds groped out of the darkness in search of her, but the voice that muttered in
her ear was grimly earnest. "Quick, follow me, and run faster than you've ever r
un in your life before!" She shook out of his grasp. "No, Kalia," she gasped. "I
've changed my mind, I don't want to go!" She could not see his face, but fury r
egistered in his tightening grip. "You must!" he hissed, just before his fist de
scended upon her defenceless head, toppling her into a chasm of pain and darknes
s. The brush of cold night air against her cheeks brought her to her senses. She
struggled out of an abyss of pain into a second nightmare as the tagila in whic
h they were fleeing raced with reckless speed into the darkness, swaying and bum
ping over the rough roads, plunging without regard for scratched arms and faces
through thickets of prickly branches, its wheels rotating ever faster as Kalia's
whip spurred on to greater effort the wild-eyed, foam-flecked horse fastened be
tween the shafts. Any attempt to speak above the sound of rattling harness and p
ounding hooves would have been pointless, so Marielle hung on to the side of the
cart, the pain of her throbbing head submerged by an even greater pain slowly m
aking itself felt in

the region of her heart as the glow of burning campfires faded into the distance
, then finally disappeared completely. Although her eyes remained dry, her throa
t ached with unshed tears as Kalia drove the horse unmercifully in his effort to
put as many miles as possible between themselves and recapture, and the night s
ky was streaked with an amber and gold promise of sunrise when finally he drove
off the road into a tree-encircled clearing where he drew the horse to a standst
ill. "Get down," he commanded roughly when Marielle made no move to stir, "there
are provisions in the cart and I'm ready to eat. We dare not risk betraying our
whereabouts by lighting a fire, so we will make do with bread and cold meat was
hed down with wine." She stared him out before answering coldly, "If you want a
meal you can get it yourself. I told you I had changed my mind ... I wanted to s
tay ... then you hit me!" Subconsciously her fingers lifted to her throbbing hea
d as the shock and horror of that moment was resurrected. Never before had. she
been struck in anger, not even as a child, so the brutal treatment experienced f
rom the hands of a man was doubly traumatic. In Kalia's tribe women were regarde
d as serfs. They accepted blows, curses and even infidelity with a stoicism that
reflected upon their lack of intelligence and pride. His reaction to her scorn
was typical of all inherently weak men with egos over-inflated by worshipping wo
men. With a snarl of animal vexation he grabbed her arm and pulled her from the
cart, then poked her maliciously with his foot as she lay shaking on the ground.
"So you changed your mind!" he sneered with such savage enjoyment she shuddered
. "Well, pity on you, my plans were too important to be shelved for your sake! R
om Boro is rich enough to meet the price I shall demand for the return of his br
ide - unharmed." His glance roved, unmoved, over her frightened face, then sharp
ened as he added meaningfully, "Of

course, if he should turn awkward and refuse to hand over the money there could
then be no guarantee of your safety." He sighed heavily, play-acting, and enjoyi
ng to the full her visible terror. "My tribe has a saying: the darker the berry
the sweeter it is - you are too pale and slim for my taste, but if Rom does not
pay then no doubt I shall manage to force myself..." He meant it. He was too col
dly vicious to extend mercy. Something warned her against ridiculing his stateme
nt that Rom would be prepared to pay for her return; Kalia might in his fury mak
e her pay heavily for the small satisfaction. So she remained silent, praying in
wardly for a solution, and wondering how she could ever have been deceived into
thinking this brutal nomad had even a trace of the consideration and sensitivity
of the haughty, overbearing, but never savage Rom. She forced herself to prepar
e a meal while Kalia attended to- the horse, and later managed to swallow the ji
bes and insults he heaped upon her silent head. He was jumpy, tensing every now
and again at imaginary sounds, his furtive eyes restlessly probing the undergrow
th as if expecting any moment to be confronted. But as the morning advanced he g
rew complacent. He knew of a hideout, he told her, but it was still some distanc
e away and as he did not intend to run the risk of travelling by daylight they w
ould remain where they were until nightfall before continuing on their way. Mari
elle's eyes were heavy with fatigue, but she determined to stay awake on the off
chance that Kalia's weariness, which must be as great as her own, would overcome
his resistance to sleep. As they rested she watched intently as his head began
to nod. When his breathing deepened into a faint snore she began edging cautious
ly away, her eyes fastened upon his face as she retreated an inch at a time towa
rds the perimeter of the clearing. Her progress was so slow that it seemed hours
had passed by the time she reached the first ring of trees. Blood pounded in he
r head, overriding the sound of Kalia's

stertorous breathing. She paused to take a deep breath, then with one last wild
glance in his direction she fled amongst the sheltering trees and ran as fast as
she could in the direction of the road. Her lungs felt afire, breathing an esse
ntial agony, by the time she reached the edge of the forest and glimpsed between
the last clumps of trees a narrow strip of road. Her face and hands were scratc
hed and bleeding, her dress a mass of thorn-ripped satin, but the sight gave lif
t to her flagging feet and a spurt of renewed energy sent her staggering on to i
ts rutted surface. Light-headed with relief, she scanned the countryside for sig
ns of life, but nothing moved, not even a distant spiral of chimney smoke presen
ted itself as comfort. Then, in the distance but moving rapidly, she heard the s
tomp of angry feet through the undergrowth. A sob tore from her throat as, makin
g a supreme effort, she began to run, but Kalia's advance was rapid and her fati
gue so great it was almost a relief to feel his hard grip on her shoulder. She s
pun round like an inanimate toy at his touch, her grey eyes enormous with unspok
en pleas for mercy, then fainted before his violent hand began descending to del
iver a blow which, had it landed, would have left its mark for ever.

CHAPTER SIX WHEN she regained consciousness she was lying in the clearing trusse
d up with ropes that rasped her wrists and ankles, making movement an agony. A c
oarse rag was stuffed between her teeth and a diklo was wrapped tightly around h
er mouth keeping the gag in place. Only her eyes could be moved, and they immedi
ately alighted upon Kalia stretched out beneath a tree directly opposite, snorin
g deeply, oblivious and uncaring of the discomfort of his prisoner left lying in
the full glare of the midday sun. By the time he awoke the sun had dropped to t
he level of the tree tops and Marielle was almost delirious from combined effect
s of blistering ropes, harsh sun, and the suffocating gag. He showed no compunct
ion as he bent down to loosen the diklo which by then had begun to feel like a c
onstricting iron band. "So I take it you now intend to behave?" he questioned wi
th casual cruelty, fingering the gag as if in two minds whether or not to replac
e it. "Yes ..." she croaked through swollen lips, her eyes imploring him to beli
eve his strong-arm tactics were no longer necessary. His lip curled in a callous
grin, but he loosened the ropes to allow her to massage the deep weals around h
er wrists and ankles to revive circulation. She offered no condemnation, not eve
n when he taunted, "That is just a foretaste of what will follow should you try
to escape again. Your presence means money in my pockets; I shall be very angry
if there are any further attempts to disrupt my plans. I sympathize with your de
sire to rejoin your husband," he sneered. "I hope, for your sake, that his impat
ience matches your own!" The clearing rang with laughter as he walked away to te
nd to the horse, and she had to grit her teeth to prevent letting slip the angry
retort burning on her lips.

There were still a couple of hours to go before nightfall, so she used the time
to repair as best she could the damage caused to her appearance. Frequent bathin
g in cold water from a nearby spring reduced the swelling from her lips and rend
ered the scratches on her arms and face almost invisible; dampened fingers dispe
rsed the tangles from her hair, leaving it smooth and sculptured moistly to her
head. Her dress presented the biggest problem; the bodice was not too bad, but t
he long skirt was in ribboned strips from the knees downwards. With as much care
as she would have given to a treasured ball-gown, Marielle began ripping away t
he tattered remnants of the skirt, concentrating upon making as straight a hem a
s possible until she had achieved a passable imitation of a mini. Then, her femi
nine morale slightly uplifted, she made her way back to the clearing. The horse
was harnessed, the cart loaded, and Kalia, with scowling countenance, was waitin
g. Without speaking, Marielle stepped up on to the cart, flinching from the crac
k of the impatient whip he flicked across the horse's withers, then with a jerk
that almost rocked her from her seat the cart moved forward, then stopped sudden
ly as the horse reared between the shafts, quivering nostrils and flattened ears
denoting fear of some object that had appeared in its path. With a curse Kalia
stood up in his seat, flicking the reins to urge the horse forward. Nothing coul
d be seen in the gathering gloom, so the shock of hearing a voice snake out from
the direction of the enshrouding trees was great. "Get down, Kalia!" the voice
commanded. "Get down and prepare to take your punishment!" "Rom!" The name left
Marielle's lips like a soft prayer. In a moment, it seemed, the clearing was ful
l of gypsies stepping from behind the trees - grim-faced avengers waiting, silen
tly demanding, that justice should be done. She cried out and slid away from Kal
ia's frozen silhouette to run towards Rom, only to be thrust behind him to join
the audience of watchers waiting with bated breath for the first sign of action
from their savagely revengeful leader.

Fear relaxed its grip sufficiently on Kalia's vocal chords to enable him to stut
ter, "The woman pleaded for my help! She hates you, Rom Boro . .. enough to offe
r me a bribe to help her escape. My tribe is poor ... money is needed desperatel
y ... do not condemn me for attempting to relieve the suffering of my people! "
Marielle's cry of protest was drowned by rumbles of sympathy from the surroundin
g gypsies. Only Rom remained unmoved, his flint-hard eyes held no hint of soften
ing as he ignored Kalia's pleas and repeated dangerously, "Get down, Kalia ... a
nd bring your whip!" Like wind rustling through dry leaves his words were taken
up by the men, hissed through clenched teeth from one to the other until the cle
aring echoed with the sibilant, terrifying whisper: whip fight! Marielle froze w
ith dread and steeled herself to witness yet another pagan ritual. She had learn
t to accept that protest would be useless, even resented; Rom had thrown down a
challenge and for him to back down now would be regarded by the watching gypsies
as "being forced to eat dirt". Kalia suddenly assumed the aspect of a whipped c
ur, his body sagged with dejection as he obeyed Rom's command and reached for th
e horsewhip which only minutes before he had so vigorously applied to the haunch
es of the now placid horse. He looked so pathetic when he climbed from the cart
that even Rom was sufficiently disarmed to allow his attention to waver. He was
adjusting the handle of his whip when Kalia lashed out. There was a slight, whis
tling whisper followed by a sharp whipcrack and before Marielle's shocked eyes R
om's hand jerked up to cover the blood-stained cheek which Kalia had just grazed
. The watching men showed their disapproval of Kalia's tactics by booing and spi
tting their contempt, but they did not have long to wait for Rom's reaction. He
uncurled his snake of leather slowly, then, pinpointing Kalia's cunning face wit
h a look of cold venom, he circled round him, his anger so visible that Marielle
experienced a thrill of dread on behalf of his opponent. The

encircling gypsies rapidly spread out to leave a space wide enough to escape the
far-reaching whips, their heavy breathing the only sound impinging the tense at
mosphere. Again Kalia nervously snapped out, but Rom jumped back and he missed.
Once more he tried, hitting out a few tentative whip snaps which Rom warily anti
cipated. Then, white to the lips with anger, Rom began infuriating his opponent
by teasing him into reckless moves which he then contemptuously foiled. Arrogant
ly he stalked Kalia in a full circle, feinting blows which were never intended t
o land on the sweating, back-stepping man until his humiliation was unmistakable
. Finally, incensed by the men's derisive catcalls, Kalia spat at Rom in scorn,
only to double up in silent agony with a thin red whip mark across his gaping mo
uth; with one quick flick of the wrist Rom had been avenged! Marielle almost ret
ched when Kalia fell to the ground clutching his ragged mouth with blood-stained
fingers. She staggered away with tears of shame and disgust scalding her cheeks
, her senses so shocked she barely took in Rom's harshly-voiced condemnation. "S
ave your tears, you'll need them later to prove your penitence. If you think Kal
ia's punishment too harsh, then be grateful you did not marry a true gypsy. The
punishment they dole out to erring wives is barbaric, but most effective..." She
turned slowly to face her accuser. "What will they do to me?" she whispered, re
ady to believe anything of people who could enjoy the barbarity she had just wit
nessed. "They will merely look on while I chastise," he clipped. "I would willin
gly forgo the ritual, were it not expected of me as chief that I should punish m
y wife's infidelity in the only way the tribe can accept - physically." As she s
tared at him with the vacant eyes of a child striving to understand, the grim li
ne of his mouth wavered,

touched by deep pain. He sounded exasperated beyond endurance when he pulled her
forward to clamp bitterly, "Why did you do it, why? Surely there was no need fo
r me to explain that the marriage ceremony was of no consequence to either of us
? That it is neither legally nor morally binding - a mere sop to the demands of
the krisatori which could have been dismissed from your mind as soon as you reac
hed safety?" He raked her ashen face, hesitating over bruise-shadowed eyes and a
mouth completely beyond control. "You surely didn't think ...?" He pushed her a
way as doubt became certainty. "You had nothing to fear from me," he lanced cold
ly. "I wish only to carry out my promise to Sophie by getting you safely out of
the country. Perhaps I should have reassured you earlier on this point, but I th
ought my motives so plain that to have voiced them would have been merely to und
erline the obvious!" Marielle called upon every reserve to steady her nerves as
she quavered, "I'm not sure what you are implying, but if it is what I suspect t
hen your conceit must be enormous! I asked Kalia to help me simply because I am
sick of travelling with a tribe of barbarians whose whole mode of life is repugn
ant to me. I am a product of a civilized society, and as such I crave the stimul
us of intelligent minds. I don't wish to disparage the kindness and hospitality
of your people, Rom Boro, but the truth is I was desperately bored, and escape w
ith Kalia seemed to offer a short cut to sanity! " He had no need to pretend ang
er when, a few hours later, he drove the tagila with reckless speed into the cen
tre of the encampment. The men who had accompanied him in his search had arrived
back earlier, and judging from the hard eyes and tightly-pursed lips of their w
omenfolk the tale they had told must have thoroughly condemned her. Rom plunged
into his role of furious husband by jumping down from the cart and roughly pluck
ing her from her seat, setting her down with such scant ceremony that the impact
jarred her spine. His mouth tightened when Lala shouted from the crowd: "She is
wilful,

that one, Rom Boro! Shame on you for burdening us with a wild goose you cannot t
ame!" Marielle was too dispirited to show fight, the weight of her worries overs
hadowed even the growing certainty that the resentment felt by the tribe would n
ot be appeased until they saw her humbled by a public beating. Pity stirred for
Rom, faced with a situation demanding action she knew instinctively was abhorren
t to him. She watched with almost detached curiosity his struggle against divide
d loyalties - on the one hand, the demand of his tribe that he live up to his po
sition of leadership by following out their code of immediate retribution and on
the other, his own deeply-rooted aversion to physical assault upon a woman. No
one but she guessed that he finally decided upon compromise. As his hands seized
her shoulders, brutally shaking her into submission, he hissed through immobile
lips: "Play up, for God's sake! Shout, scream, do anything that will satisfy th
eir thirst for vengeance! " But she could not. It was as if her senses were too
numbed by mental agony to allow physical assault to register. Driven to desperat
ion by her mute refusal to co-operate, he shook her giddy, then threw her savage
ly across his shoulder and began striding towards the van. There were mutterings
amongst the dissatisfied onlookers : "Life amongst the Gaje has made our leader
soft," and an answering: "It is as our elders have long suspected, Rom will not
be for ever content to share our life, we must prepare -for the day when he dec
ides to return permanently to his own." Similar reproaches were ringing in his e
ars when he stepped inside the van and ferociously booted shut the door. "You li
ttle fool!" he breathed, raking her with fire- flecked eyes as he set her on her
feet. "Was it too much to expect that you play out a charade for their benefit?
Didn't you sense their demand for tears, for pleas for mercy, for any visible s
igns of the torment expected of a repentant wife? Surely you could have mustered
up something more convincing than the reproachful look of a thrashed kitten!" H
er chin

was tilted by an impatient hand until his anger was reflected in eyes of limpid
grey. She winced when he harshly decreed: "Outside they are waiting, hoping agai
nst hope that their suspicions are groundless that their chosen leader is not in
capable of mastering an unruly woman!" He sounded dangerously silky when he went
on, "With or without your co-operation, I intend making sure they are not disap
pointed." Marielle stared up at him, suddenly alive to a hidden meaning in his w
ords, then backed away, afraid for the first time, not of his anger, but of the
sinister curve of his lips which barely parodied a smile. "No! Please, no ..." s
he begged wide-eyed, her face as colourless as the shorn gown clinging incongruo
usly to her figure, giving her the look of a child dressed up to play a favourit
e game of brides. "But yes," he countered, advancing towards her, his saturnine
features showing a determination that terror- thrilled. Too late her frozen sens
es reacted to the urgency of his demands. He was through play-acting! Not only f
or his tribe's sake, but to appease some devil she had aroused within him he wan
ted to punish her, to see her writhe, hear her plead for mercy... Blows would ha
ve been infinitely preferable to the scourge of hard lips that sought revenge up
on her protesting mouth, strangling within her the infinite capacity for loving
which once she would have bestowed willingly. While his mouth silently forced he
r surrender, his hands caressed her shivering limbs, sliding over delicate satin
as if contemplating inflicting the ultimate degradation of tearing the flimsy m
aterial from her body. When at last he lifted his mouth to explore the soft cont
ours of her shoulder she fought him with words, ragged, contemptuous words that
rasped through a throat tight with feeling. Nuzzling her neck, he laughed, softl
y mocking, and the sound aroused in her the fighting spirit subdued by the emoti
onal storm she had endured.

She pushed hard against him and screamed, a loud, prolonged scream that must hav
e penetrated outside the van to the ears of everyone in camp. With the fury of a
cornered tabby she raked his tanned face with clawed fingernails, kicked his sh
ins, then for good measure stamped the heel of her shoe hard upon his foot. Pand
emonium reigned as he retaliated by clamping her flaying arms to her sides, unba
lancing them both in the process so that they stumbled into a dresser, sending c
rockery smashing to the floor with a crash that shuddered through the van. Exert
ing tremendous effort, she broke loose and backed away, spitting fury as she put
the space of the van between them. She tensed, expecting retaliation, but Rom w
as otherwise occupied. Disposing of the slivers of broken crockery clinging to h
is clothes, he observed calmly, "That ought to do the trick. All we need do now
is remain quiet and leave the rest to our audience who, if I'm not mistaken, wil
l now be imagining that the 'wild goose' has been tamed and we are now in the pr
ocess of 'making up'." Her hands faltered to her sides, comprehension firing her
cheeks a humiliated crimson as she read amusement in his face... There was no q
uestion of his leaving the van that night; to have retired outside to his usual
sleeping place would have re-aroused suspicion in the minds of his people. So he
rolled out a blanket on the floor, stretched himself on its length, and after a
cursory "goodnight" fell fast asleep. For hours Marielle lay on her bunk, wary,
and not entirely disarmed by his quick return to normality. But as the shadows
lengthened and his breathing grew deeper and more even she allowed her tense lim
bs to relax, even though chaotic thoughts still rioted through her mind. Tentati
vely, she raised a finger to her bruised lips. They felt hot and trembled as if
only just released from the kisses that had intoxicated to the point of seductio
n. She had fought two fights, one against him and the other against an inner voi
ce that urged her to indulge in the temptation of the moment.

What would have been the outcome if she had listened to that voice? Would she ha
ve perhaps suffered the shame of rejection or - her body blushed in the darkness
- had the increasing urgency of his questing lips indicated that he, too, had n
ot been entirely unmoved?
The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the van welcomed in a new day
. Rom, freshly shaven and visibly refreshed, was bending over her when she opene
d her eyes. "Did I startle you?" He actually smiled. "Here, drink this, it will
chase the dream dust from your eyes." Gratefully she drank, meeting his eyes wit
h childlike solemnity over the rim of her cup until he frowned and turned away.
"When you've finished," he clipped across his shoulder, "I will change the bed l
inen. It is expected," he explained in answer to her raised eyebrows, "another o
f our outlandish customs which must be tolerated." Marielle glanced up, puzzled
by the hint of unease in his tone, but his profile was impassive. Obediently, sh
e finished her coffee and dressed while his back was conveniently turned, then s
he bundled up the sheets and gravely handed them over. "Perhaps you would like t
o wash while I attend to these," he politely ordered, avoiding her questioning l
ook as he accepted the proffered bundle. Feeling certain he wanted to be rid of
her, she picked up a towel and hurried out of the van, then, impelled by a curio
sity she could not control she hesitated, then turned and began slowly to retrac
e her steps. When she reached the van she began instinctively to creep, so her s
ilent footfalls gave no warning of her return. He had placed the sheets on the b
unk and was bending over them trying without much success to stem a flow of bloo
d from a cut in his finger. Forgetting caution, she ran forward. "Rom, you're bl
eeding! Here, let me..."

He swung round angrily, at the same time slipping the penknife he was holding in
to his pocket. "It's nothing, a mere scratch," he told her tersely. She felt acc
used of prying, an unforgivable sin in the eyes of the Romany, so stiffly she tu
rned away, curbing an impulse to remove the sheets upon which a few drops of blo
od had already dried. She was almost at the door when a voice from outside froze
her footsteps. It was Lala, and venom laced her words. "We are here to see the
display of bridal linen, Rom Boro!" she shouted loudly, adding some whispered as
ide that made her companions collapse into laughter. It was Marielle's turn to l
ook accusing as she swung round silently demanding an explanation. She had never
thought to see Rom discomfited; he had been master of every situation - until n
ow. After a masculine shrug of helplessness and an apologetic look in her direct
ion, he lifted the soiled sheets and strode outside to deposit them at the feet
of the demanding women. Immediately Lala grabbed one and spread out its surface
to the light. It was the sheet Rom's blood had stained, and Lala's face creased
into lines of fury when she saw it. Vindictively, she spat at the bewildered Mar
ielle, "It is not unknown for some, whose virginity is questionable, to take a p
igeon along on her wedding night...!" As Lala, in her multi-coloured skirts, twi
rled a furious exit, Marielle's kaleidoscopic thoughts fell into place, forming
a pattern so humiliating that she was robbed of speech. She could not meet Rom's
eyes. Even though he had tried his utmost to spare her this final indignity she
felt she hated him and blamed him bitterly for the shame that seared her body,
making her feel that never again would her eyes move above the skirts of those w
ho had witnessed her degradation.
Though heartsick, as the days went by Marielle found it impossible to ignore the
tribeswomen's dramatic change of attitude. Utmost

respect, as was due to the proven bride of their chief, was lavished upon her as
they went out of their way to show that she had finally been accepted. Her rava
ged feelings were soothed as one by one the women approached her with little act
s of kindness and with offers to share family meals. Kalia was never mentioned.
His kumpania had departed when the Convention had dispersed, but not before he a
nd his disgraced tribe had been condemned by the Kris to roam for ever in isolat
ion. Only one thing relevant to the episode was retained in the minds of the tri
be; they named her Vadni Ratsa - the wild goose of Romany legend which, it was s
aid, could never be completely tamed but, although it might flee from its captor
, would always return. The wagons rolled onwards, bringing her nearer to her poi
nt of departure as each day passed. But England was still very far away and as t
hey were travelling by an indirect route to avoid stringent security measures th
e border into Austria would have to be crossed before her safety could be assure
d. "Why is it easier to travel through Czechoslovakia than through East Germany?
" she asked Rom. "They are both Communist countries, are they not ?" He flexed h
is limbs, betraying the boredom of a man too long confined. It had rained all da
y, saturating the earth to the extent that not even the most vagrant of gypsies
would be sleeping out that night. This thought had nervously occupied her during
the hours he had spent poring over maps, plotting their route, and was revived
each time she sensed the lazy appraisal she suffered as his pastime began to pal
l. He pushed aside the maps to give her his full attention. "In Czechoslovakia w
e have many friends. Also, there, security is not so tight - fewer Sergei Ivanov
s, perhaps," he suggested, blandly glossing over the danger that was ever- prese
nt.

The mere mention of Sergei Ivanov's name was sufficient to knot the muscles of h
er stomach. Marielle stood up and walked across to the small window. The rain ha
d stopped, but the sky was heavy with cloud shapes made curiously beautiful by a
moon racing as fast as her heart across the sky, playing hide and seek amongst
the black shadows. She jumped when he spoke close behind, his voice sounding so
near she knew he was within touching distance. "I shouldn't have reminded you. I
'm sorry..." His breath caught a curling tendril at her temple. Fascinated, he d
irected another breath, then growled a laugh when her colour began to rise. A st
ar shot high into the sky and to divert his attention she pointed. "Look, a shoo
ting star!" His lean fingers grasped her wrist. "Don't do that!" he ordered brus
quely, his teasing mood momentarily dispersed. When the pleasure drained from he
r face he explained, "We believe each star in the sky is a man on earth. When a
star runs away it means that a thief takes flight, and by pointing a finger the
man it represents is likely to be captured. Some of the men of the tribe have go
ne out tonight and have not yet returned. Old habits die hard. Although we are n
ow in a position to buy our food, some insist upon courting danger by poaching o
ur needs." He moved until his lips were almost touching her burning cheek. "Noth
ing gives a man more satisfaction than mastering the impulses of the untamed. Wh
ether it be a wild stag or a wayward woman - both add excitement to the chase."
A treacherous weakness swept over her; his deliberately projected charm was so p
otent her only defence was sarcasm which she seized upon with the panic of a dro
wning man. "Then what of Sophie?" she dared to ask as she moved out of his distu
rbing orbit. "How does her impassive reserve affect your thirst for stimulation?
Don't tell me," she tilted nervously, "that my aunt's chilling manner is a faca
de behind which lurks a daughter of Circe?"

Laughter came easily as she considered the comparison, but he was not amused. Hi
s answer was directed, swiftly across a shoulder stiff with resentment. "Your au
nt is a woman in a million, why else do you suppose she holds the affections of
every man in camp? Sorceress is too common a label, Sophie is unique - a woman m
en would gladly die for!" Marielle wondered why his admission hurt so when it ha
d merely made concrete what she had always suspected. Nevertheless, she was wipi
ng away an onrush of tears when a frantic knocking on the door sent him spinning
round. Surreptitiously she wiped her cheeks dry as Rom strode across to admit a
n agitated gypsy. "The police!" he gasped, "they have arrested some of the other
s. I escaped, but they are close behind, they'll arrive in camp any minute!" Rom
swore softly as he reached for his coat, but even as he was lifting it from its
peg shouts and women's screams heralded the arrival of authority. Curiosity imp
elled Marielle towards the open door, but it was kicked shut before she had a ch
ance to peek. Roughly, Rom bundled a coat around her shoulders, at the same time
directing the gypsy, "When I leave, wait a few seconds, then take my wife into
hiding. We cannot risk her being found here - we are a long way from Warsaw, but
I'm willing to bet her description has been distributed throughout every Commun
ist state. Make haste - but go carefully!" He was gone before she could protest,
leaving her staring at the hard-eyed gypsy whose respect for Rom far outreached
his fear of the authorities. He waited a few seconds, as ordered, then intimate
d that she should follow him closely as he prepared to lead the way. Barking dog
s, shrieking, newly-awakened children, the verbal onslaught of irate mothers, we
re combining with police whistles and

angrily-shouted orders to create uproar in the camp as Marielle and her companio
n slipped from the van into the thick, damp underbrush. They were well hidden, y
et near enough to hear Rom's controlled tone calming the disrupted camp so that
individual voices might be heard. Eager constables, with torches slicing spears
of light into the darkness, were also stilled as Rom addressed their chief. Poli
tely, but with disconcerting hauteur, he demanded of the man, "If your intrusion
can be explained, I am prepared to listen, officer." Marielle smiled in the dar
kness when, by nervously clearing his throat, the officer betrayed uncertainty.
"Four men were surprised stealing chickens. My men caught three of them, but the
other escaped. We believe he headed in this direction." "So!" Rom interrupted s
uavely. "Children have been half frightened to death, women made hysterical, and
livestock disturbed to the point of bolting simply because you imagined a thief
ran in our direction? Look around you, then tell me if you still think my peopl
e are in need of a few scrawny chickens!" Marielle's chuckle was quickly hushed
by her grinning companion as they both pictured the police officer being treated
by the swiftthinking women to a display of solid gold bracelets, earrings and n
ecklaces such as his own wife could never aspire to. It took even less time than
they had thought to convince him that he was wrong, and when his reply came, fu
ll of doubt and apology, Marielle doubled up with silent laughter. "For months w
e have been plagued by rogue gypsies ... we were anxious to stamp out their acti
vities, but perhaps in this instance we were too hasty ... obviously, yours is n
ot the tribe to which they belong."

"Thank you, my friend," there was a smile in Rom's voice. "When next I meet up w
ith your chief of police I will not forget to pass on to him my admiration of yo
ur good judgement, a quality which he has often assured me he considers essentia
l to a man in authority." As was meant, the officer was impressed and was flatte
red into accepting Rom's invitation to share a bottle of wine while his men took
advantage of the hospitality of the now friendly tribe. For an age Marielle cro
uched in the darkness waiting until the officer and his men were replete with wi
ne and the tasty morsels of food hastily assembled to gull the representative of
the law into a permanently tolerant frame of mind. As time went by her amusemen
t gave way to discomfort, then finally numbness as damp soaked through her shoes
so thoroughly that she felt her feet were extensions of solid ice. She almost s
obbed aloud when the yan door eventually opened and she heard the officer making
benign goodbyes before leading his posse of happy constables on their way. "Tha
nk heaven!" she croaked when in answer to her companion's low whistle Rom loomed
up in the darkness. "I tried to get rid of him earlier, but he seemed determine
d to stay. Wait!" he commanded, but she stumbled towards him and was swept up in
to his arms and carried into the van. He placed her on the bunk, discarded her s
hoes, then began briskly rubbing her feet with a harsh towel to encourage circul
ation. She was shivering so much that he left her to make coffee, hot, sweet and
laced with brandy, which he then forced between her chattering teeth. The spiri
t raced like molten fire through her veins, generating life-giving heat and a mo
od of utter contentment. "What will happen to the men who were caught?" she aske
d drowsily as he continued to massage her feet. He traced his thumb along a weal
, the last faint reminder of Kalia's brutality, and frowned.

"They will go to prison." "And will they accept that punishment is due to them?"
she queried, not liking the morose twist to his mouth. "Why should they?" he ro
unded sharply. "According to their beliefs they were doing no wrong - they do no
t consider the taking of basic necessities a crime. Wood gathered from the fores
t should be free to all; putting a few horses to pasture in someone's meadow oug
ht not to be considered .wrong when the grass grows there without any effort by
the owner! It is greed that changes taking into stealing," he maintained with pa
ssion. "Greed feeds on men's desire for more and more possessions, makes them sl
aves to unnecessary appetites. If all men were as honest and selfless as the gyp
sies there would be no need to ever again fear famine, pollution or war!" Mariel
le blinked up at him, wondering if it were wiser to speak or to remain silent, t
hen drew in a breath of relief when his icy look melted, leaving his black eyes
sparkling. "How serious we have become," he laughed easily. "Even more morose, I
imagine, than our compatriots who are languishing in prison. Some day, when the
ir sentence has been served, we will meet up with them again. They will never di
vulge to the police their connections with our kumpania, so you can feel safe, a
nd at peace." She returned his encouraging smile, but deep down something cried
out against the desire for safety - and as for peace, she wondered if she would
ever again know the true meaning of the word.

CHAPTER SEVEN As the caravan moved south, traversing the low hills and plains of
Moravia, passing fields of golden wheat, sugar beet, tobacco and in the milder
regions even vine-yards, the possibility of capture began to seem more and more
remote. The villages, usually one sleepy row of houses forming a main street, we
re enclosed by miles of cultivated fields, while far ahead across the border bec
koned the fertile valley of the Danube and the great musical capital of Vienna r
inging with music - from lilting gaiety to haunting melancholy - reflecting the
conflicting nature, happy and sad, of the Austrian people. Occasionally, soldier
s in jeeps raced past them, and at first Marielle's mouth had gone dry with fear
as she pictured herself being dragged from the van and carried screaming to jai
l. But her fears had gradually abated as she had reassured herself that Sergei I
vanov knew of no connection between herself and the gypsies. Rom was well-known
for his habitual, indeed notorious escapes from society, and the fact that her f
light from Warsaw had coincided with his would take a long time to penetrate Ser
gei's strong but far from brilliant intellect. She bit her lip when, as was usua
l whenever she thought of the Russian, doubts and uncertainties about her aunt s
prang to mind. Rom had refused to discuss the events leading up to her escape, b
ut whenever Sophie's name was mentioned a frown furrowed his brow and his mouth
went grim, indication that he, too, was worried about Sophie, whose efforts on h
er niece's behalf would have left her with some awkward explaining to do to the
hawk-eyed Russian. As if reading her thoughts, Rom called out, beckoning her to
join him up front where he sat driving the wagon. After momentary hesitation she
did as she was bid, wondering as she left the security of the van to clamber al
ongside him if she was to be scolded for some misdeed or subjected to more of th
e unpredictable charm that reacted upon her nerves more violently than harsh wor
ds.

He pointed ahead and as her eyes followed his direction she saw in the distance
the outline of a castle. "Bratislava Castle looks down upon the city from which
it takes its name," he informed her briefly. "This evening we will go there." He
did not miss the sparkle that lit her eyes and dryly he observed, "Even though
you cannot risk meeting or speaking with the townspeople, you will at least feel
nearer to the civilized intellectuals whose company you crave." She had almost
forgotten her pathetic attempt to hide her feelings behind her scorn of his peop
le, but obviously he had not. "Rom, I never meant..." "We will go alone," he dec
ided, ruthlessly snubbing her attempted apology. "Bratislava is the last Communi
st-controlled city we pass before crossing over the border into Austria, so we m
ust make the most of the opportunity to find out all we can. There might even be
news of Sophie." So! They were to sneak into the city, running the gauntlet of
sharpeyed police, because he could no longer bear the suspense of not knowing wh
at had happened to Sophie! All the half-forgotten grievances Marielle had built
up against her aunt surged to the surface : her possessiveness, her jealousy, he
r indifference to family ties, and most of all, her treacherous befriending of t
he brutal Sergei Ivanov. Heat of feeling sent blood scorching to her cheeks, her
hands shook and she had to bite back the bitter words of condemnation with whic
h she wanted to tear away the veil that blinded Rom to Sophie's faults. He was t
oo good for her, so very much deserving of someone better, but she dared not say
so - agitated and angry though she was, instinct told her that he, as the recip
ient of such information, might just conceivably accuse her of being jealous! He
r heart was thumping when, later that night, their swift twowheeled tagila appro
ached the city. The rest of the tribe were continuing towards the border, leavin
g behind them a vurma, a trail

which Rom would pick up after his business in the city had been concluded, then
follow through until they again caught up with the tribe at their next resting p
lace. There was a check point on the city's perimeter, and as he drove with a fl
ourish straight up to the barrier a stone-faced guard with a rifle slung across
his shoulder demanded to see their papers. Rom obliged and sat whistling cheerfu
lly while the Russian leafed through the tattered booklet he had been handed. Th
eir vagrant appearance must have been convincing. Marielle, now deeply tanned, l
ooked in her voluminous, brightly patterned skirts and low- cut blouse a typical
gypsy. Her blonde hair was completely hidden by a black kerchief tied turban-wi
se and she carefully shielded behind downcast lashes grey, apprehensive eyes tha
t could never flash gypsy-bold. Rom, however, seemed deliberately to have donned
a swagger. His teeth flashed white in a grin of impudent assurance as he prodde
d the hesitant guard. "Come along, comrade, surely you've seen an international
passport before?" Without waiting for an answer he flowed on, deliberately confu
sing the man with a storm of eloquence. "We are Romany, my wife and I. With this
passport we are allowed transit passage through every country in Europe. Of cou
rse, different arrangements are made by different authorities - in France, for i
nstance, they require us to register every twenty-four hours at a police station
. However," he beamed at the startled man, "you will find those papers quite in
order, but if you are in doubt we do not mind waiting while you check with your
superiors." For a moment the guard looked as taken aback as Marielle felt - then
he scowled. "Gypsies!" he spat his contempt. "Why rabble such as you are allowe
d to roam Europe I'll never understand! Move on!" he signalled for the barrier t
o be lifted, "and mind your insolent tongue!" "May your clothes rip and wear out
, but may you live in good health and in fulfilment!" Rom shouted through a clou
d of dust as the horse reared, then projected the cart hurriedly on its way.

The streets of the city were fairly quiet as they went rattling through. Even th
e river-front, lined with bowed-head shadows of abandoned cranes, did not hint t
hat the port was an important one shipping many tons a day of wheat, maize and s
ugar beet grown in the fertile soil of Slovakia's breadbasket: the Danube Valley
. The Danube itself Marielle found disappointing - not blue, but muddy grey, but
the streets through which they drove were captivating and when Rom saw her plea
sure he slowed down to allow her to enjoy the sight of an eighteenth-century bar
oque church tower that overlooked a garden containing a small fountain of intric
ately entwined metal. The house where they were to spend the night was in a poor
er denser-populated quarter of the city. Shops formed three sides of a square wh
ich looked as if, during the daytime, it might be employed as a marketplace, and
above the shops were dwelling places occupied by owners and their families. Rom
drove up a narrow lane and into a courtyard at the back of the shops. Flights o
f stone steps ascended from the courtyard to give access to the dwellings, and d
own one of the flights rushed a tall, swarthy man who greeted them in Romany: "D
roboy tume Romale!" "Nais tuke!" Rom thanked him as vigorously they exchanged ha
ndshakes. The man whom Rom introduced as Jan Bielsky directed his beam of pleasu
re in Marielle's direction. "So the grapevine did not lie! It is true that my ol
d comrade has at last taken to himself a wife!" His smile broadened when her con
fused lashes swept downwards. "We waited long for such tidings, Rom, but your ch
oice has fully justified the wait. Come, we must share a wedding drink to give a
push to the new wagon! " He led the way into a flat that seemed at first sight
to be crammed with children, but at his command their noisy game was abandoned a
nd after being allowed to greet the new guests they dispersed quietly to their b
eds. When Anna, Jan's beautiful, sad-eyed wife, poured out amber cognac into ste
mmed glasses Jan pressed a gold coin into Rom's hand and proposed a toast: "From
me a little

money, but may God give to you both plenty!" To which his wife added, stumblingl
y, as if in a tongue unfamiliar, "Bater, may it be so." Potent cognac, comfortab
le surroundings, and the genuine warmth generated by their host and hostess so q
uickly melted Marielle's shy reserve that by the time Anna began dishing up supp
er conversation, sweet and piquant, gave added sauce to the bokoli, thick pancak
es filled with a variety of minced meat, and the delicious concoction of raspber
ries, liqueur and cream that rounded off the meal. The familiar and once mundane
sight of taps, piped water and the noise of dishes clattering against a sink, d
rew Marielle like a magnet and Anna seemed instinctively to understand the yearn
ing echoing behind her wistful request that she might be allowed to help with th
e washing up. "Of course you may, if you wish it. The men can be left to enjoy t
heir pipes and to reminisce while you and I wallow in suds and gossip till our h
earts' content." Firmly she closed the door of the tiny kitchen so that the nois
e of dishwashing should not intrude upon the men's conversation, but also so tha
t she herself should not be overheard. Her tone had an almost desperate quality
when halfway through the chore she asked, "Forgive my impatience, but your obvio
us delight in your surroundings gives me courage to ask: are you happy at the pr
ospect of becoming a vagabond, of having to spend the rest of your life travelli
ng ceaselessly around Europe in the company of people who, kind though they migh
t be, are nevertheless insular and mostly unsympathetic to outsiders? I would no
t have asked," she hastened when Marielle's raised eyebrows questioned her intru
sion of privacy, "only I, too, am Gaje. I tried terribly hard when first we marr
ied to adjust to the ways of Jan's people, but it was hopeless, I hated everythi
ng about their way of life ... hated it so much that, even though Jan was my who
le world, when I discovered I was expecting our first child I left him to come b
ack here to my parents, to where I

had been brought up and had lived happily until Jan's Romany tongue convinced me
that it did not matter where we lived so long as we were together." She put dow
n the plate which, in her agitation she had polished until it shone, and blinked
away tears. "I hate myself sometimes for what I have done to him. He followed m
e, but has remained here only physically while in spirit he roams the continent
with his tribe. Did you notice the happiness in his face when he greeted Rom? He
is not always as gay as he has been this evening. I have caged a wild lark whos
e song rings out all the more loudly and carefree when his heart is nearest to b
reaking. How will you cope, Marielle? Is it that your love for Rom is greater th
an mine for Jan? Will you give up willingly your accustomed way of life, your be
liefs, your pleasures, if doing so is the only hope you have of remaining by his
side ?" Hurriedly Marielle dried her hands and reached out to comfort the tremb
ling girl. The demented questions had startled her, but she made no attempt to r
eply because Anna, she suspected, was already aware of the answers. But as she c
rooned comfort above her bent head Marielle's grey eyes darkened almost to black
as with shocked insight she faced the truth she had so long evaded. With every
fibre of her being she knew - was irrevocably convinced - that given the same se
t of circumstances she would forsake everything and follow Rom to the ends of th
e earth! Shock still lingered on her pale face when later they both rejoined the
men. When Marielle first entered the room Rom's sharp eyes detected signs of st
rain. Immediately he stood up, checking Jan's flow of conversation with the poli
te request, "My wife is tired. If you will be good enough to show us to our room
perhaps by morning I will have remembered more news of your relatives and frien
ds." Jan smote his forehead. "Inconsiderate fool that I am! You know of my obses
sive interest in family and tribal matters, Rom, you ought to

have reminded me earlier of my duties! " He turned a contrite look upon Marielle
. "Forgive me, my dear, you do look tired. The bedroom we have to offer is very
small, but I think you will find it comfortable." It was so small she had to cho
ke back a disconcerted gasp when he manoeuvred open the door which was prevented
from opening wide by a bed that completely filled the room, leaving a gap just
wide enough to squeeze through. A grin of mischief creased Rom's cheeks when her
startled glance flew to his face, then quickly away, but as both Anna and Jan w
ere waiting to see them inside before retiring to their own room, she had no cho
ice but to wish them goodnight, squeeze through the door, then clamber with as m
uch dignity as possible across the billowing, feather-filled mattress. "Be quiet
, you'll waken the children!" she hissed furiously as Rom, once the door had clo
sed, folded with laughter. "If you could see the expression on your face!" he gr
inned, trying hard to control his amusement. "You have the look of an outraged s
pinster faced, for the first time in her life, with the prospect of allowing a m
an to share her bed. The van occupied an even smaller space than this, so why ha
ve you suddenly become so coy and maidenly?" he mocked, knowing very well that h
er bunk in the van and the space he had utilized on the floor had held a very mu
ch diminished aura of intimacy than the large bouncing bed which, however carefu
lly a couple might strive to keep their distance, would by its very make-up prec
ipitate them inevitably into a huddle in its centre. She viewed his amusement wi
th disdain, but her answer was robbed of dignity by her struggle to remain uprig
ht when he threw himself full length on the bed. Furiously she struggled to her
knees and glared down at him. "You must find somewhere else to sleep, you are ce
rtainly not remaining here! " she flashed.

"What? And have our friends worry about a seeming rift between us?" A smile teas
ed his mouth as he reproved. "No, luba, however distasteful we might find it, we
must endure our enforced proximity with good grace. To seem displeased in any w
ay with our friends' hospitality would be unthinkable." He was watching her thro
ugh half-closed lids, his mouth no longer laughing, but even so she sensed the a
musement he was straggling to suppress. Her throat contracted with fear when wit
h one movement he switched off the light and pulled her down beside him. His han
ds began to caress, endeavouring to reassure, but succeeding only in contracting
still tighter the muscles that held her body rigid. "Relax," he murmured, playi
ng carelessly on her overstrung emotions. "Who is to know if for one night we en
joy the privileges of the situation that has been thrust upon us?" Her startled
answer was silenced by lips that found hers in a kiss that explored to the very
depths her confused, rioting feelings. She went limp as the kiss, so expertly ad
ministered, drained from her all thought of resistance, and she did not murmur w
hen his hard body swung across hers, capturing her in a feather-filled prison, s
oft as her heartbeats and silent as the protests no longer clamouring to be hear
d. He lifted his head, puzzled by her stillness, and sought the darkness for her
reaction. For a second she fought deep shyness, the ingrained reserve inherited
from her English father was not lightly discarded, then with a sigh she reached
out and drew his head downward until his mouth hovered only fractionally above.
An indrawn breath betrayed his surprise, but she smiled secretly and waited for
his kiss. It did not come. After a long, fractured silence he drew away, then w
ith a swift movement swung off the bed and towered over her in the darkness. "I'
m sorry, Marielle, my teasing got out of hand. It will not happen again." The ro
ugh apology was a knife-thrust lethal enough to kill the embryo of newly-conceiv
ed love, but it did nothing to deaden the quick flame of self-contempt that sear
ed for an agonizing second,

then died, leaving her body and senses numb. Mercifully, he did not turn on the
light, so she did not have to suffer the agony of seeing awareness added to the
amusement she had sensed earlier. Strange how ridicule hurt even more than rejec
tion. It must be pride, she decided painfully; her mother had often accused her
of having too much pride. "Marielle ...?" She flinched from a voice ragged with
embarrassment, then forced from her lips a light, cool laugh. "It is I who shoul
d apologize, Rom. The temptation to call your bluff was too great. After all, yo
u once compared me unfavourably with the girls of your tribe, so you can hardly
blame me for attempting to redeem myself when the opportunity arose." During the
stony silence that followed she felt once more the force of an anger so ferocio
us that only by the savage cut of a whip across a man's mouth had it been assuag
ed. For the first time in her life she gladly sheltered behind her only protecti
on - her sex. Physically, he would not harm her, but neither would he forget. He
would brood - as he had so often brooded over the scars of Kalia's brutality, s
o that even now when the marks had faded his fingers could trace unerringly wher
e once they had been. There was a grain of comfort in the knowledge that she had
at least saved face, even if the price she had to pay was a contempt so tangibl
e it was projecting across the width separating them. There would be no more int
ervals of tormenting tenderness, no more quick shared glances to jerk the heart
out of her body. A lion's claws would rip even when honeyed - but wounds inflict
ed in anger would be easier to parry than thrusts that penetrated all the deeper
because they came disguised by sweetness.

His shadow moved towards the door. Marielle held her breath, expecting a parting
lash, but he disappeared without a word granting her the solitude necessary for
bitter tears.

CHAPTER EIGHT BENEATH the flat was the cafe from which Jan and his wife made a c
omparatively comfortable living, Anna doing the cooking while Jan served at the
tables. Four of their five children were of school age, so they presented no pro
blem, but next morning when Jan suggested accompanying Rom on his search for inf
ormation Anna immediately intervened with the question of what was to be done wi
th their youngest, a lively two- year-old who needed constant attention. Jan's e
ager expression faded as he surveyed the chuckling jamcovered face beaming acros
s from a high chair. "Ah, yes, little Pesha, I had forgotten about her.. "Mariel
le will look after the child," Rom offered calmly, buttering a second piece of t
oast. "It would be courting danger to allow her to accompany me through the stre
ets during daytime, so as she will have time on her hands, you will be doing her
a kindness if you allow her to play with the infant while I conduct my affairs.
" When all eyes turned her way Marielle's colour rose, but she nodded eagerly; a
ny plan that kept her and Rom apart was acceptable. His cynical glance evidenced
that he had read her thoughts, so she quickly averted her eyes. Her bout of cry
ing the previous evening had left her with swollen lids sweeping down over eyes
grey as a stormswept sea. If he had looked more closely her emotional mouth woul
d have given her away, but he spared her no more than a curt goodbye across the
width of the room before Jan and he went on their way. It was a relief to be lef
t alone with little Pesha while Anna, with the help of a neighbour, coped with t
he demands of a gradual swell of customers. It was a popular cafe, renowned for
cleanliness and good food, and as the morning progressed casual customers demand
ing coffee and cake gave way to regular lunchtime diners from nearby offices and
shops who packed the seats to capacity, filling the room

with an animated buzz of conversation. She longed to join them, to eavesdrop, pe

rhaps, upon the group of students arguing amongst themselves in a corner, or to
listen in on the discussion taking place around a table filled with grave-faced
businessmen who looked as if they knew of some momentous, world-shaking event th
at had just taken place. But she hovered outside in the passageway, not daring t
o show her face, tantalized by a desire to know what had been going on during th
e weeks she had been cut off from the outside world with not even a glimpse of a
newspaper headline to lighten her ignorance. Prolonged absence from her mother
began to make the baby fractious, so Marielle carried her out into the courtyard
to tempt her to play. A large red ball was conveniently to hand, and for the ne
xt half hour they were both fully absorbed, Marielle gently rolling the ball to
the feet of the willing infant who, after several abortive efforts, finally mana
ged to correct her aim well enough to kick it back in Marielle's direction. Anna
popped her head out of the window now and again to join in the chuckles of laug
hter and to call out encouragement, and it was on one of these occasions that sh
e distracted Marielle's attention long enough for Pesha to grab the ball and beg
in toddling with it towards the still crowded cafe. All doors were open to encou
rage a through-draught, so by the time Marielle realized her charge was missing
and began hastening after her she was just in time to see her teetering on the t
hreshold of the door leading into the cafe. "Pesha! Please, darling, come back .
.." Pesha hesitated then, with an impish grin, projected the ball as hard as she
could into the middle of the absorbed diners. "Little devil!" Marielle laughed
as she hurried towards her. Without thinking, she picked up the child and hurrie
d to retrieve the ball. She realized her mistake too late, when every pair of ey
es turned to focus upon her flushed face and the wriggling, delighted baby. Imme
diately

she began backing away, hoisting the child higher in her arms as she discarded h
er plan to retrieve the ball. A man stepped from the seat beside which it had co
me to rest. He picked it up, then began advancing towards her. As sunlight glint
ed on the buttons of his uniform and reflected upon highly polished leather knee
-boots, her stomach turned over, recognizing the uniform she had begun to hate w
hen first she saw it worn by Sergei Ivanov. "Your ball, comrade," he offered, sm
artly clicking his heels but hardly bothering to glance at her face. "Th ... tha
nk you," she stammered, poised to flee as soon as she had it in her possession.
He had half- turned to return to his seat when Pesha, with a shriek of glee, gra
bbed Marielle's turban in her tubby fists and tugged, releasing golden hair that
tumbled down around her shoulders. The officer's head jerked up, his eyes narro
wing, but before he had a chance to question her Marielle picked up her skirts a
nd fled up to the flat where for several long minutes she shuddered behind the d
oor, anticipating the sound of approaching jackboots which mercifully did not co
me. When Rom and Jan returned she shared their meal and listened to their conver
sation, all the time pondering whether or not she dared reveal the incident. She
had disobeyed Rom's strict instructions to remain out of sight; his stern mouth
and indifferent manner did not augur well for the admittance of further indiscr
etions, so, after an inward struggle, she decided to remain silent. "We have goo
d news, Marielle," Jan interrupted her deep introspection, his frown encompassin
g both her and Rom, obviously puzzled by their lack of communication. "First of
all, we went to the main post office to collect what we call 'gypsy mail' sent c
are of General Delivery. You may not be familiar with this method of ours, but a
ll that is entailed is the writing of the word 'gypsy' boldly by hand across the
envelope - just as one might write 'airmail' or

'registered letter'. There was quite a pile for Rom and judging from the postmar
ks most of them have been awaiting collection for months." He paused, expecting
Rom to take up the tale, but when he continued eating Jan shrugged and carried o
n, "Then we called at several points of contact - places known to the gypsies as
'drops' and at once we were told that someone in Vienna has been trying for wee
ks to contact Rom by telephone. It has been arranged that he should make contact
this afternoon, and we are almost certain it will be news of Sophie ..." "Ah ..
." Marielle expelled a soft sigh, "that certainly is good news. No doubt, Rom, y
ou can hardly wait to take the call?" She dropped her lashes before his sardonic
look could demoralize her completely and waited for his answer. His long silenc
es were unnerving; even Jan had noticed that since last night he had barely addr
essed two sentences in her direction, and now the atmosphere was so tense she fe
lt willing to endure even sarcasm if only he would speak. She winced when his ch
air scraped back from the table. Ignoring her question, he nodded towards the cl
ock, informing Jan, "The call is scheduled for one-thirty and it is now almost o
ne. I must go. Thank you, my friend, for your generous hospitality. Unfortunatel
y, once I have taken this call we must go, but I hope it will not be too long be
fore we meet again. Perhaps you might persuade Anna to join our kumpania, if onl
y for a short visit, so that you may renew old acquaintances and warm the hearts
of your many relatives ?" Jan's flash of eagerness was quickly camouflaged. "Yo
u forget, old friend, that I have become completely housetrained," he laughed dr
yly. "No longer do I relish the idea of breaking an icy crust from the water bef
ore I wash, and my comfort-cushioned bones would react badly to a mattress of ru
tted earth after being coddled for so long amongst feathers! " "Then you are at
peace?" Rom persisted, as if the reply he sought was of great importance.

Marielle held her breath, convinced she was about to hear the answer Anna craved
, but he prevaricated, "Neither money nor the devil can remain in peace, but her
e under this roof lies all the happiness I am destined to know." It was compromi
se, but Rom did not offend Jan's dignity by showing signs of pity. They clasped
hands, exchanging a look deep in meaning, then parted without further comment. J
an remained helping out in the cafe while Rom returned to the "drop" where he wa
s to take the call. The lunchtime rush was over, so Anna decided to relax with M
arielle in the flat while business was slack. They were chatting contentedly ove
r cups of coffee when the sound of raised voices penetrated from the cafe. Anna
jerked erect, her apprehensive glance colliding with Marielle's as Jan's voice p
enetrated a warning up the stairs. "Yes, comrade, a couple of gypsies were here.
They came late last night, begging for food. My wife took pity on them and gave
them a meal and a bed for the night and in return the woman minded our child wh
ile the husband worked for a couple of hours in the kitchen. They left about an
hour ago - to return to their tribe, they said - but I have no idea in which dir
ection they went." His unseen inquisitor rapped out a question to which Jan repl
ied in a voice even louder than before: "An Englishwoman, you say . . .? Surely,
comrade, you must be mistaken! You saw the woman yourself, here in the cafe - w
as she not as dark-skinned as a berry?" Marielle gasped, her hand lifting involu
ntarily to the turban covering her giveaway blondeness. What a fool she was not
to have mentioned her encounter with the Russian officer! If she had, Jan would
have been prepared, with answers ready, for his return. And what of Rom? What if
he should walk straight into the cafe, thereby proving Jan a liar? The same tho
ught had obviously occurred to Anna. She clutched Marielle's sleeve, her face as
hen, and pleaded with darkly enormous eyes for a solution.

Just then, as if in answer to a prayer, they heard Rom drive the tagila into the
courtyard. Its wheels had barely stopped revolving by the time Marielle reached
it and her quickly gasped: "Soldiers ... in the cafe ...!" was explanation enou
gh. Ungently, she was heaved up beside him, then a crack of a whip between the h
orse's ears sent them heading swiftly in the direction of the city boundaries. S
he had no time to wave to Anna who was watching anxiously behind closed curtains
, and she was glad of this when, looking back, she saw a couple of soldiers appe
ar in the courtyard. There was a shout, then the shrill blast of a whistle as th
ey spotted the tagila speeding into the distance, but she felt no fear, only an
overwhelming thankfulness that, captured or not, they were far enough away to av
oid suspicion falling upon their friends. Speech was out of the question as the
tagila's wheels showered sparks behind the clattering hooves of the striving hor
se. One glance at Rom's granite features told of rapt concentration and of a det
ermination that boded well for their chances of escape, so Marielle clung on, we
athering jolts and bumps so ferocious that her teeth bit unexpectedly into her t
ongue, sending the salty tang of blood trickling down her throat. A distant belt
of trees was rapidly being approached when the first shot rang out. Fear such a
s she had never before experienced kept her rigid in her seat until Rom's arm sh
ot out, projecting her half double to deprive the marksman of his target. "Hold
on! Don't be afraid, we're almost safe ...!" he shouted, encouraging both her an
d the terrified horse. When a second shot whistled dangerously close to his ear
she flinched, but he seemed barely to notice as he drove the horse almost beyond
endurance in his effort to reach the sheltering trees. Her taut nerves leapt wi
th relief when at last the green haven closed around them. He drove as far as he
could into the forest, but gradually the thickness of the undergrowth became im
passable, so he jumped down, signalling her to follow, then tapped the horse on
its withers, sending it careering back the way they came.

He grabbed her arm and as they began to run harsh voices echoing beneath the tre
es, together with the sound of feet crashing into the undergrowth, told how clos
ely they were being followed. For what seemed hours they fought to penetrate the
thick vegetation, tripping over tough, sinewy vines, suffering thorns and prick
les that gouged into Marielle's soft flesh with the enthusiasm of vampires. Then
eventually their straining ears told them that at last their pursuers had been
left behind; Rom's knowledge of the forest, his quick eye and unfaltering judgem
ent were assets far superior to weapons when fighting such terrain. When he slac
kened pace and ordered her to rest she did so immediately, trusting implicitly h
is assurance that for a short time they were safe. She threw herself prone upon
a patch of grass, bathing her hot cheeks in its coolness, feeling the thumping o
f her heart against the hard earth until the sound seemed to vibrate all around.
When the noise had abated and her tense muscles had relaxed she stirred and con
fessed to an impersonal expanse of shoulder. "It was my fault, Rom. This morning
in the cafe I sensed that a Russian officer had become suspicious, but he left
without saying anything, so I didn't think it important enough to mention." He r
olled over until his burning glance rested on her face. "You didn't think it imp
ortant ...!" he enunciated with a slowness that emphasized his amazed anger. She
flushed and hung her head, begging mutely for leniency. For long minutes she th
ought his anger would explode, then, with a weariness that cut her to the heart,
he sighed and allowed his tired body to unwind. "Just a few more miles and we w
ill be safe," he told a ragged patch of blue sky, pointedly underlining his anxi
ety to be rid of her. "This forest straddles the border; we entered it in Czecho
slovakia and we'll leave it in Austria. Once we reach Vienna," he twisted round
to face her, "I shall hand you back to your aunt who has been waiting there for
weeks for news of you."

"Aunt Sophie is in Vienna?" she repeated, startled. "But how? Why...?" "How? By
plane. And why? Because once Sergei Ivanov had wind of her activities it was no
longer safe for her to remain in Warsaw - or in any other occupied country." "Yo
u mean because she arranged my escape she's had to leave her home, her business,
and her friends?" she questioned in a whisper. "Like myself, Sophie lost her re
al home long ago." He scooped up a handful of grass, then watched it trickle thr
ough his fingers while he came to a decision. "Your aunt was badly misjudged by
you and by many others, but she pretended not to mind because the job she had ch
osen to do meant more to her than the good opinion of people who ought to have k
now her better." Her surprise-widened eyes seemed to aggravate his displeasure,
goading him on to enlighten her further. "She is slightly older than I, but she
was still no more than a child when she became involved in an organization that
opened up an escape route that has given freedom to thousands of refugees. She c
ould have escaped herself many times, but she chose to remain where she thought
she was most needed - in Warsaw. She is opposed to violence, and by cultivating
the friendship of Sergei Ivanov and others like him she gradually was able to br
ing about changes that lightened the burdens of those she felt for deeply - the
proletariat the ordinary working class people whose lives had become so drab tha
t they lived an existence no better than that of the animals in the fields..." "
My aunt did that?" she choked, humbled beyond words. "And more," he clipped, his
contempt fully aroused. "She helped bring about a bloodless revolution so succe
ssful that some who could have escaped decided to remain and help her in her fig
ht to retain old

customs, the old way of life, so that some day when real freedom comes too many
souls will not have been lost on the way." Light broke through. "And you helped!
You and your tribe were the escape route you mentioned. Now I understand your p
eople's devotion to my aunt - and now," she faltered, "I understand the dreadful
consequences of my stubbornness! I ruined everything, all she had worked so har
d to attain!" She wanted to drown in waves of shame, and his hard stare did noth
ing to alleviate either her panic or her pain. Dispassionately, he turned the sc
rew, seemingly utterly unmoved by her small, pointed face and agonized eyes. "Is
it not a strange coincidence," he pretended to smile, "that the escape route cr
eated originally for the escape of your parents should have been destroyed so ma
ny years later by their child?" She almost envied Kalia. his physical punishment
as the lash of his words bit deep. He did not spare her, but even so, penance w
as not enough. Nothing, she felt, would wipe out the wrong she had done her aunt
and even an apology, however remorseful, would be salt rubbed into the wound. S
he barely noticed when, with a curse, he jumped to his feet. His head went up, a
ll senses alert to the whiff of smoke, the sound of crackling undergrowth, and t
he ominous blue pall drifting thinly around them. "Fire! " he ejected through cl
enched teeth. "The devils are bent upon roasting us alive!" Rough hands jerked h
er to her feet and began propelling her away from encroaching danger. Trees blur
red in her vision as she was rushed past them, away from angry licks of flame th
at held for her surprisingly little threat compared with the fire of the man who
se words had already seared. Hordes of frightened animals rushed from the underg
rowth, loudly shrieking pheasants and partridges shot past in noisy, heavy fligh
t when rumbling like thunder preceding a storm shook the troubled

earth. The fire was spreading rapidly, flashing far ahead of them, appearing in
places they least expected. "We must follow the animals," Rom shouted, half-drag
ging her through the forest which with horrifying swiftness had been turned into
a trap. "They'll be heading for water - a river flows somewhere nearby - pray G
od we reach it in time!" Marielle was too weary to reply; all her efforts were b
eing chanelled into keeping up with his racing feet. She could hear the fire adv
ancing, devouring everything in front of it, but as yet there were only occasion
al flashes of flame. The heat was intense, the air stifling hot and reeking of b
urning. A root trapped her foot, sending her crashing to the ground where for a
blissful second she was able to rest, then her body was jerked upright and Rom's
-furious, smokerimmed eyes swore down at her as he plucked her to her feet and f
orced her onwards. "Rom, I can't..." she whimpered, surrendering to the demands
of agonized muscles. "You must go on without me!" But when he swept her off her
feet into his arms she began to protest. "No!" she begged, tears chasing white r
ivulets down her smoke grimed cheeks. She tried to urge him to let her go, to ex
plain how he might possibly manage to save himself without the burden of her add
ed weight, but smoke rasped her lungs and the words would not project through a
parched throat and cracked lips. So she had no choice but to lie limply in his a
rms as he crashed his way through the undergrowth, his muttered curses fading gr
adually in her ears until they became completely inaudible when blackness closed
around her. She was revived by water splashing over her face, and by Rom's anxi
ous voice penetrating the bliss of her unconsciousness. She did not want to be d
eprived of her dream-filled interlude and struggled against it, but his voice wa
s insistent and sounded so concerned that without volition her eyes opened to se
ek confirmation of his

uncharacteristic loss of control. The face that bent over her was scored deep wi
th worry and not until she spoke his name did his pain-darkened eyes lighten. "R
om ..." she murmured, looking vaguely around. "Are we safe? Has the fire died?"
She flinched when a geyser of sparks shot up nearby, sparing him an answer. "Don
't fret, luba," he rasped, "we have found the river. I'm hoping that when the fi
re reaches the bank it will burn itself out, but we dare not risk crossing to th
e other side in case the wind should carry sparks far enough to allow the fire t
o spread. We do not want to be caught yet again in a similar situation to that f
rom which we have just escaped. No, we will find a pool deep enough to cover us
and wait until we are sure before chancing the final stretch of our journey." Sh
e wondered if he had encountered Satan on his way through Hell: something even m
ore shocking than the ordeal they had been through must have been responsible fo
r the emotion tugging at the corners of his mouth and for the absence of anger i
n his light, considerate touch. Bewilderment traced its shaky way through her wo
rds as, her glance held by his, she forced out any question but the one she real
ly wanted answered. "What of the soldiers? Will our delay give them time to gain
ground ? " Grimness once more clamped down on his features as he shook his head
. "We had a miraculous escape. They will not believe it possible that we have su
rvived. No doubt they are already celebrating the success of their operation." A
branch fell dangerously close, bringing emphasis to bear on their perilous situ
ation. "Come," he pulled her to her feet, "we have indulged long enough in selfcongratulation, now is the time to swim." Holding her by the hand, he led the wa
y over large slabs of stone and flat rocks until they reached a pool in the deep
est part of the river. Sparks hissed angry defiance on to the water as they lowe
red themselves neck-deep into the pool and the water

flowed suddenly red as a sentinel row of trees along the river's edge ignited; t
hen was swallowed up in a burst of flame that roared hot yellow and vivid orange
against the contrasting peaceful blue of the sky. It was an uncanny experience
silently shared. With his hands supporting her waist and water running like spil
t blood around their bodies they watched years of nature's work devoured in seco
nds by hungry tongues of flame. With the speed of a struck match forest giants w
ere reduced to fingers of black crumbling ash, and the heat roared ever nearer,
seemingly striving to engulf the two who had dared escape its wrath. Anxiously t
hey watched far-flung sparks seeking life amongst green vegetation on the opposi
te bank. Acrid smoke stung their eyes and throats, and only by sinking deeper wi
th their mouths just above the level of the water were they able to draw upon th
e small amount of oxygen remaining along its surface. By the time the fire's rag
e had abated Marielle was emotionally and physically spent. She had to draw on t
he very dregs of willpower to obey Rom when he ordered, "Good, the fire has not
caught on the other side, let's go ...!" Although he helped, it took superhuman
effort to drag her legs, encumbered by sodden skirts, to the other side of the r
iver. When they reached the bank she flung herself down, prepared to rest, but t
his he would not allow. He knelt beside her and urged, with a finger tipping her
chin, "You have been very brave, luba, but I must ask you for a final last effo
rt. A few short miles away lies the Austrian border. Russian patrols are active
all along the frontier, but I am confident we will evade them in the forest. How
ever, it is dangerous to linger here, so please, will you try? I promise it will
be for only a little while longer." His tone was such she could have denied him
nothing. Even though a small voice whispered a reminder of his desire to reach
Sophie, and of his eagerness to be rid of an encumbrance that had brought him no
thing but trouble, his concerned smile hypnotised her to her feet.

Awareness tingled through her nerves when, slipping her hand in his, she tripped
beside him through the forest, forgetting completely as she basked in the warmt
h of his unaccustomed smile the discomfort of wet clothes and chilled bones. By
some miracle his animosity and contempt seemed to have dispersed, she felt clean
sed in his eyes, at least, of the guilt of deliberate wrongdoing, and she was gr
ateful for the baptism of fire which seemingly had wiped out, as swiftly as the
forest giants, the growth of scornful disdain within him. The ground began to ri
se as they pushed their way through vegetation thick enough to hide a regiment o
f soldiers. They came across paths, well trodden, cutting a way cleanly in the d
irection they sought, but they dared not use them for fear of encountering a gre
y- clad patrol around one of the many twists and bends. She followed him through
tangled undergrowth, placing her feet squarely in the impressions left by his,
stumbling over hidden roots, fearful of the noises and sudden movements of small
unseen animals, and freezing instinctively to a halt amongst the almost shoulde
r- high ferns at the sound of a snapping twig or the flight of a bird whose sudd
en take-off might have been indication of approaching danger. They must have tra
velled several miles by the time Rom called a halt, satisfied, so far, with thei
r progress. Dusk was closing in, giving to the silent mass of trees the same eer
iness associated with ancient cathedrals housing statues whose stony stare dared
the interloper to disturb their peace. Marielle shivered, sensing unseen eyes,
then edged nearer to Rom who was listening intently for sounds of movement. Sati
sfied that there were none, he lowered himself to the ground and patted the spac
e beside him. "Sit here and rest. The boundary fence is just a few yards away, b
ut as it is exposed on either side by cleared ground we must wait until nightfal
l before chancing a break." He answered her shocked expression by explaining gen
tly, "The Russians patrol this area day and night - we must take the risk, it is
the only way."

Suddenly her teeth began to chatter. He pulled her down beside him, enclosing he
r shoulders in a warm grip, and began talking reassuringly in a whisper. At firs
t his words did not register, but his voice was so soothing and his arm around h
er shoulders so comforting that soon she began to feel warmth and a modicum of c
ontentment. "Rom," encouraged by his obvious concern she tentatively queried, "d
o you think Anna and Jan will ever be completely happy?" She sensed his frown, b
ut did not look up. He was worried about his friend, she knew, and his answer wo
uld supply a clue to his own opinion of marriage between Romany and Gaje - infor
mation which to her had assumed gigantic importance. Somehow she could not imagi
ne her svelte, town-reared aunt readjusting to suit a husband: not even a husban
d such as Rom. The extent of his willingness to change his ways would indicate t
he wealth of love in store for his future wife. "I have always believed a wife s
hould obey her husband's wishes," he mused, taking time to assemble his thoughts
, "but now I am not so sure ..." When she jerked, betraying surprise, he tighten
ed his arm thinking her cold. "Jan's compensations, balanced against his own per
sonal desires, weigh heavily in favour of Anna and the children. I dare say he m
ight forsake willingly the comfort of a settled home and money in his pockets, b
ut not even a life of nomadic freedom and the company of his own kind would comp
ensate for the absence of his family or for the lack of his wife's warm embrace
and loving smile. It matters much to a man - that communion of souls, that bond
binding man to woman making them indivisible even in the face of unbelievable od
ds. Some men never achieve such a union, some, in fact, are prepared to spend al
l their lives alone rather than be content with second best. But if, like Jan, a
man should be lucky enough to find his ideal mate then nothing in heaven or ear
th will keep him from the one he has chosen to be the mother of his sons."

She had expected an honest answer because Rom was always honest, but the gravity
with which he spoke brought a lump to her throat and also a desolation that bli
ghted the small bud of hope she had nurtured. All at once she felt a surge of re
sentment against her aunt, an envy - a hate almost - of the woman who could arou
se such depth of feeling in the man she loved so deeply that she would prefer to
die with him in the forest rather than escape merely to wave him goodbye. Tears
blocked her throat as she faced the fact of her love for Rom, striving for the
same honesty he himself had shown. How long had she loved him? Always, it seemed
. Certainly, when he had bartered for his bride he had gained a bargain, but he
would never know that the few gold pieces he had exchanged had bought him a love
beyond price and a devotion usually reserved for kings. She was glad of the bla
nket of night darkness that clothed them; it hid the hurt trembling of a mouth t
hat refused to be still and prevented him from recognizing a look he must have s
een many times in the eyes of bewildered, trapped creatures of the forest, a loo
k that beseeched: "I give in, please don't hurt me any more!" Disturbed by her l
ong silence, he breathed, "Are you asleep?" She shook her head, afraid to chance
a tremor betraying itself in speech, then felt unbearably punished when he aske
d almost indifferently, "And what of Anna's point of view? Are you inclined to s
ympathize with her need for security or would you, in her position, consider you
r man's complete happiness to be of prime importance? But then," as momentarily
he forgot the need for caution his voice harshened, "that is a foolish question
to ask of a young, liberated Englishwoman to whom freedom is life itself, is it
not?" He laughed softly, then mocked, "Little English sparrow, who celebrated he
r new-found liberty by flying immediately into a nest of hawks, what am I to do
with you? How am I to watch you struggle in this complex world of ours without f
eeling an urge to shelter you under my wing?"

Not a bird twittered, not a leaf stirred. Even the large mellow moon preparing t
o sail behind dark cloud seemed to hesitate as if anxious to hear her answer. Th
en swiftly its light was extinguished, leaving the forest a well of brooding war
ning through which reverberated the thud of heavy boots. Marielle had no need of
the warning finger he placed across her lips; no words could have escaped the t
aut muscles of her throat. Sweat beaded her forehead while they waited for the f
ootsteps to draw nearer. "We are wasting time," an impatient voice decreed. "No
one could come out of that furnace alive. See how the sky is reflecting red even
now from still-burning trees!" "Nevertheless, we will carry out our orders," hi
s companion snapped. "According to our report the couple we seek are gypsies, ex
pert in the art of survival and as cunning as foxes. Here," footsteps scraped to
a halt where the path forked, "you carry on to the left while I take this path.
Keep your eyes skinned and at even a hint of movement shoot!" They heard a relu
ctant grunt of assent, then the sound of departing footsteps as one of the soldi
ers moved away. They dared not stir from their crouched position amongst the fer
ns; the least movement, animal or human, would bring a hail of death from the it
ching finger of the remaining guard, who seemed in no hurry to move away. A matc
h scraped. Cautiously Rom parted the ferns, disclosing a greyclad back with head
bent forward over cupped palms. Marielle was hardly aware that Rom had moved un
til his shape loomed up behind the unsuspecting man with hands outstretched read
y to close around his throat. She watched petrified the silent tableau enacted w
ith a sureness that hinted at much previous practice. Like a jungle predator Rom
swooped, fastening his hands around the soldier's neck, his steel fingers exert
ing pressure on the windpipe until the grey shape slid unconscious to the ground
.

"Quickly!" He plucked Marielle from the ferns and headed towards the enclosing f
ence. With terror- dry mouth she forced from her mind the spectacle of Rom's utt
er ruthlessness and, shaking in every limb, hurried to obey his command. The fen
ce was eight feet high and along its top glinted outthrusts of barbed wire with
here and there a rag of clothing hanging proudly as if left as proof of effort b
y some less fortunate soul. Rom bent towards one of the lower strands and the st
illness rang with the snap of sliced metal as the wirecutters he wielded bit thr
ough. The sound rang startlingly loud on the still air, but he did not hesitate.
The jaws of the wire- cutter were fastened upon a second strand when from behin
d them came a shouted command: "Halt!" Marielle spun round to the sight of moonl
ight playing upon the barrel of a steadily-pointing rifle. The second soldier ha
d returned and the absence of his friend had brought cold resolve to his grim fa
ce. Leisurely, Rom straightened, as if resigned to the misfortune of capture on
the very brink of escape. He faced the soldier, slowly turning his back on the y
awning gap that was to have been their gateway to freedom, and began cautiously
to raise his hands above his head. Visibly, the soldier's rigid frame relaxed an
d in that split second Rom projected the wirecutters, aiming with the force of a
missile at the soldier's head. The guard's finger tautened on the trigger," at
the same instant he fell and the following flash jerked through Marielle's body,
causing hot, agonizing pain. Surprise was her overriding emotion as she watched
blood seep from a wound in her shoulder. "Rom," she whispered, her bewildered e
yes searching his ravaged face, "I've been shot..."
Several times during the next hour she was aroused by sensations that reached he
r subconscious, leaving comfort in their wake. Through the fog that enshrouded h
er mind penetrated the feel of urgent arms

clasping her in a strong embrace as she was carried at great speed across uneven
ground. A voice gave her strength, rallying her with wonderful promises which s
he could never afterwards remember. Then later there were many excited voices an
d she felt a touch of magic en- flame her lips before the arms that had carried
her delivered their burden into the ministering hands of a stranger. A siren ran
g insistently in her ears, accompanied by the feel of revolving wheels transport
ing her to places unknown. White uniforms, the smell of anaesthetic, then, befor
e complete darkness descended, a kindly voice whose owner patted her arm reassur
ingly as he told her: "You can relax, my dear, you have nothing more to fear. Yo
u have reached Austria."

CHAPTER NINE SOPHIE was there to greet Marielle when she opened her eyes in a ba
re white cubicle containing only a bed, a chair, and a locker holding an enormou
s vase spilling over with velvet-petalled roses and spice-perfumed carnations. T
he riot of colour held her gaze and for long seconds she was content not to thin
k but merely to enjoy the transient emotions of relief, comfort and freedom from
stress floating through her mind. "Marielle ... how do you feel?" Her aunt's vo
ice dispelled the feeling of contentment and sent a frown chasing across her -wa
n features. She ought to have been delighted to see her - why then had her heart
lurched suddenly as if at a reminder of something unpleasant? The instinct to d
isguise her feeling was absent, as was evident in the weak fretfulness of her an
swer. "I'm fine. Where's Rom... is he all right?" "He's gone to rest and freshen
up," her aunt smiled. She bent across the bed to smooth the uncreased pillows,
giving to the small detail great attention as if glad of something to occupy her
trembling hands. "He's been at your side all through the night. He's been very
worried about you - we both have." Marielle's lids drooped, but she fought her d
rowsiness long enough to ask, "He'll come back... ?" "Of course, moya droga" Sop
hie assured her in a whisper, patting the fractious hand pulling at the coverlet
. "We had to bully him into taking a rest and it was only the doctor's insistenc
e that the sight of a red-eyed, bearded vagabond would hardly hasten his patient
's recovery that made him decide to leave. Go back to sleep, and I guarantee tha
t when you awake you'll find him here by your side."

Her aunt was being generous, Marielle decided sleepily, but then she had always
been kind. When the fog that was confusing her had lifted, she would lighten Sop
hie's obvious misery by explaining that she understood perfectly the situation t
hat existed between herself and Rom and convince her that she had no intention o
f becoming an embarrassment. But she had to see him just once more to assure her
self that he really was unharmed, after that she would ... Sleep claimed her bef
ore plans could be formulated and Sophie, as she bent over the bed, was left to
wonder the cause of the sad little smile tugging the mouth of her slumbering nie
ce. Marielle awoke later to a room filled with dusky shadows. Fingers of light c
ast from a small lamp were spreading across the bedcover and when she made a sli
ght movement a long, elongated shape detached itself from the wall, then materia
lized into a figure leaning anxiously towards her. "Rom!" She smiled her satisfa
ction. There was a difference about him that nagged, but she dismissed from her
mind all but the fact that he was here, rather pale and stern perhaps, but still
projecting the potent appeal synonymous with all virile creatures of the wild.
His mouth relaxed into a smile reflecting relief and the shedding of a gigantic
burden. Lightly, he took hold of her hand as his look skimmed over her dazed eye
s and uncertain mouth. "How are you, little one, after your marathon sleep ?" De
liciously cosseted by his concern, she murmured, "Better ... much better, thank
you. But what happened? How did I get here?" Memory cast dark shadows across the
planes of his face. "You were shot when I charged the guard, don't you remember
? I'll never forgive myself," he clamped bitterly, "for allowing my lack of judg
ement to cause you pain." He silenced her protest with a gesture. "Don't try to
excuse my actions, luba. Later, I will attempt to atone

for my mistake, but just now I am content to concentrate upon assisting you towa
rds full recovery. We are now in Austria. This small hospital is near the border
where, less than an hour from the time we reached an Austrian frontier post, yo
u were admitted for treatment to the bullet wound in your shoulder. It is not se
rious," he checked swiftly when she made a startled movement, "just a flesh woun
d which will soon heal, leaving no scar at all. Our greatest worry was the amoun
t of blood you lost on the journey - the flow would not be stemmed even though I
strove to save you as little movement as possible. But I dared not stop - the R
ussians chased us almost to the frontier post and capture would have meant even
worse consequences than those you have already suffered." With a quick thrust of
fingers through his hair he betrayed the anxiety borne on that dangerous last s
tretch of journey. Marielle sighed, devouring with her eyes the unruly dark tend
rils his worried hand had freed from the neatness of a strictly wielded hairbrus
h. She realized now the difference in his appearance: tailored jacket and slacks
, neat tie, and impeccable linen - this was not the Rom she had come to know - t
he wind-tousled, casually-dressed nomad had been usurped by a civilized stranger
! Shyness strangled her, making conversation stilted. It was almost a relief whe
n, after several puzzled glances, he stood up to leave. "I have tired you. We wi
ll talk again tomorrow when perhaps you'll be feeling stronger. Sleep is a great
healer, so close your eyes and think only of getting well in time to reach Vien
na before the opera season ends. If you are good," he promised gravely as if to
a child being offered a treat, "I will take you to the Opera Ball. It is the hig
hlight of the season: an event to remember, and one I should not like you to mis
s." He left without further hesitation, and as she lay back on her pillows, pond
ering on his words, Marielle felt again a rush of desolation as she imagined her
self playing gooseberry, an unwanted third tagged

on to a couple whose main desire must be for the necessary solitude to dream, to
plan, or merely to revel in the togetherness so long deferred. A solitary tear
slid down her cheek before her wavering lashes closed. She would do all she coul
d to get well quickly, she decided sadly, but not for the reason he had put forw
ard. A heart could break anywhere, but at least back home in England she would n
ot be expected to display the sort of happiness that would be demanded of her if
she were to attend the Opera Ball. The decision was an incentive to the will to
recover and resulted, a few days later, in her doctor pronouncing himself more
than satisfied with her physical condition. Sophie, however, was doubtful and re
mained so even after repeated assurances from her niece that she felt well and w
as growing stronger every day. "You've changed, Marielle," she opined thoughtful
ly, frowning her dissatisfaction. "In Warsaw you were full of youthful vitality
and hope, but I no longer see evidence of these qualities. What has happened, my
dear? Have your recent experiences robbed you of your gay, impulsive outlook?"
Marielle's eyelashes swept down, giving her more than ever the look of a chasten
ed, subdued child. Rom had said much the same thing the previous evening, but wi
th less concern. His manner had held a hint of impatience, controlled, but never
theless present. He had popped in to see her on his way to meet friends - a situ
ation becoming more and more frequent as her health improved - and in the unfami
liar garb of a man about town he had projected a cool elegance that had emphasiz
ed clearly the barrier her shyness had erected. When she had answered his cheerf
ul greeting with an incoherent mumble, he had frowned, his features contrasting
darkly against the stark purity of his tailored shirt. "Is something troubling y
ou?" he had demanded as he had drawn up a chair to the side of her bed. She had
sensed his eyes upon her mouth, tracing the curves that trembled treacherously i
n his presence. Then his look had swept her face, raking its pale, heart-shaped

contours until a tide of pink colour had swept it alight. "Could it be," he had
then begun to tease, "that the little sparrow is suffering an attack of pique be
cause her wings have been temporarily clipped? You must not feel envious because
Sophie and I are being feted by old friends. Wait until we reach Vienna - a won
derful city born out of love, love of music, love of art, love of lovers - then
I will make up to you for all you feel you are missing." He had waited, obviousl
y expecting to be rounded on with a touch of her old defiance, but her heavy hea
rt had decried the use of verbal dalliance and had allowed only the coolest of r
esponses. "I am not at all envious," she had replied, keeping her eyes averted w
hen she heard his aggravated intake of breath. A crisp movement had brought him
to his feet. "Then what other reason causes you to act like a sulky child?" he h
ad demanded, catching her chin between forceful fingers until she was forced to
meet his eyes. Their impact was enormous. "Perhaps I'm homesick," she had gasped
wildly, afraid of the pulse of steel hammering against her cheek. "I want to go
home to England to sanity and peace of mind..." Contact between them was lost w
hen he released her, leaving a chasm no words would bridge. "You dislike us all
so much?" For long seconds silence had stretched between them, then without furt
her comment he had strode from the room, leaving her to turn her face into the p
illow and weep as she battled alone with the pangs of new-born maturity. The sil
ence had lasted too long for Sophie's peace of mind. Her remedy was to put on a
bright face and adopt a cheerful manner as she imparted what she hoped was good
news. "The doctor is willing to allow you to travel to Vienna tomorrow," she con
fided, watching

anxiously for Marielle's reaction. When there was none, she bit her lip and trie
d again. "Rom has offered us the use of his flat. As you know, we were to have s
tayed with friends of mine, but as they are a bit short of room Rom insists that
we use his flat so that we might both be comfortable. You'll love it, I'm sure,
it's so cosy and so compact as well as being handy for the shops." "Rom has a f
lat in Vienna!" Sophie was delighted when Marielle's eyes became alive with a cu
riosity near to disbelief. "But yes," she nodded, eager to hold her attention, "
he adopted the city as his own, or rather, Vienna adopted him. It is, he says, t
he only place he would find bearable if ever he had to put down roots. If the Vi
ennese had their way he would remain in their city for ever, but as it is, they
welcome his rare appearances with a fervour that falls barely short of hero-wors
hip. He is their idol, and what man could resist feeling gratified by the knowle
dge that he holds his finger on the pulse of an audience as critical as the blas
Viennese whose tastes over the years have developed from a surfeit of talent?" D
azedly, Marielle shook her head, unable to reconcile her own image of Rom with t
he one her aunt portrayed. Once, within the tribe, she had questioned why he nev
er entertained and had been told sharply that Rom was their chief and as such he
was under no obligation to pander to their whims. Circumstances might have forc
ed him to play such a role in front of the hated Gaje, but here he reigned supre
me. "By the way," Sophie interrupted her train of thought with the casual bombsh
ell, "Rom was called away suddenly to Vienna. He asked me to apologise on his be
half for not calling in to say goodbye and assured me that he will have the flat
ready for us both when we follow on tomorrow." "I want to go home!" The words w
ere jerked impulsively from between clenched teeth. In Vienna, Marielle was conv
inced, there

would be nothing for her but heartbreak, the heartbreak of being with the new Ro
m, the stranger with the chameleon quality that made him able to integrate into
whatever society he found himself. The old Rom, the one she knew and loved, had
been submerged by a sophisticated alien with a polished charm that would have to
be endured while she suffered the attentions of his promised atonement. I will
make up to you for all you feel you have missed! he had said, unknowingly twisti
ng the knife in the wound of his professed love for Sophie. Nothing on earth cou
ld ever make up for the loss of himself, the man who, in her more delirious mome
nts, she had begun possessively to regard as a husband! Sophie's answer dropped
slowly into the pool of silence. "But you are not yet fit enough to cope, my dea
r. You need careful nursing and a leisurely convalescence before you even contem
plate the- journey to England, much less the consequent loneliness that awaits y
ou there. I would gladly accompany you, were it not that I have business in Vien
na that cannot be shelved a moment longer. Please, Marielle, don't make any rash
decisions, I beg of you!" She did not miss the quiver in her aunt's voice, nor
the dreamy softness of her eyes as she spoke of the business awaiting her in Vie
nna. Doubtless Rom was responsible. He was the business she spoke of. She forced
herself to face facts and in doing so found the strength to decide she must pla
y out the farce to the bitter end: for pride's sake she could not go running hom
e, thereby betraying lacerated feelings. Galled by the suspicion that Sophie was
almost halfway to guessing her secret, she swallowed hard and tilted her chin.
"You're right, as usual, Aunt Sophie. I must remain here, for a little while at
least." Her laugh sounded shaky as she attempted to tease. "I hope your bank bal
ance is healthy? I need clothes from the skin outward, and as I'm completely des
titute you will have to come to my

rescue if you don't wish to be disgraced by turning up in Vienna with a vagrantlooking niece!" "No problem!" she reacted with a breathless, pleased laugh. "Eve
rything I have is yours, moya droga, I can hardly wait to join you in the shoppi
ng spree of the century!" But it was another two weeks before Sophie judged her
niece fit enough to indulge in the spate of necessary shopping. By that time the
y were well installed in the flat Rom had left prepared, and within its close co
nfines bonds of real friendship had been forged. During the day they had formed
the habit of taking short strolls in the park, then each evening they had settle
d down to talk, and laugh, or simply to listen to music in companionable silence
until, as the days went by, they reached deeper understanding. Marielle had tri
ed to apologize for wrecking the organization so painstakingly built up, but Sop
hie would not hear of her taking the blame. "Perhaps it was meant to be," she ha
d countered obliquely, brushing aside Marielle's regrets. "One cannot live for e
ver in a limbo of indecision, and this way I have been left no. choice." Mariell
e had pressed for a more definite explanation, but Sophie had refused to be draw
n. With a Mona Lisa smile hovering around her perfect mouth she had decreed, "Yo
u have perhaps done me a great service, but only time will telly so I can say no
more." Of Rom, they had seen very little, whether purposely on his part or beca
use his excuse of pressing business really was genuine Marielle did not know. Hi
s absence was a great relief to Marielle, who could hardly bear to be in the sam
e room when he and Sophie were together, smiling into each other's eyes as if at
shared secrets, their conversation sprinkled with endearments betraying deep fe
eling held in check for convention's sake. Their meetings were to her both embar
rassing and painful, especially as Rom seemed to take great

delight in teasing-bright colour to her cheeks when? with scrupulous fairness, h

e bestowed upon her her share of attention. Her nerves were taut to breaking poi
nt the day he addressed her in such an avuncular manner that she felt reduced to
the status of a peevish child. Sophie had excused herself to go into the kitche
n to prepare coffee, and the resulting void of silence was broken by his drawled
enquiry, "Well, luba, now that your health is so much improved do you feel read
y to come out and play?" His tone rankled, or perhaps subconsciously she felt he
rself being compared unfavourably with her svelte, youthful-looking aunt whose c
urvaceous figure and graceful manner excited comment from all quarters. Beside h
er, she felt gauche and very immature, an object fit only for pity. Her bright h
ead jerked up, revealing a sparkle of resentment. "I'm not a child!" she flashed
across the space dividing them. His eyebrows elevated, but he took time to sele
ct a cigar before answering coolly, "I've never supposed you were - until now."
Her rage escalated beyond all control. She jumped to her feet ready to flee, but
a primitive urge to hurt checked her flight. He was watching with narrowed eyes
when she spun on her heel to storm, "I hate you! You are the most superior man
I've ever met, and it's my opinion that my aunt is far too good for you...!" Rea
lly first-class stores were at a premium in Vienna, but Sophie knew of a retired
couturier who liked to keep her hand in by designing and making up clothes for
a small, favoured clientele. As every door in Vienna seemed to open for Sophie,
they had no difficulty in arranging an appointment with "Christa" whose small sa
lon was located in a street not far from the flat. Of necessity, Marielle's more
urgent shopping had had to be done in the available stores, but she could hardl
y help feeling excited when, accompanied

by her aunt, she was ushered into the presence of a regal old lady who, even as
she extended her hand, was raking every inch of the figures she had been asked t
o dress. "Ah!" Christa pursed her lips, looking in severe black a positive matri
arch. "I could wish for no greater contrast - the ingnue and the sophisticate - t
ogether you represent a challenge I cannot resist!" Sophie smiled. "Good, becaus
e we bring to you the supreme challenge. As you know, some of the. world's bestdressed women attend the Opera Ball and my niece and I have special reason for w
anting to look our best. Do you think you can oblige?" Christa chuckled - a soun
d like dried peas rattling in a can. "It will be my pleasure." She inclined a be
- ringed hand towards a bellpush and kept a finger pressed down until a flustere
d young girl appeared. "Show these ladies to the room where the materials are ke
pt," she instructed. "I will be along later to approve their choice." They were
led into a room where carefully-covered bales were piled against the walls. Swat
hes of materials were draped across stands with full, flowing effect, to allow t
exture to be felt and style to be decided. Marielle, rather put out at being pit
chforked into agreeing to buy a dress for a function she had already decided to
miss, demurred when her aunt pointed out a diaphanous fall of wild silk. "How go
rgeous, Marielle, don't you agree? We are restricted somewhat by the ruling that
all dresses worn at the Ball must be white, but you have no need to worry, whit
e becomes your colouring well, whereas I, with my pale hair and even paler compl
exion, will emerge as colourless as a ghost." Marielle made a desperate attempt
at evasion. "Will you mind... will you be very disappointed... ?"

"If you should decide not to attend?" Sophie finished coolly. "Yes, most certain
ly I will be disappointed and I will mind very much. So much, in fact, that I re
fuse to listen to any excuses you may already have formed. For years I have long
ed for this chance; my evening will most definitely be spoiled if you refuse to
go. Besides, as Rom is supplying the tickets it would be discourteous to leave t
han on his hands - especially when they are in such great demand." With a shrug
of helplessness Marielle conceded defeat. Her aunt was a very determined woman,
but even so, on this particular occasion she seemed even more intent than usual
upon having her way.

CHAPTER TEN MARIELLE wandered aimlessly around the flat, wondering at the lack o
f evidence of Rom's occupation. He had left no imprint upon the compact, unclutt
ered rooms; she felt they mourned in silence, as she did, the absence of his for
ceful personality. She picked up an ornament - one of the very few - and studied
it while she waited for her aunt to emerge from her bedroom where she was dress
ing for the Ball. She herself had finished dressing long ago and her mirrored re
flection told her she was looking lovelier than she had ever looked before. Her
dress was a masterpiece of costly silk that whispered a sad song around her slen
der ankles when she moved. The bodice left her arms bare, the material lying in
a silken, caressing swathe across smooth white shoulders, hiding all that remain
ed of the physical scar inflicted by the impact of a gunman's bullet. But-other
scars, deeper and more painful, were concealed within a heart weary of practisin
g deceit, a heart that longed for the solitude in which it might drop the mask o
f excited anticipation it had been called upon to wear. Her hair - coiffured hig
h and pinned with pearl- studded clips - contrasted pale silver against the crea
my silk. Only her troubled eyes lacked sparkle inevitably if, as was said, they
were mirrors of the soul... She set down the ornament and frowned; Sophie was ta
king her time. Rom was calling for them at seven and there was something she had
to discuss with her aunt before he arrived. She had been troubled all day by th
e receipt she guessed must have arrived with the dresses. She had found it by ac
cident, a curled-up ball her foot had touched as she passed the waste paper bask
et for which it had obviously been intended. Curiously she had smoothed out its
creases, and gasped when she saw the amount. But what was most worrying was the
spidery scrawl covering the face of the receipt, a scrawl that proclaimed: Accou
nt settled by Rom Boro! Her aunt had been at the hairdressers when she had found
it and had disappeared into her bedroom immediately she returned, so now would
be the first opportunity she had had of confronting her.

Sophie's door clicked and Marielle swung round, her questions ready, but the wor
ds on her lips gave way to a gasp of admiration. Christa, with unusual perceptio
n, had put her finger unerringly upon the qualities she had seen were lacking. W
hereas she had incorporated into Marielle's dress an elegance to encourage proud
confidence, with Sophie's she had reversed the procedure so that the resulting
creation was one that produced an ambience of youthful gaiety. It was made up of
delicate white lace with long, tight-fitting sleeves, a tiny fitted waistband t
opping an extravagantly full skirt and a collar of nunlike severity that lighten
ed her somewhat sad features with a touch of innocence. Her hair, freed from res
tricting pins, brushed silken silver against blushed pink cheeks. Happiness glow
ed in her eyes: she was at once a child dressed for her first party; a tremulous
girl on her first date; a woman deeply in love. "Will I do?" she asked, her exp
ression apprehensive. "You'll do beautifully," Marielle eased through a constric
ted throat, her aunt's radiance compensating in a small way for her own misery.
The doorbell shrilled and with a gay laugh Sophie moved, intent upon admitting R
om. "Wait!" Marielle checked her; there was no time for lengthy discussion, but
she had to know. She held out the crumpled receipt. "I found this ... it has j R
om's name on it... I don't understand." Sophie barely glanced at the paper, obvi
ously loath to postpone by even a second the pleasures in store. Her hand was al
ready resting on the latch when she rattled in a breath. "Oh, that - I meant to
tell you about it, but it slipped my mind. Rom insisted upon paying. I didn't qu
ite understand myself his reference to a dowry - some gold pieces of yours he ha
d in his keeping - you must tell me about it some time!" With a flourish she ope
ned the door to allow Rom to enter and in her eagerness missed completely the wa
ve of antagonism that greeted him when he met the eyes of the girl who had just
become

shockingly aware that every stitch she owned had been paid for with the money he
had exchanged as the price of his bride... He handed them into a waiting taxi a
nd directed the driver to the restaurant where they were to dine, then as they d
rove off he began scrutinizing them closely. He took his time, deliberating firs
t upon Marielle's rebellious face, then upon Sophie's, which was alive with a de
light so consuming that her fingers trembled as she tried to pin on the corsage
of dark red rosebuds Rom had presented. "Here, let me," he commanded, expertly a
djusting the spray and snapping shut the pin. His eyebrows crooked an enquiry in
Marielle's direction, but she had already fastened on her own green-foliaged sp
rigs of orange blossom with their scent reminiscent of weddings, choirboys and b
rides, so she shook her head vigorously in refusal of his unspoken offer of help
. Their glances clashed above Sophie's head, but bitterly resentful grey eyes dr
opped before the stirrings of puzzlement they saw in his. His mouth tightened, a
nd there were overtones of irritation in his voice when he ignored her and began
conversing with Sophie. "Well, it is here at last, luba, the night for which yo
u have waited so long. No need to ask if you are happy." Sophie laughed, a shaky
tremulous sound. "Oh, I am, I am! So very happy! There is magic in the air toni
ght, Rom, don't you feel it? Tonight the stars will shine brighter, music will t
ake wings and Vienna will rejoice as it's never done before!" To Marielle's acut
e embarrassment she reached out to cover Rom's hand with her own. "And for you a
lso, I hope, my dearest Rom." Marielle stared blindly out of the window, pretend
ing to be engrossed in the scene outside but actually seeing nothing of the line
s of fairy lights strung like magic rainbows from tree to tree, the flower-selle
rs plying their wares, or the people queueing patiently outside every

theatre. She was wondering how she was to get through the evening which obviousl
y held great portent for her two companions. It was as if a tryst had been made
years ago, to meet here in Vienna on the night of the Ball. Their long separatio
n had ended weeks ago, but for sentiment's sake they had opted to play out their
fantasy in the way they had dreamed so that for ever afterwards the evening wou
ld remain fresh in their memories. To curb her churning emotions she bit her lip
until she tasted blood, then struggled with such success to control her feature
s that she alighted from the taxi looking almost bored. She remembered nothing o
f the conversation in the restaurant. Certainly she joined in, saying all the ri
ght things, but with mechanical responses which, as they waited for their meal,
drew a flash of anger from Rom. "Does our conversation bore you, Marielle, or is
it simply that you are about to embark upon yet another of the moods to which,
for weeks now, we have become subjected?" She was so startled she dropped her sp
oon, but had barely time to frame a reply before a figure appeared at her elbow,
a distinguished, mature man dressed like Rom in black evening suit and white ti
e. "Allow me, my dear," he bent to retrieve the spoon, then straightened slowly
to smile directly at Sophie. "Stefan!" she whispered, very white and still. "My
dear, is it really you ? " To Marielle's bewilderment Rom jumped to his feet and
grinning broadly urged the stranger to join them. He sat down but did not speak
, seemingly content to drink in the vision of confused loveliness by his side. R
om's prosaic: "Have you eaten?" dragged him back to reality. "No, not yet," he r
eplied, his glance still locked with Sophie's. "I have a table reserved and a me
al ordered - for two."

Tears glinted on Sophie's lashes as his hand crept out to capture hers. "You've
come here all these years?" she asked softly. He nodded and confirmed simply, "E
ach year for almost twenty years I've returned to Vienna to wait in this same re
staurant, at the same table, for a girl who never arrived. The waiters look for
me now, my dear, they think me a crank whose imagination has fooled him into bel
ieving that some day he would meet again the woman he loves. Will you join me at
our table so I might prove them wrong ?" She nodded, too choked with emotion to
trust her voice, and too deeply engrossed to remember even to say goodbye befor
e she was jealously spirited out of sight. Marielle's bewilderment increased whe
n Rom, shrugging off his earlier annoyance, smiled and moved next to her into th
e chair Sophie had just vacated. "I don't understand," she appealed. "Don't you
mind her going off with a stranger ? " "Stefan a stranger?" The idea seemed to a
fford him much amusement. "Those two were sweethearts long ago when Sophie was b
arely out of her teens. Before Stefan escaped to England to enlist as a flyer he
begged her to marry him, but she refused to leave her parents alone in Warsaw a
nd so they parted. However, before he left they made each other a promise. As so
on as possible after the war, they were to meet here in this restaurant on the n
ight of the Opera Ball. If one could not make it, then the other would return ea
ch year until they both finally managed to rendezvous. But unfortunately things
did not work out. When the war ended Sophie was so committed to helping her peop
le that she felt she could not leave even though the escape route was still open
. So Stefan continued every year on his pilgrimage to Vienna, hoping each year w
ould be the last and being so often disappointed. How delighted he must be feeli
ng at this moment!"

With sudden hindsight Marielle recalled and understood her aunt's reply to her d
istressed apology for disrupting the organization. This way I have been left no
choice, she had said. How easy it was now to understand the years of heart-searc
hing behind that cryptic remark. Her choice had been between her own happiness a
nd the happiness of her people. When she recalled how she had misjudged her aunt
she felt drowned by a wave of shame. Then slowly she began emerging from her nu
mbing cocoon with all senses vibrantly alert. Across the room a quartet of music
ians were playing a Strauss waltz with gay abandon. The discreetly intimate rest
aurant was full of elegant people in evening dress, all prepared to enjoy their
evening to the full. The lighting, a subdued rosy glow, played upon Rom's featur
es, highlighting a glint of devilry in the dark eyes she had hardly dared meet b
efore. A thin blue wraith of cigar smoke drifted towards her, a curling signal o
f intimacy holding a message of such great import that she began to tremble. She
sensed he was enjoying himself when with twinkling gravity he suggested, "We ha
d better continue our conversation over dinner. I have a feeling there is much y
ou still desire to know, but I have no wish to spend the entire evening talking.
" Just what else he expected he did not say, but as a waiter served them with th
eir first course the urge to question was so strong she could not wait until he
had moved away. He continued serving, his face expressionless, when she blurted
across the table: "You said you loved Sophie and yet you put up no resistance ag
ainst Stefan's claim. It's just possible," the words almost choked her, "that ov
er the years she could have transferred her affections - people do, you know." H
is lips twitched, but he dismissed the waiter before answering blandly, "You sou
nd upset on my behalf, and yet only a few days ago you voiced an opinion that yo
ur aunt was too good for me. At the time, I must admit, I was puzzled by the ref
erence, but after a while I

began to realize ..." He broke off, studying her rapt face as if he would delve
the secrets of her soul, then continued with a seriousness that made her pulses
hammer, "I love Sophie very much, but I'm not and never have been in love. Not,
at least," he corrected, "with Sophie." When her lashes swept down to fan across
cheeks suddenly hot his hand shot out to trap hers in a grip of steel. "Don't h
ide from me, Marielle! This evening I want us to be free of all misunderstanding
, and to achieve this we must be completely honest with each other, don't you ag
ree?" One part of her wanted to flee from his smouldering look, but the rest of
her, the greater part, was fascinated to .the point of absorption. "Yes," she st
ammered, her cheeks fiery. "We owe each other that." "Good!" he replied with a r
elaxation into suavity. "Then perhaps you will now tell me why, when I called fo
r you this evening, I was met with a look of such utter dislike?" A breath flutt
ered in her throat as his eyes dared her to prevaricate. "Sophie had just that m
inute told me where the money had come from to pay for the dresses," she was for
ced to admit. "You must have known when you handed over the so-called dowry how
humiliated I would feel..." He cocked an amused eyebrow. "But the money is yours
. I was merely holding on to it for safe keeping. Besides," he challenged delibe
rately, "why should you feel humiliated? Is it not a woman's right to have her c
lothes paid for by her husband ?" "Not if the husband has never claimed his righ
ts!" she flashed, smarting still at the memory of his rejection. He did not pret
end to misunderstand. "You would not have thanked me if I had," he countered, hi
s mouth grim. "That night at Jan's was

an experience I would not care to repeat - leaving you then was the hardest thin
g I have ever done." She stared up at him, almost afraid to believe what his ins
istence upon truth had revealed. He was determined to be honest, so determined,
in fact, that she dared not let slip the question burning on her tongue in case
his answer should shatter her completely. But she yearned to know: had his desir
e that night been motivated by love or had it been merely hunger born of man's n
atural instincts ? They were interrupted before she found courage to ask, and th
e moment of truth was lost perhaps never to occur again. She could have cried ou
t aloud to them to go away when Sophie and Stefan reappeared, aglow with a happi
ness that evidenced all was right with their particular world. Rom, too, could h
ardly have welcomed their appearance, but he rose politely to his feet, his feat
ures showing no hint of displeasure. Sophie bubbled over with joy as she suggest
ed, "I think perhaps we ought to make our way to the Opera House if we are to be
in time for the opening, don't you?" With a wave of her hand she indicated the
surrounding sea of vacant tables; the rest of the diners had left unnoticed duri
ng their deep absorption. Rom slicked back his cuff to examine his watch, then n
odded agreement, and in no time at all they were speeding through the streets to
wards the Opera House, the question, unasked and therefore unanswered, hovering
like a cloud between them. Lights, music and the sound of laughter were spilling
from the Opera House when they arrived. Vienna was en fete, alive with colour a
nd vibrant feeling, the drab old buildings filled with a youth and gaiety that s
pelled welcome to all its visitors. Marielle and Sophie left the men in the foye
r and made towards a cloakroom to deposit their wraps. The air was full of an ex
citement so intense that words were superfluous; they felt poised on the brink o
f some momentous event,

a once-in-a-lifetime occasion that commanded complete mental and physical involv

ement. Marielle would have rejoined the men immediately in her eagerness to part
icipate, but Sophie dallied before a mirror supposedly repairing an already flaw
less complexion. Her eyes met Marielle's in the glass as, with lipstick poised,
she murmured, "Have all your doubts been laid, moya droga?" Marielle flinched. S
he had suspected all along that Sophie had guessed of her love for Rom. "Not qui
te all," she answered stiffly, wondering at the insistence of all lovers to have
others join their happy state. "Perhaps I can help?" Sophie urged. "I shouldn't
think so," Marielle replied, evading her eyes on the pretext of removing an ima
ginary thread from her skirt. "Try me," Sophie persisted. "Don't be afraid to ad
mit your love for Rom. He is a wonderful person, but I can understand your havin
g doubts about the sort of life you might be expected to lead if ever you should
become his wife." "His wife!" Marielle gave a startled laugh. "I can't imagine
Rom ever admitting to such a need! He is a nomad - a cat who walks alone - a wif
e could add nothing to that which he already has." "Then you think wrongly." Sop
hie replaced her lipstick, closing her bag with a decisive click. "I thought you
knew Rom, but I see now that you don't." She hesitated, then plunged recklessly
, "Once, many years ago, Rom divulged to me a secret known to very few - some of
his close associates within the tribe might have guessed, but they could never
have been sure. He told me," she struggled on, obviously forcing herself to disc
lose the confidence, "he thought himself born with the curse of Cain: 'A fugitiv
e and a vagabond I shall be,' he quoted, 'condemned to live the rest of my life
with the sky for a

ceiling and wheels beneath my feet'. Don't you see, Marielle, he yearns for a se
ttled home and a family - something he can never hope to find within the tribe!
He may have gypsy looks and gypsy charm, but not even he can dictate to wayward
instincts. I'm convinced that with someone like you he could put down roots - he
re in Vienna, perhaps - and live as he was meant to live, amongst his own kind."
Marielle rounded on her with a tormented, haunted look. "That's just wishful th
inking on your part, Aunt Sophie!" she challenged fiercely, holding back tears.
"It's kind of you to want the same happiness for me as you have found for yourse
lf, but unfortunately destiny will not be manipulated however hard you might try
. To Rom, I represent a nuisance he wants to be rid of. Oh yes," she laughed har
dly when Sophie tried to interrupt, "I'm fully aware of the fact that of late hi
s attentions have become marked - but I have never allowed myself to forget that
his change of attitude is part of the atonement he feels he owes me!" She retre
ated from her aunt, a slight, courageous figure hanging on grimly to control. As
she reached the door she turned to throw out a last bitter comment. "As this ev
ening could be termed a last instalment of that atonement, you must excuse me fo
r not wanting to miss a minute of it!"

CHAPTER ELEVEN THE interior of the Opera House was like a fairy palace. The stal
ls were covered, so that the stage seemed to spread across the huge oval of the
entire theatre; boxes and galleries were festooned with thousands of red and whi
te carnations and lovely young girls dressed all in white, accompanied by blackgarbed partners, pirouetted like marionettes beneath magnificent crystal chandel
iers. The orchestra was tuning up, ready to start playing, when Marielle reached
Rom's side. His dark head swivelled in her direction, seemingly by instinct, an
d the smile he gave her held such warmth her doubts almost began to waver. He st
ared without speaking, ignoring the beauty around him, then, as if satisfied wit
h what he read in her face, he slipped his arm around her waist and swung her am
ongst the dancers. She revelled in the bitter-sweet torment of his embrace, refu
sing to allow her mind to dwell upon a lonely tomorrow but determined to gather
unto herself as many happy memories as the night might hold. If her eyes held a
hint of desperation even as she smiled, he did not seem to notice - a tremulous
mouth and gently flushed cheeks can evidence happiness as well as pain. Her hear
t beat in time with the music, swiftly, soaringly, then finally surrendered with
complete abandon when his arms tightened so that his lean strength and her frag
ile slenderness became as one when they moved together. Under his guidance she n
ever once faltered, and by the time half a dozen dances had been played she was
moving like moonlight across the floor. Rom's hands slackened reluctantly when t
he music faded, but remained lightly caressing as he led her towards a table whe
re an ice bucket held a bottle of champagne enshrined up to its slender neck in
cracked ice. There was no sign of Sophie or Stefan as the muted gold liquid spar
kled into glasses, so only Marielle heard his tenderly-

voiced toast: "To love, luba, and to honesty and understanding! " He could have
been pleading for all three as he waited, his glass upraised, for her response,
but he betrayed no disappointment when she mumbled something inaudible, then gul
ped down her drink with a confused impetuosity that caused her to cough. He show
ed concern by moving his chair nearer and offering her his handkerchief, large,
white, and redolent of cigar smoke and masculine cologne. Crowds milled around t
hem, but their table could have been a raft in the middle of a heaving sea when,
with his lips hovering against her ear, he breathed, "Let's go where we can be
alone?" Her initial instinct was to refuse, but his expression proclaimed he wou
ld brook no opposition, so with nerve-ends tingling a warning Marielle allowed h
im to escort her outside. Nearby was a park where, out of the radius of lights s
trung between trees, solitary seats were shrouded in dark shadow. Gradually, as
they walked along the paths, the sound of music faded until, when finally they g
ained solitude, only the rustle of her dress impinged the night silence. As if r
emembering suddenly that she was not of the breed that could withstand all tempe
ratures, he exclaimed with concern, "You have no wrap! Here, let me give you my
coat." "No, thank you, I'm quite warm," she refused, shying nervously away. His
handkerchief, slipped into her bag to brood over later, held a strong enough per
sonal appeal - wearing his jacket might prove a dangerously foolish intimacy. Th
e disdain in her voice must have penetrated, because with a snap of the teeth he
charged, "Does your dislike of me extend even to my clothing? My coat will not
bite, Marielle, its empty arms are powerless, its warmth non-physical! Why do yo
u act this way? For weeks now I have tried to break down your reserve, but you s
hy away from every tentative overture. I'm beginning to wonder whether your vein
s run with blood or with ice!"

It was a relief to fall back on anger, to use it as an antidote against his viri
le charm. Although she was willing at first to extort all she could from this la
st evening, her emotions were rebelling against such tightly held control. A ver
bal lashing was needed to prove mastery of herself - and of him. "Friendship bet
ween us has already been proved impossible," she stated coldly and with truth. "
These past few weeks you have spared yourself nothing in your efforts to atone,
but quite unnecessarily. Blame for my unfortunate mishap cannot possibly be atta
ched to you, so please forget all about me, leave me alone - in a few days I sha
ll be gone and in my absence I shall soon be forgotten ..." "Forgotten!" With wh
iplash speed his arms enclosed her in a grip of punishing anger. The lion's claw
s were no longer honeyed, nor were the words he spat with true gypsy ferocity. "
Will you have me forget that you are my bride? Forget the nights I've spent list
ening to your sleepy murmurings, your soft breathing, holding a rein on my feeli
ngs, not daring to trust myself to encourage even friendship in case your utter
desirability should be my undoing! " He shook her until she gasped for breath. "
I love you! Adorable, mutinous little fool, your image is engraved upon my heart
, and yet you dare to suggest that I should forget! " He released her shoulders
to gather her slender, stricken figure - a silken rustle of sweet-smelling, wide
-eyed wonder - against his heart. "Forget!" he derided harshly. "Forgive me, I p
refer to have something to remember! " His kiss was gypsy-bold, seeking response
from the depths of her soul. Desire ran molten between them and sent a clamour
through her veins that demanded surrender to his powerful attraction. In the beg
inning, he was too angry, too consumed with the desire to punish, to sense her a
wakening response, then, when her lack of fury puzzled him, he lifted his mouth
from hers. When he found no hint of resistance and her lips remained raised, wai
ting for his kiss, he murmured astonished delight and swooped with renewed fervo
ur to

ensure his victory. It was a victory already won, but the laying down of arms wa
s deliberately delayed so that he might savour to the dregs the sweetness so lon
g denied. His lips razed her throat, her cheeks, her downcast lids, communicatin
g his desire, forest-wild and only partly tamed. Beneath his hand Marielle's hea
rt stirred like the trembling heart of a captive bird and as she responded to hi
s touch she felt stirring within her a fervour that assured her panicking senses
he would never find her lacking. She revelled in his gentle strength, thrilled
to arms that could have snapped her slender body in half yet were tender even th
ough passion is seldom kind. "You're mine! Until the end of time you're mine! "h
e growled deep within his throat, a lion tamed by sweetness. His fingers slicked
through her hair, scattering pins until it flowed like quicksilver through his
hands, then, the small act of domination pleasing him, he laughed softly and bur
rowed his face in its silken caress. The earth moved. She was swept beyond coher
ent thought, her senses alert only to the feel of his arms, to the touch of his
lips, to the deep timbre of a voice unsteady with feeling assuring her with ever
y breath that the out-of-reach dream, the impossible desire, really had come tru
e. She was pliant in his arms, tired but exhilarated, when they at last found ti
me for words. "I don't believe it," she spoke in a daze, yearning to be contradi
cted. He was standing close behind, his arms encircling her waist, his infinitel
y distracting mouth nuzzling the tender nape of her neck. "The fates must not be
questioned," he chided fondly, betraying the superstition of his adopted race.
"For me, it is enough that I have you here in my arms, little wild goose." Vadni
Ratsa! It was true what Romany legend had said: however many times she had fled
from her captor she had always returned! Rom, her captor. Without doubt he had
captured her heart. She twisted around in his arms to smooth tender hands down h
is brown

cheeks. He was moved when, with simple honesty, she admitted, "I love you so, my
darling. From our first meeting I had to fight against it, but on the night of
our wedding I was sure.. ." "Was there ever such a wedding night?" he asked whim
sically, touching each of her fingers to his lips. "An entrancing bride - one wh
o admits too late to being in love - and a bridegroom so determined not to becom
e a husband that he set out deliberately to antagonize his bride. I can promise
you something, luba ..." he whispered mysteriously. "Yes?" "I promise our second
bridal night will be very different." She was still too shy of him to meet his
look, so to tease her he insisted, "We will have many children, brown-skinned so
ns who will spend their holidays romping in the forest with their gypsy friends
and beautiful little daughters who will capture the hearts of Vienna with their
polite English airs and graces." It did not matter in the least, but she felt he
wanted her to ask. "Where will they live, Rom, this family of ours?" She rested
confidently against him as she waited for his answer. East or West, caravan or
castle, all she desired was a place next to his heart. "In Vienna," he mused, hi
s lips against her hair. "In a house that does not move, with doors that can be
closed and windows looking out over a view that will remain unchanged except for
the vagaries of the seasons. It will be a home," he sighed, showing a yearning
she had never before glimpsed, "holding everything in the world I cherish you, m
y love." He bent his head to kiss lips trembling with compassion. Marielle melte
d against him, knowing his needs, more than willing to meet the passion rising w
ithin him. He would not be content to wait long, this man of nature, but wheneve
r he wanted her

she would be there, ready to ensure he never had cause to regret the price he ha
d paid for his bride.