Ivar's Story

By Ivar

I came into the world as the son of a dancer named Keomi Boshengro, and a Scandinavian, probably a Dane, named Turin Ulfsson. The Rom are usually exclusive, keeping to their own kind in such matters, but sometimes these things do happen between people. I do not know how they came to meet, or how they came to part.

I remember peering out of the wagons at night after bed time, watching my mother and the other women and girls dancing in the moonlight at the fire, and falling asleep listening to the music and the drums. I eventually learned to drum too, as many of the older boys did, because then we could stay up late on party nights.

Maybe I should have told her I was leaving, but we'd had yet another fight. Our tribe was getting too large and quarrelsome to dodge unwanted notice easily, and I was not favored among the relatives, being born out of wedlock as I was; so I left as soon as I had my first beard hairs and could claim to be a man and go my own way.

I set out to the North, more or less, in the Spring to find my father's people, and by Summer I met the chieftess Dulcinaya and her small clan. She said she knew my father from long ago - indeed I seemed to remember her as well, but as a younger child who I did not notice very often - and she recognized the Norse medallion that I wore, and still wear, that was once his. She told me that Painted Wheel could use more defenders, and she offered to hire me on. Fall was coming and my progress North was too slow, so I accepted.

The pay is a joke - barely enough to afford a pint at the Chalkman now and then - but their food and wine and company is always plenty and good, and what is gold anyway but one more step toward these, the finer things in life? Even by Romany standards I am not large, and I am only a fair swordsman on the best of days; I think she just wanted me to have an excuse to stay with them because I make her laugh, and because I would have probably gotten myself killed before I ever reached the north sea. We were friends almost at once because it seemed so natural.

At first, I thought to care for her, but her heart was elsewhere. I heard news that Ari Bosh was close by, and so I left again, to the West this time, to learn what I could of my mother, to whom I had tried to send word a number of times but got no answer, and perhaps my father. My clearest memory of him is his teaching me how to move the chess pieces in the shade of the wagons when I was a very small boy who could barely walk, and his booming laugh when I would get it right. He smelt of elderberries.

In my travels I discovered that he may have been a lesser nobleman, and there may be a claim of arms for me, perhaps even some land, or at least some kind of citizenship, if he were to recognize me as an illegitimate son. This I pieced together from some I met who knew of Ari Bosh, but they had moved on and I never found them or my mother.

I traveled East again and caught up with Painted Wheel. Dulcinaya hired me back on immediately, but it is more than a job now. They have become my adopted family, and it has grown larger. We have taken to performing music for the gadje, which is more profitable and much less dangerous than stealing from them, and they are more inclined to let us be. I fear I may be more valuable now as a drummer than as the bold young fighter I once thought myself to be. Either way, I have been one of Painted Wheel ever since Dulcinaya found me that first day, and there is gray in my beard now. They feel like family more than Ari Bosh ever did. Santiago is like a brother to me, and we have had many adventures and narrow escapes. I know some runes, but Vosh is helping me to learn letters and numbers, and Kazimir and his brother Geldemar teach me courtly manners. These things are useful when facing bailiffs and constables and sherriffs and the like. Unarmed and outnumbered, an educated man can still bargain better than one who is not.

Perhaps one day I will have some land, and we may settle there and finally have a place to call home. Meanwhile, my rapier grows rusty, and Dulcinaya pretends not to notice.