After a candle had been placed in a window, the sound of a carriage could be heard outside. A man and a woman entered and surveyed what was before them. Although they were dressed like commoners, their disguises failed instantly.
He was old and bearded but presented himself with the calm, rock-solid demeanor of a seasoned warrior. He was a man born to command armies, yet there was a sense of earthy humility about him. He expected obedience and devotion, not out of pride, but simply because that was the natural order of things.
Although she too carried the weight of many years, the woman was unlike her companion. The dark skin and eyes bespoke a Turk, or perhaps a Moor. While it was clear that the other four men beheld her with respect and awe, fear was easily seen behind their regard. They took pains never to look her in the eyes.
“Are we alone?”
“Yes Sire - as you have ordered, there are none here but the gypsy woman.”
"Take your men outside. Stay in the shadows, remain unseen and allow no one to enter."
"Sir Tancred..." The ice in the woman's voice halted them. "...that doesn't mean you can kill some unlucky wretch."
When the door shut, the old man glared at the woman beside him.
"I'll thank you not to address my men in that way. Tancred's a fine knight..."
"- and a damned sorry excuse for a monk. Have you forgotten what he did to those poor bastards at Caesarea? They had laid down their weapons and yet he slaughtered them.”
The man shrugged off the reproach and turned his attention to Dulcinaya.
“So that’s her, eh? - that gypsy?”
“Don’t make light of the humble; she is a powerful seer.”
“How did you learn of that knave’s ‘talents’?”
“I have my own gifts.”
He gave the old woman a look of barely contained disgust. “I’ve had enough of your foul arts.”
“I didn’t choose to be what I am - and neither did she.”
The man strode across the room and stood before Dulcinaya’s table.
"Now then…” He placed his fists on the table-board and leaned closer. “…tell me my future with those cards and we'll be done."
"Cards?” Dulcy’s eyes opened wide with sudden panic. “Oh, you mean these? Fortune telling?? N-N-Never M'Lord!!! I'll not do such a loathsome thing! These cards are for clever tricks, idle amusements, games of chance, sleight of hand...."
“There! - you see? Here is your great oracle! This miserable creature has confessed herself to be a fraud. We’re done here! I’m through with this nonsense.”
"Stop it, Jacques. You’re scaring her. She thinks you're a witch-hunter."
"Me, a witch-hunter? Of that you must have no fear." He looked at the older woman with a wry smile. "I've already found all the witchcraft I can deal with."
“Pray, be seated.” The woman took her place at the end of the table while “Jacques” made a great show of sullen resignation and sat opposite Dulcinaya. “You must forgive the old dog.” Her voice hinted at affection. “He’s a soldier. Oft-times he forgets that not everyone must jump when he barks.”
The woman’s demeanor shifted. The dark eyes beheld the gypsy with a serious and uncompromising regard. “I now ask for your service…and above all…your trust.”
She reached beneath her cloak and unfastened a leather pouch that hung from a belt.
“NO!” He rose to his feet and bellowed. “I FORBID IT!!”
“You can’t stop me. Accept that…”
“You don’t dare…you wretch! Have you forgotten your oath?”
“Spare me the lecture - I’m not one of your acolytes."
“If you defy me….”
“Even in my defiance I will honor my oath. I pledged you my service - not my obedience! When you spared my life at Antioch, I gave my vow to you. In Jerusalem I accepted the burden that you placed upon me. I have served you like no other.”
“If it’s any comfort to you, you were my last choice.”
“I was your only choice. Only I could bear its touch without going mad. How many of your men paid dearly for that knowledge? I’ve often marveled at my fate. How can it be that only an infidel woman can hold and possess the object that all of Christendom desires?"
The dark eyes grew cold.
"Mark my words, you fool! You and your knights are too rich, too powerful, and too proud. The whirlwind is coming, Jacques. I can feel it, but I cannot see it! It will soon be upon us and it may already be too late. The gypsy is your only hope."
The old man looked at the woman. His eyes searched her as one who was grasping for a shred of trust.
"Please believe me." Her voice softened. "If there were any other way........"
Jacques slowly regained his seat. “May God forgive me for this.”
The woman opened the pouch and produced a well-worn goblet and cruet.
© 2010 Baron Bardulf
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