"A queen, a princess, a woman warrior, a maid, a gypsy. No magicians, no elves, no orcs and undead? What kind of game is this? Historical? Ugh, that's boring. What century are we even talking about?" The administrator remained silent. He stood at the simple white table with a row of cards half-open, strictly in the middle, straight and motionless, with an impassive expression on his face, like a well-trained lackey, like a dealer at a roulette wheel, waiting for the moment when he could say 'The bets are done, gentlemen'.
"I don't see what there is to think about: living in a palace or castle in any century is better than living in a hovel. I'm younger, so I am to be a princess." Said one of the women and pulled towards her the card with a picture of a girl dressed in the manner of the Middle Ages, in a romantic rush inhaling the scent of a rose, which she held in her hands.
"Alright... then I'll be a gypsy." Said another one and took the card, on the white field of which, as if in the air, a figure of a black-eyed dancer, holding a tambourine above her head, and whose long large curls, along with loose colorful clothes, lagging behind for a moment, echoed the curves of her flexible body.
"A gypsy?! Why?"
"Well, things are probably better with a palace, but a castle is cold at any time of the year, and it's also damp. It's not for my 'old' " she ironically emphasized "bones. And then, if you're a princess, then you have to get married for political reasons; if you're a queen, then give birth to heirs and pay for your husband's, the king, mistakes. With warriors, everything is clear, and with maids, too, it's scary to even imagine. And a gypsy... no religion, no home, no one is interested in you, because you have nothing but the sky above your head and the road in front of your eyes; sing, dance, predict fate… Of course, things aren't all sunshine here either - closed cultures aren't exactly welcome, you could even end up on a bonfire. However, the card is already in hand."
The administrator carefully opened the second half of the row: a king, a prince, a knight, a minstrel, a jester.
"What will you say about them?" One of the men asked.
"What can I say? Nothing new: the king is often betrayed, and often by his own sons, who are afraid not to wait for the kingdom of their father, or by sons-in-law; knights fight, get castles as a reward, or die; minstrels compose ballads about battles that they probably haven't seen with their own eyes; if they're lucky enough to be engaged, I think they live better than most; jesters… this role may be interesting - the court jesters were often educated people, sometimes from impoverished nobility, or just witty and resourceful; they are close to the king, trusted, and allowed more, so they can become political figures. As they say, choose your destiny."
The men looked at the cards closely. Then they exchanged glances and simultaneously reached out in their direction. One took the card on which a young man stood in expensive clothes and a relaxed pose, with his hands folded on the hilt of a narrow long sword, and the other took the one on which a figure was sprawled into a swastika-like run, crowned with a cap with bells on the ends of his three tails. The women drew conclusions for themselves. The administrator came alive again.
"The choice has been made, ladies and gentlemen. And you," he turned to The Gypsy, "have just made your first foretelling."
The woman looked at him in bewilderment, and in the next instant, the man standing in front of her changed. His expression stopped being detached, on the contrary, it became very interested and at the same time tense. His face had aged, though not covered with wrinkles, and was densely overgrown, almost, but still not completely, with gray hair and beard. His gaze was heavy and sad. He was no longer standing, but sitting across from her. An old massive wooden tabletop hid the lower part of his body, while the upper part was hidden by a mantle, however, just from it - purple, dense and shiny, held on the wide chest by a silver brooch inlaid with large pearls - one could guess the status of this man. The space they were in had also changed. It was not a spacious, bright, featureless room anymore, but a medium-sized tent, made of colorful, mostly faded, pieces of coarse cloth and filled with all sorts of things: chests of various shapes and sizes, sometimes standing separately, sometimes stacked on top of each other, acting as stools and shelves for books and scrolls - small and large - with feathers-bookmark sticking out of them, caskets - simple and intricate, vessels - transparent and hiding their contents, bird cages - empty and with inhabitants who strangely didn't break the silence; from one of the eight corners, a huge blue-black raven stared formidable at them with its impenetrable beady eyes, which proudly sat there on a tall wooden pole with a gnarled branch-crossbar; next to it was a floor mirror in a carved gilt frame, curtained with worn dark green velvet; in another corner, on a tripod, stood a pot-bellied cast-iron cauldron with a sooty bottom. The tent was in semi-darkness - it was illuminated only by a few thick candles placed at the ends of the table, and by a flat beam of sunlight, not sharply blinding, but gently warm, since the afternoon was drawing on, coming through a crack in the partially closed flap. Along with the light, the sounds of a merry festival penetrated into it. Besides the two of them, there were other people in the tent - young people. To the left of the visitor stood a thin and yet very graceful woman. The smooth fabric, richly embroidered with gold and silver threads, hugged her body, spreading out in a wide skirt and sleeves that reached the earthen floor. The deep neckline, as well as the slits in the sleeves, demonstrated the white light fabric of the underdress. The light brown curls of her fine hair were pulled back by a pearl net into a high design, exposing the smooth lines of her beautiful face and neck. She was clearly uncomfortable being in a place like this. A tall blond man stood behind the guest. At this distance, all that could be discerned were the dark shapes of his cape and flat beret, the edges of which shone green, and in contrast to them, a pale face and a thin light stripe of fluffed feather on his headdress... and the gleam of concentrated gray eyes. There was also someone standing at the entrance, but it was difficult to see him. On the client's right hand, a dark-haired, stocky man was sitting on one of the chests. He leaned on the table with one hand, and with the other, putting his elbow aside, rested on his knee. The wide sleeves of a white tunic could be seen from under the burgundy top dress, and a cast silver necklace hung from his shoulders, elaborate but not decorated with stones. The uneven flame of the candles danced on the signet ring encircling the finger of the hand, which was not completely hidden under the tabletop. His sharp, incredulous gaze clung to the fortune-teller's face. She was young too. Her thick shock of black hair was unrestrained, and its large, slightly tangled curls framed her narrow face, drawing mysterious shadows on it. Her outfit consisted of a loose-fitting dress made of coarse ochre fabric, intercepted from the side at the waist by a bright yellow shawl, thus revealing both her slimness and the presence of shapes, numerous thin copper bracelets on her wrists and equally numerous strands of glass beads around her neck. Her skin had already managed to tan again, and that only made it more weird to discover that her eyes were light.
She returned her gaze to the table - there were battered picture cards laid out on it - and ran through the layout once more. There was something to think about. This had never happened in her practice before. It was all there at once - the cards seemed to be screaming. It was all too simple there - the cards seemed not to foretell, but to state a fait accompli. In the center was The Tower, the second card was The Lovers, above was Temperance, below was The Emperor (inverted, she noted), on the left was Strength (also inverted), on the right was the Judgement, there was The Chariot (inverted again), The Hierophant, Death, the final card was The Hanged Man. Suddenly, the sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard was heard, immediately followed by a stifled scream, and the gray-haired head collapsed onto the table; blood quickly began to spread from under the body, burying the rest of the cards. The gypsy jumped up with a sharp exhale and, even more bewildered than at first, looked from the top of the dead king's head to the thin long sword sticking out of his back, and from it to the blond prince, clutching its hilt with such force that his knuckles turned white. For the other two who came with the king, what happened was also a complete surprise, which at first made them numb for a seemingly endless moment, and then, The Princess tried to scream, and The Jester tried to draw his sword, but both failed. That moment was enough for The Knight standing at the entrance to run up to the girl and grab her, covering her mouth with his hand, and The Prince took out a dagger and put it to the young man's throat.
"You'd better keep quiet and don't move as well," The Prince said to The Gypsy, "for your own good" and turned back to The Jester. Then she looked at the king's body again. As she studied the layout of the cards, the memories of her entire life flew through her head like a whirlwind; and now, when she was looking at the dead body of the gray-haired man, she felt longing, still very light, but she already knew that this longing would grow heavier and heavier by the minute.
"I'm sorry, sister," the murderer applied to The Princess after completely disarming The Jester, "but your wedding is postponed to an earlier date - I've found a more suitable match for you." The Princess and The Jester sent each other a look full of pain. "Oh, believe me, you will be happy," he continued with a sneer in his voice, "because, according to your own words, he is the true love of your life… That's right, you're going to the monastery right away." Feeling the pressure on the dagger, he returned to The Jester. "Did you think I did all this to fulfill my father's promises? No, we don't need mediators. Isn't that right, little sister?" Then he seemed to hesitate. "And we don't need any witnesses either," he said dully and looked up at the fortune teller, "I'm sorry."
With an expression of horror on her face, the gypsy began to slowly back away to the second entrance of the tent, which the visitors did not know about. At the same time, she looked at the unfortunate lovers, wondering if she could help them in some way. Her heel hit an obstacle, and she remembered that there was a small table with a crystal ball right behind her. Then she halted and, waiting for The Prince to stop looking at her with that look strange for people of his kind - the guilty one, she quickly grabbed a weighty object and threw it at him. To her surprise, she hit him in the shoulder. The Jester, without wasting a second, regained his weapon and attacked The Prince. The Knight released The Princess to help his master; she rushed to the exit, and the gypsy jumped out of the tent through a secret door. When she heard "No! Sister first!" behind her back she realised that she had time to hide.
When, after five or so minutes of clanging iron, growling and groaning, a short young man in a torn burgundy doublet with a bloody sword in his hands struggled out from behind the same flap and began to look around, choosing which way to run, from a nearby unharnessed and loaded hay cart, hopped down and jumped up to him a barefoot kid in just a shirt.
"Hide in the cart," he whispered.
"I need to get out of here before people rush in," the man whispered, waving him away and walking past the cart.
"Will go to the forest at night," the boy continued following him.
"Into the forest at night? It's suicide!"
"Right. And they also think so, and they will go there right away. And when they come back, you will go. And she'll find you there. That's what she told me to tell you."
The man stopped and looked at the boy. "Who's 'she'?"
"Sis, who else! ... The fortune teller!"
There were footsteps and shouting from the other side of the tent; they were getting closer.
"While some will scour the forest, others will turn your camp upside down."
"Don't be afraid, they won't find you, the cart has a double bottom."
The Jester was surprised by the presence of such a cache, but there was little time left, and it could really work. So he turned around and went after the little savior. "And the 'sis'?"
"Don't worry about her, she's already in the forest. She knows it well. And it knows her. When the stars light up, get out and go into the forest. Keep to the shadows, but once you're in it, follow the moonlight path. She'll find you on her own. Understood?"
"Yes," the haystack replied uncertainly, and the boy ran away. "And how am I supposed to see from here that the stars light up…"
Soon, the noise and conversations sounded very close. The Prince's irritated but very weak voice ordered to split up and search the camp and the forest at the same time. "Father's death must be avenged." Pause. "Search everything. Starting from that haystack." The Jester held his breath. He heard several people surround the cart - his hand gripped the hilt of his sword, - several swords were drawn from their scabbards. And then, a slight rustle and the rasp of metal on metal and on wood. They made sure that no one was hiding in the hay and moved on. The Jester exhaled softly. Lying in one position squeezed between planks and breathing straw dust, he could still hear the sounds of the search for a long time: the rumble of chests being thrown out of tents, the clink of broken pottery, and the screams of interrogations. Many times someone ran past him, sometimes someone pierced the stack again.
The air became cold and damp from below. He heard the king's body was carried out of the tent of The Gypsy, and then someone rummaged through it for a long time. Finally, everything went quiet. The Jester waited some more. The crackle of burning branches and muffled conversations. Some more. They also fell silent. "It's time." Trying to make as little noise as possible, he got out of hiding, however, he could not even take a couple of steps, because his legs were numb, and fell to the ground. Then, he crawled under the cart and stayed there until the feeling of emptiness in place of his lower body was replaced by the feeling that with every movement thousands of thin needles dug into his legs at once, and then until one by one they were removed from them by an invisible hand. The Jester followed all The Gypsy's instructions exactly, no matter how strange they seemed to him. In fact, the only thing strange about them was the moonlight path in the forest. It was indeed a starry night, and the large moon, almost full, shone brightly in the sky. At first, he tried to guess what was being discussed. A lake? A glade? A stream? To no avail. Then he began to walk from tree to tree and peer into the crowns of the neighboring trees to see the silver disk behind them. Eventually, he saw it - the path. He saw it, but couldn't figure out how it formed. There was no clearing, there was no road, there wasn't even a path. It was just that from a certain angle it became noticeable that the trunks of trees, very different, were arranged so that they formed ... a church nave, illuminated by a round rosette-moon hanging above it. The jester stood dumbfounded. "It can't be man-made, this old forest. 'It knows her'... nonsense." The man looked around, listened, and, finding no threat, stepped out into the light. Continuing to monitor the situation, he carefully walked along the 'nave'. Suddenly, the darkness of one of the trunks trembled and a shadow separated from it. Just in case, the Jester reached for his sword. The shadow moved slowly and smoothly, steadily approaching him. He looked at it against the light, which made its outlines glow and evoke thoughts of... no, not a nymph, but a black angel. He quickly recognised her - by the mane of her hair, by the hourglass of her physique - but he was in no hurry to go towards her, waiting for her to do it herself, giving himself the opportunity to enjoy the vision. She moved carefully, cautiously, but smoothly and gracefully, like a doe. The hem of her long dress was pulled up and tucked under a shawl that served as a belt, showing off her bare feet and revealing one of her graceful legs almost to the knee.
"Are you hurt?" The Gypsy's voice was worried, but not caring.
"No."
"Good. That means you can climb a tree. Come on, food, water and rest are waiting for you there." Hearing these words, the young man realised how hungry and tired he was. These thoughts immediately replaced all others. "That's it," said the girl, and she was the first to climb up, showing the way.
The tree was literally meant for a picnic at altitude. Its lower branch was high enough, however, there was a hollow in the trunk halfway to it, and it was possible to cling to the bark that had gone into bumps. The rest of the climb was as easy as stepping up on a stair. Close to the top, the branches were still thick and in many places grew out of the trunk in twos or even threes. Between two such bundles hung a leather bag, which The Gypsy took off and handed to The Jester when he perched. He immediately took out a round loaf of bread, a box of nuts and dried berries, and a small skin of water (he also noticed her shoes, two thin woolen shawls, and a flint in it) and began to eat dinner. The girl did not observe this process, she stretched her back along the trunk, leaned her nape against it and looked at the stars.
"Are you a witch?" The man finished his meal and, putting the leftovers back into the bag, returned to studying the woman. His question surprised her, but it didn't scare her. She turned her face pacified by the sky towards him.
"I'm a fortune teller."
"How did this 'clearing' come about?" She shrugged. "The kid who told me your words said that the forest knows you." She laughed merrily.
"He's a child. It was a fairy tale for him. So that he doesn't go into the woods without me." The fortune teller stared at the sky again. "There are many such 'clearings' here. They appear and disappear in different places as the moon moves."
The Jester thought that if The Gypsy had said that she was rolling dice to determine their location, he would have been more satisfied. He wanted to continue asking questions, but a branch snapped somewhere on the ground. They both turned at the sound.
"A beast?" the man mouthed. The woman shook her head. He jerked his chin towards the thicket, hinting at escape. She shook her head again. He began to gesticulate actively, pointing up behind him, and then down into a well-visible light path, trying to tell that the moon was bright and that they weren't that high up. She signaled to calm down, repeat the outlines of the trunk and branches on which they were sitting, and be silent. And also cover up everything shiny, including the eyes. She did this way herself. She had long ago taken off her jewelry and hidden it in a belt purse made of a shawl, and now she picked up her skirt, stretched her legs along the branch, closed her eyes as if she had fallen asleep, breathing steadily and quietly. He had no choice but to do the same. They passed right under them, with the dogs; he thanked God that there was no dried meat in the bag, which he had dreamed of so much while chewing on empty bread. Although, he immediately broke off and thought that it was not him who needed to be thanked. They crossed the 'nave', lingered on it for a while, and went on. The fugitives remained silent until the echo of the last step of the bloodhounds died away.
"We were lucky that they passed through here before the moon moved and shone at our backs. The brighter the light, the thicker the shadows. Isn't that what they say? The eye does not have time to adjust. They would have easily spotted us at dusk and even on a starless night. The eye needs very little. But with a strong contrast, you have to choose: either to be blinded by darkness or by light." The Jester listened to her with his mouth open - such obvious things. "Why did they decide to search the forest again?" He had no answer. "What happened to the prince?"
"He's wounded."
"Not killed?"
"I'm a buffoon, not a fool to kill the only heir to the kingdom."
"Hmmm... I think I got it." The Jester wondered what exactly she got. "What about the princess?"
"Don't know," he replied dully, "they probably caught her and sent to a monastery."
"I'm sorry."
"Why?" The fortune-teller's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Why are you helping me at all? Why me, and not The Prince?"
"He killed The King."
"What's it to you? You're a gypsy, he's not your king."
She lowered her gaze rapidly to hide both the fright and that longing. "But he's the king… We have to go. They might come here again in the morning. As long as the camp is near the village, they will assume that we are nearby, that they are feeding us. And it will stay there for a couple more days and only take off on the third. It will go in the opposite direction from the forest; only if, or when, there is no escort, it will turn off and cross the forest along a short road. It will pick us up on the way to the big one. They won't be looking for us in the depths of the forest, at least not right away; we'll go there so they won't find us and so that we can make it."
"Are we going to spend a week in it? Without food? You can't hunt with a sword. Without water? The stock is too small."
"I hope less. There are many springs in the forest, I know their location. And where there's water, there's food, you'll see. Besides, it's summer now."
"And animals?"
"Summer. Everyone has enough food. The main thing is not to run into cubs. And a wild boar."
"You know the forest." It didn't sound like a compliment. The Gypsy ignored this remark.
All night and the first day they walked almost non-stop in order to get as far away from the borders as possible. Twice she brought them to the spring; the second time in the evening. The Jester couldn't believe his eyes when they found a small hut made of roundwood not far from it. "Is this... the gamekeeper's hut?"
"One of them."
"Of course!" he hit himself in the forehead with his palm. "This is a hunting ground! But the hunting itself usually takes place in another part of the forest. I didn't think anyone gets here."
"Hunters don't get here. But the gamekeepers do."
"What if they show up here?" The Jester caught himself.
"I hope not. That is," The Gypsy took a deep breath, "I hope not soon," she exhaled. "The hunt was already prepared, but it seems to me that it would be canceled, which means that we have a place to sleep and some provisions in this forest."
"How do you know all this?"
She did not like that he was asking her so many questions, even though she understood that their appearance was quite logical. "The birds have sung," she replied discontentedly and went inside - such distant huts were usually left unlocked, but bolted so that animals would not get in. There she poured the mushrooms she had picked on the way out of her shawl onto the table and examined the contents of the cellar, bowls and pots. The assortment was small: some grains, dried meat (maybe he would become kinder, she thought), stale bread, nuts, dried berries and herbs for tea. They built a bonfire just to cook food. They dug a hole, and as soon as they finished, covered the coals with earth so that it wouldn't smoke. Unfortunately, the inquiries continued at dinner.
"You're not a gypsy. You don't act like them. You don't think like them. You know things they can not know. You're a local. How did you get into their camp? When and why? The King didn't just stop by your tent, he came to you specifically so that you could tell his fortune. And you're not even a gypsy… But they protect you, take risks for you… Who are you?" The girl sat silent as a grave. She herself had not asked him a single question during all this time, she often spoke some nonsense and answered him only if it was directly related to their journey. She simply ignored his questions about her life. It pissed him off - who does she think she is?! He got angry, he wanted to insult her. "And aren't you afraid to spend the night alone in a house in the middle of nowhere with a strange man? Or do you have nothing left to lose?"
After these words, The Gypsy gave him such a look that if she really was a gypsy, he would either turn into an ice statue, or be pierced by a dagger flying into him. Without saying a word, she retreated into the house. He did not succeed in insulting her - the outburst of anger did not leave behind any resentment, nevertheless, he managed to frighten her. Therefore, when he also entered the house some time later, she, lying on one of the benches wrapped in a wool shawl, held her breath and strained her ears. He stood in the doorway and lay down on the opposite bench. She didn't sleep well anyway, woke up very early and while washing at the spring constantly looked around. When she returned, she saw The Jester sitting on the step by the door to the hut. He looked sullen, but more guilty than displeased.
"I'm sorry for yesterday. You have nothing to fear from me. I won't touch you." He looked up at her and saw that she wanted to go inside, but didn't dare to walk past him. With a heavy sigh, he got up and walked towards the stream, bypassing the hut on the other side.
They made most of the day's march in silence. This did not bother the gypsy at all. She was busy the whole way without talking, just like the previous day: looking at mosses, smelling flowers, listening to birds, feeling the wind, contemplating light in all its forms. The Jester watched her as if she were a creature unknown. When she looked at the plants and listened to their fragrance, her interest in them was not romantic, like, for example, The Princess's. That one, holding, let's say, a rose to her nose, touching with its delicate petals of her silk skin, thought about how a knight would present this rose to her; the fragrance of the flower evoked in her mind an image of the garden in which they would later meet. The Gypsy had an interest in them such a… how could he explain it... some kind of mental-physical. She studied their properties, accessible to the senses, and then admired them and enjoyed... their existence. For The Princess, the flower was a symbol, but for The Gypsy, it was a self-contained object.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, he asked another question. And he did it in such a tone, with such an expression on his face, with such a movement of his body, as if he were continuing a conversation that was already in full swing. "Do you know what other oddity I noticed? Perhaps this is the strangest oddity of all. Do you know?" The carefree smile left the face of the 'interlocutor'. "When you were telling the king's fortune, you just laid out the cards he had chosen in front of him. We all waited for explanations, but none came. I was watching you, you understood what they were saying. No, there's nothing strange here, you're a fortune teller. I was watching The King, too; you were exchanging glances with him. The oddity is that he understood everything himself. It was not the first time you told him a fortune, was it?" As always, she didn't say anything. But this time The Jester did not expect an answer from her, he was interested in her reaction. And her reaction was to have her eyes glisten with moisture. The Jester was pleased. No, he wasn't gloating, but he wasn't exactly sympathetic either. First of all, he needed information, and in order to receive it, at least one should not be afraid of him. As a maximum, one should trust him. But there was no way to gain trust, and trying to play love with her was a pointless idea, he had long since realised that.
However, luck was on the jester's side that day, and the opportunity to prove himself was provided. They had not yet encountered a dangerous beast on their way. Since they moved further away from the borders of the forest, they began to behave louder to scare off animals, but not so much as to attract the attention of some of them, or drown out the rest of the sounds of the forest. The gypsy put back on her jewelry, which jingled with every movement; every now and then, when she saw some grass or heard some bird, she began to tell the truth and myths about them. Such way, she tried to keep her attention focused in order to notice signs of danger: footprints, waste products, broken branches, and the unexpected silence of birds. Several times they heard the cracking of branches and rustling in the bushes, but never once did an animal come out of them. Now, either they were too deep in their thoughts, or it was just inevitable, but they noticed the beast only when he had already noticed them.
"Wild boar," The Gypsy said in a barely audible and trembling voice, as if her companion himself could not identify the animal in front of them. "I think I looked into its eyes. No, don't look into them."
But it was too late - the beast began to dig the ground with its hoof and wheeze, although it was unclear which of them it was going to attack. There were no trees to climb nearby, so the travelers froze in place. The Jester slowly began to draw his sword from its scabbard and move closer to the gypsy. "When it runs, stay. When it gets very close, jump to the side. Don't run away - lie down on the ground. Wait for it to leave. Whatever happens." The gypsy gave him a surprised look, but did not ask any questions and did everything as he ordered. She barely had the endurance to wait for the moment he indicated. The Jester was a strong man, and the boar was still a young male, so when its body received the entire length of the sword, located at the level of its chest, and rested on the hilt, under the onslaught of inertia, he was able to lift it and throw it over himself. They both fell on their backs. The Jester immediately jumped to his feet and turned to face his opponent; the beast fell on its side and kicked its legs in agony. When the animal finally quieted down, he knelt on the ground in front of it, put both feet on its chest, grabbed the hilt and, straightening his knees with force, pulled the sword out of it. "Nice hunting," he said, wiping the bloody metal on the skin of a dead boar, "but such delicacies are not for our humble table." He wasn't laughing. The gypsy was still lying on the ground; there was still horror in her eyes, and it remained there even after she looked from the corpse of the beast to the man who had killed it. He realised it was horror, not fear, she hadn't had time to outlive this nightmare yet. They reached the next campsite, another hunter's hut, without uttering a sound; not even a shadow of thought could be discerned on their faces. The adrenaline in the jester's blood was all used up and apathy descended on him. There was silence at dinner, too, and after that, both went straight to bed. Although in fact, both of them just lay there and stared at the ceiling until the brain turned off consciousness on its own.
In the morning, during breakfast, when their gazes finally crossed, The Gypsy said in a serious voice: "You saved my life yesterday."
"So I paid you back," The Jester replied.
That was the first time they smiled at each other. That day, she asked him a question for the first time.
"You're not from these places, are you?"
"You're just asking or suspecting me of something?"
"Only that you're not from these places." She smiled. He was joking, she saw it.
"What gave me away?"
"The accent."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I've heard a lot of them, but I've never tried to identify them. It's just that when I hear it, I notice for myself - this one is different. When you were talking to the others in the tent, I heard that."
"You have a delicate ear. That's true. I'm from the southeastern lands. I joined the king's retinue when I was eleven. I can't believe it, I put in so much effort to fit in, and it's all for nothing!"
"Are you and the prince the same age?" The fortune teller was doing some calculations in her head.
"No, I'm two years older. Why are you interested in this?"
"So you are the son of the baron! The one who gave his eldest as proof of his loyalty to the king!"
The jester was shocked by what he heard and offended by the look of pity on her face: "How do you know that?"
"Well," the Gypsy was embarrassed, "our camp was in those parts once and I heard this story…" She realised that in a completely unexpected way she had discovered a very personal detail of his life, which he still experiences with pain in his heart, and felt like an uninvited guest in his memory, and therefore, a debtor. "Actually, I was there not with the camp, but with the troupe." The Jester couldn't believe his ears - was she really starting to open up? He was all ears. "That's right. We weren't gypsies, we were traveling artists. Most of us came from the village that you and I had recently left, so after another long journey we were returning there. We sang, danced, performed acrobatic tricks. We had fun. We were happy. We collected stories, we had a puppet theater. One of the stories that we played out in it was very old, about trips to a distant country in the East, where the oldest, the very first sanctuary, the source of grace, was located, once, a long time ago, captured by people of another faith. The story was about how people went there for this grace, for redemption, for the salvation of their souls, and returned with bags of gold and precious stones. The more people went there, the fewer returned, and the less wealth they brought with them. They came back from the last campaign already devoid of souls." The Gypsy paused and her forehead wrinkled mournfully. "One day, when we returned to the village, walking through the fair, we heard the beginning of this story - the shouts of barkers promising forgiveness of sins and a heavenly life on earth. No one responded to them, people didn't need it - they lived their lives honestly, they didn't have much, but they had enough, they knew that their source of grace was at home. The knight who owns that land needed it, and he was trying to raise an army for himself. But people didn't come to him. Then he began to come up with various tricks, such as driving people into debt. Or so, he announced that those who are not engaged in the production of food and goods, and do not celebrate Mass in churches, are obliged to go with him to fulfill their spiritual duty. We decided to run. At some point, we came across a gypsy camp and stayed with them. We became them. We're still singing and dancing, but we have only one role now. We're playing gypsies." The girl got really sad. "You won't be able to recognise them as actors; unlike me, they have a lot to lose. I hope you don't need it."
No, The Jester wasn't interested in runaway actors at all. But she wasn't simple enough for a street dancer. So she hadn't told him everything yet. Besides, there was one discrepancy. "But now the king himself was going on such a campaign, and you opposed his murderer."
"They tried to mislead him. He didn't know how to resist it." It sounded like she wanted to justify him.
"Who?" The question was asked very sharply. "The murderer?" By a small margin, but still not immediately, the second question was asked. A chuckle followed, and the tone softened. "What makes you think that?"
"The cards said." The fortune teller realised that she had blurted out too much.
"What else did they say?" The mockery did not leave the jester's voice.
"Everything they said has already happened. Their prediction was for the man who is now dead. There's nothing more to expect from it." The Gypsy's tone was harsh now. The Jester did not insist on an answer, but decided to wait. He was sure that this topic would come up more than once.
The camp was supposed to take off the next morning. If it doesn't encounter any obstacles on its way, then they will cross paths with someone from it in two more days. The fugitives reached the next hut without incident.
"Still, how do you know this forest so well?"
"I told you, we travel a lot. We often spend the night on the road, meet a lot of people on the way. We often share dinner and overnight stays with someone, or give someone a ride. When people find themselves in need, they rarely reject help. And also, people like to talk. For the most part. Especially those who don't like to listen. And mostly, they like to talk about themselves, about what they do. Small traders, artisans, foresters, travelers, even scientists are caught. I'm the kind of person who likes to listen. Something in one ear and out the other, and something lingers. I love forests. I remember one gamekeeper who was telling about the habits of an animal, how in some years you have to go deep into the thicket to find it, that the search can take several days, that such huts are made for such cases, that they try to put them closer to streams to quench thirst and store food, that by what signs to look for a water source in the forest. We often stood by this one and I explored it."
Just as calmly, they reached another one. The closer they got to the big road, the more plentiful the huntsman's supplies became.
"This is the last one. Tomorrow we will be too close to the edge of the forest, there will be no huts there. We need to take more food in case something delays them." Said The Gypsy, making preparations for the last passing. The Jester was sitting on the sidelines, very serious and pondering about something.
"And if they bring guards with them?"
"They won't. If an escort is assigned to them or they notice surveillance, and they do, they won't come here, they'll go in another direction."
"And leave you here?"
"Much better than the dungeons of the castle." She threw it to the man. "You can stay here for a long time in summer."
"Maybe they'll only turn me in - will tell the guards that you have nothing to do with it, but I took you hostage to leave the camp." The Jester was getting nervous.
"They won't do that." Her voice was firm as she tried to calm him down.
"Why is that? They have a reason to save you, but what do they care about me?"
"They will save you just because I'm doing it."
"Why? Who are you?" He stared intently into her gray eyes, which she did not try to turn away.
"A gypsy." She replied shortly and went back to business.
When they reached the forest's border, they walked along it until they were caught up with a wagon. It happened in the late afternoon and it was alone, with a lathered horse, a coachman, one passenger inside and a supply of provisions. Another man rode nearby on a replacement horse. When they noticed each other, the guy on the horse dismounted, rushed to meet them, and he and The Gypsy joyfully and tightly hugged each other. The Jester noted to himself that he really couldn't be distinguished from the others. Everyone was resting, waiting for the night: people, horses. Everyone was resting, waiting for the night: people, horses.
"Stop worrying, everything passed smooth, like water down the stream." Said the young man, openly looking into the eyes of the nobleman and smiling at the girl. "I'm not going to tell you the details," he turned to The Jester, "believe me, there's nothing useful for you in them," and smiled at the fortune teller again, "and the kid wants to tell you everything himself so much that I just can't disappoint him." Friends laughed knowingly.
In the morning, they set off towards the big road, and when they reached it, they turned away from the forest and headed for the nearest village. They did not enter it, but stopped at a distance; it was decided not to attract attention with one wagon - everyone knows that gypsies travel in a camp - but to enter the village as a whole. The same young gypsy dressed up as a peasant (What a change!) and he went to get food. The reunion took place on the fourth day.
"I told the lord what you said word for word, and he listened to me! And it didn't even occur to them that you could leave together. They asked about you and we had to disown you, say that you are not ours, that you are on your own. But it wasn't for real, it was to help you! Friends in the village confirmed that your tent was there before we arrived, that it is always there. They believed it, can you imagine!" The child chattered without taking his breath away, he was happy and sad about everything he was talking about. The adults looked at each other and smiled. "But we had to leave the tent, with everything that was there. Sorry. Such a pity. And the mirror, and the cauldron."
"Yes... it's a pity for the books…" The Gypsy drawled and once again her eyes were filled with that strange longing. The Jester chuckled.
"Yes... there were beautiful pictures, colored… But I managed to get this out of there!" and the boy proudly took out a rag bundle tied with a ribbon from his bosom. Intrigued, the girl began to untie it and her face twitched at the pungent smell: a mixture of smoke, bitter spice and rot. Inside it was a second one, lined with pouches from above and below; one of them, judging by the aroma, contained charcoal, and the other contained dried wormwood. The second bundle was an accordion of fabric, the layers of which separated cards from each other, arranged in four. The cards themselves were an eerie sight. They smelled of decomposing flesh, they turned brown, swelled and went in waves, however, the dried blood made the parchment tougher. All these tricks were in order to slow down the rotting process, but it was obvious that they could not be saved. The fortune teller sighed nervously and, putting her hand to her chest, looked at the child in fright.
"When did you pick them up?"
"After we left the village. I took Steed and came back. I was very-very careful. At night, I climbed into the tent and collected them from the table. No one noticed me. I also released the raven and other birds. They didn't make a sound - raven forbade them. I bet they'll think it was you coming back!" The Kid was extremely pleased with his prank, but he was upset that The Gypsy still hadn't praised him, but kept looking at him with horror in her eyes. Then she turned them to a woman with a gray lock in her hair, sitting nearby and following their conversation.
"He really wasn't noticed. He didn't bring a tail. Instead, he almost drove the poor stallion to death. But he already got his due - walked halfway behind the caravan because couldn't sit down." The hero blushed and frowned.
"But he did his job professionally," said a man - lean, with tanned skin and black eyes in which a twinkle danced - who came up and gently patted the boy by the hair. The Kid beamed.
"Thank you. You know what they mean to me." The girl finally calmed down, kissed the child on the cheek and hugged him.
"By the way! There were no books in the tent anymore!"
This declaration stunned The Gypsy. "Why does he need my books?" she asked aloud, though more to herself, but then turned to the jester. The jester pretended that this was also a mystery to him, like really, why would anyone need books?
The Jester insisted on going to the nearest town, right away, without wasting time on the village. Moreover, he wanted to go through the streets himself.
"Are you mad!" The Gypsy exclaimed, she thought he was a smart and careful man, and here such a thing. She was already wearing a performance costume - not at all like the one in which she read fortune to the king: bright, colorful; bracelets with bells on her arms and legs, large earrings in her ears that swayed with movement in time with her curls; a fitted corsage in contrast with a voluminous layered skirt made her waist even thinner, and, raising her bosom, eliminated the need of weighted it visually.
"Want to see you dancing very much." Before answering, The Jester studied every detail of her image.
"So badly you'd die for it? After all, he wants you dead, doesn't he?"
"Disguise me. I can play as well as your friend. I'll give you a coin there, I have a lot of talents." he persisted.
"What do you need there?" the girl asked sternly, making it clear that jokes should be put aside.
"Information. Rumors."
"We'll get them for you. From various sources. We have different 'professionals', not only musicians, but also blacksmiths, and weavers, and healers." The Jester listened to The Gypsy and could not understand why she was doing all this for him. "We'll disguise you anyway, but at least sit for the first day. After all, you can give us out, too." The Jester resigned himself.
"It's unbelievable! Just look at this!" The dancer was indignant, standing in the middle of a small tent, one of several that made up the gypsy camp pitched in the field near the city walls. It was a very modest tent, the furnishings of which were only mats covering the earthen floor, beddings made of cattails, and portable chests with personal belongings; the hearth stood outside in the summer. On one of these chests, in front of a broad-shouldered, blue-eyed man with thick gray-streaked curls on his head and the same curls covering his bronzed face from below, dressed in rough leather shoes, simple homespun trousers, and an unbleached linen shirt belted at the waist with a wide ribbon, she spread out a scroll covered with ink and poked at it with her small finger. "You are outlawed! Look! '... a treacherous betrayal of the buffoon, the beloved ward, the trusted and the friend... a heinous crime... a stab in the back...' He made a 'Judas' out of you!"
The Jester looked neither scared, nor surprised; his clear eyes followed with interest how The Gypsy's index finger glided over the smooth lines of the decree, and every now and then they glanced at her face, checking what she was saying, as if not trusting his hearing. She was afraid that it was these eyes, so rare for representatives of that people, that might give him away, but even now, when there was no one else in the tent, he was behaving according to the age and status that his makeup gave him - as if they were solving the problem of a sick horse or a broken wheel before a journey. Finally, he said, "I don't understand your surprise. How did you think he would get rid of me? And they didn't tell the camp anything just so as not to scare it off. For example, I'm more surprised that you can read." The two stared at each other. The Gypsy took her finger off the text and straightened up.
"Didn't you see the books in my tent?"
"I did. But, to be honest, I thought they were for the entourage. Maybe not even real ones." The man moved a blade of grass, which he had picked in the field before entering the tent with her, from one corner of his mouth to the other. "The kid mentioned colored pictures, they must be very expensive books. Where did you get them from?"
"They were given to me."
"By whom?" The girl crossed her arms over her chest and said nothing. "What are they about?"
"About different things." There was no follow-up.
"Alright… Isn't The Prince looking for you?"
"Strangely enough, but no."
The Jester drew a conclusion from this for himself, but did not share it with The Gypsy. "Well, what else that was strange did you and your people hear or not hear?"
"The Prince did not declare himself king." Said The Gypsy and pointed her finger at the signature in the decree. The corners of the jester's lips twitched in a smile. "Mourning has been declared, that's all. It is also announced that the campaign is postponed until the coronation of the heir. Which makes the date of this event unpredictable."
The Jester nodded his head. "Have you heard anything about The Princess?"
"They say she left the castle."
"Voluntarily?"
"Rumor has it that does not."
"So the monastery…" the man visibly became sad, "but which one…"
"I'm sure we'll find out when she gets there." He felt a soft touch on his shoulder, and when he looked up, he saw the dancer's warm gaze.
Without any unnecessary delay, the gypsy camp left the town and since then has been moving in the opposite direction from the village where the tragedy occurred; they decided to get as far away as possible from the place where there were people who could identify them by sight. In each town, the program was similar: those who possessed a craft - be it the forge or the stone, went to look for a side work or a contract; merchants went to the market square to sell baskets woven by women and old men; the healer went with them, as well as dancers, singers and musicians. If the first ones found a contract, then the camp stayed in the town longer. Musicians were sometimes invited to play at weddings; if the wedding was celebrated in a wealthy merchant's household, the camp celebrated a good catch. During their travels, The Jester saw The Gypsy dancing more than once: how she closed her eyes, listened to the rhythm and repeated it with her tambourine, then the melody began to sound and for a while she stood motionless, studied it, let it pass through her, and finally, she took off and her body, clothes, hair became smooth streams of a brook, a light swaying of grass in the wind, a bird in the sky, free or caught by a hurricane, waves crashing against rocks, or a fire devouring the soul. Then everything inside a person began to tremble, one wanted to either watch without taking their eyes off, or run, escaping from the raging nature. Freezing in the last figure, she calmed her face and opened her eyes. And neither the tenderness nor the passion that filled her body a moment ago can be found in them, only calmness and control. But this did not make her dance, herself, any less desirable, on the contrary, at that moment people realised that they were present at the act of absolute trust in themselves, and they wanted to relive this experience again. The jester had noticed this control a long time ago, which did not fit in with her lifestyle. There were more emotions to be found in The Princess living in a much more formal setting than in The Gypsy who was free. The Princess lived by love, while The Gypsy seemed to be unfamiliar with the impulses of passion. Of course, she loved, or rather, had tender feelings, for the boy, for the guy who met them at the forest - her friend, - and for all the people in the camp, even for him, she took care of them. They loved her for that. And also, for the fact that she was one soul with them, craving for only one thing - the road. However, this craving seemed strange to the jester. While gypsies had it in their blood, she had it, he was sure of it, as a result of the action of consciousness. The Jester went with most people to the market square, he circled around it and offered the services of a porter, at the same time listening to what was being said around.
"The princess, poor thing, how she grieves for her father - went to a monastery to pray for his soul."
"Poor thing, as if! She was in cahoots with that 'Judas' the damned. So she went to pray for her own soul. And she did not leave, but the prince exiled her."
"What are you talking about! The princess and the jester?"
"Haven't you heard? They say the king himself blessed this union. He doted on him, and after all, he is a baron. It just hasn't been officially announced yet."
"I don't understand why the princess needs her father's death. Did she not want this marriage?"
"That is the tragedy, that she wanted to, that she was out of her mind in love, went to any lengths for the sake of this 'Herod'."
"I am sure that the girl was not aware of his plans, that she was betrayed as well as the king… Well, why would the jester want his patron dead if he even gave him his daughter's hand?"
"I see you don't get much news here at all. The circumstances under which this man ended up at court have surfaced. It turns out that a long time ago, when he was still a ten-year-old boy, his father refused to recognise the king's authority and opposed him, but was defeated, and in order to save both his life and his lands, he gave his eldest son, our jester, to the king's retinue. And this is how he repaid his kindness: revenge, a dagger in the back. Vile man!" The Jester's face twisted into a grimace of contempt, but no one noticed. Following two quietly conversing parties through the streets, he carried their weighty purchases, thus, no one aroused suspicion, and consequently, interest. After that, he didn't really listen anymore - it was clear that they wouldn't talk about the princess's place of stay.
"Oh, that's it! But what a strange moment he chose for this… So they haven't caught him yet?"
When he returned to the camp, the musicians were usually already there. But The Jester did not bother The Gypsy with his company - he quickly got to know the people in the camp, with its daily life and concerns, and turned out to be a very useful person not only in terms of arm strength, but also their dexterity, so he always had someone to talk to and something to do. Besides, they all had dinner together, which gave him a chance to exchange a few phrases in a natural setting.
"What kind of worker have you brought to us!" a burly woman from the opposite side of the circle shouted to The Gypsy. "Just gold: brings money, the first to help, and a jack of all trades!" she counted off her fingers, "Do you understand what I mean?"
"But he also eats for three!" The Jester, who was sitting in the circle between the two women, more or less in the middle, replied laughing to the praise, and raised the emptied dishes above his head, hinting at the need for more. "Maybe he will even start singing if she teaches him!" The bowl swung towards The Gypsy.
"That would be great," the man, who was difficult to see from the jester's seat, replied sadly in a beautiful low voice, "unfortunately, the bird no longer sings."
"What a pity, but she has a nice voice." The Jester heard her humming various melodies to herself as they walked through the forest for days on end. He looked with sincere regret at the girl, who suddenly stopped smiling and stared at the ground. He knew that look, and his eyes lit up with interest.
"Did you hear it?" The Gypsy's friend asked him with an expression of surprise and hope on his face. "I'd give anything to hear it again…" and chuckled cheerfully, "if I had something."
"But how is that?" The Jester made an attempt to dig deeper.
"We're not going to discuss this," The Gypsy said without looking up from the ground, as always trying to cut an unwanted conversation in the bud.
With a calm movement of his hand, the jester stopped the same young man sitting next to the girl from asking why. "She doesn't want me to find out who is a gypsy and who is an actor - wants to save everyone at once. Let it go."
"Well, I've been giving myself away for a long time, so I can talk." No one stopped him, so he continued. "We sang myths, legends, tales. We crossed foreign lands, listened to the stories of old-timers, recorded them, and then put them to music. They not only entertained, but for a listening ear and a lively mind, our songs were a stimulus to reflection. As well as the performances in our puppet theater. Gypsy songs are beautiful, they're just about something else… Never mind!" The young man cheered up again. "We'll be able to sing them again soon. The king is dead, so there will be no campaigns. He was the one who needed them, wasn't he?"
"Oh! The king was the only cause of delaying these campaigns. Only warlords need them."
"What makes you think that?"
"The cards" the fortune teller said wearily and left the circle.
From time to time, The Jester strolled past the tent where The Gypsy stayed, hoping that she would be next to it at that moment or would come out for some reason. Luck hadn't been on his side until this evening. Today, it did favor him. He had already passed the tent, meeting no one on his way, when the wind changed and the smell of burning incense hit his nose. He turned to the fragrance and saw her perched behind the tent, leaning over the ground. He came over. The gypsy did not react at all to the appearance of the jester, but she noticed him, he saw it. Her nose and mouth were covered with a kerchief, herbs were smoking in small shallow metal bowls on either side of her, and cards lay on the ground in front of her. She studied the layout carefully. The same one, The Jester noted.
"The longer I look at it, the more questions I have, although the situation is never clearer," the fortune teller said softly. "The cards speak about the reasons for what happened, and they speak correctly. I know this: we have repeatedly seen individual elements of this layout and discussed them. But what is going on now does not fit in with what has already been done. So I've missed something, I'm interpreting something wrong. But he understood everything. And he wanted me to figure it out on my own. As always." The Gypsy fell silent, and The Jester, holding his breath, silently sat down next to her on the windward side.
"It was his gift," she nodded at the cards, without taking her eyes off them, "like everything you saw in my tent: a floor-length mirror, boxes with a secret, books... a botanical atlas, works on history, treatises on philosophy, even on alchemy, one... was... maps of the world and of the starry sky... objects from every country on earth; he created a whole world for me in that tent and showed me it." The girl sniffed. The sun had already set and neither her face nor the cards were visible. "He brought these cards from Venice. They are for playing. We've come up with our own game - read them. Those were his politics lessons." She trailed off. Soon, she gathered up the cards, put them away, and took off her kerchief.
"And do you know why the king did all this for you?" The Jester asked cautiously.
"He and my mother were good friends," she said dryly.
"Friends?!" the Jester blurted out, and he regretted that he had not restrained himself. However…
"What do you want me to say? That I'm his daughter? So what? What does it matter? I'm a girl, not a boy."
"Indeed," the Jester said after a long pause, stunned by the discovery - he could hardly hide the glee of his heart, "and the others…"
"They don't know anything. Nobody. They guess the nature of my relationship with the regular customer, but no one knows who he is. Just that he's rich." She paused for a moment. The interlocutor had nothing to say either. That is, he had too much to say, too much to ask, so he remained silent. "I'm tired. Good night."