Gene of Isis

The gypsy witch appeared beside Albray, concern written across her face. Something terrible has happened to my people, she said, using a mix of Italian and what I suspected was Romany—which I hadn’t studied, but as the gypsies moved around a lot, their tongue borrowed words from many other European languages. Clearly, Chiara was very upset.

‘Be calm,’ I said. ‘I need you to tell me your troubles slowly, and in Italian preferably.’

Chiara nodded. My people seldom venture this far west. Gypsy traders are not so appreciated in the midlands of France. Not a mile down the road, you will come to a caravan of women, and you must help them! Our men have been taken. I don’t know the circumstances, she sobbed. You must help them. I did not expect to ask so big a favour in return for my services, but if you do this for Chiara, she pleaded, placing a hand over her heart, I shall vow to you a lifetime of service.

That’s a very generous offer indeed, Albray granted.

‘But this will surely delay our quest,’ I said, speaking aloud.

Delays can prove beneficial in my experience. Albray didn’t seem too worried. If you fall into the company of gypsies, it will provide you with the perfect cover and you could have no better guides if travelling on the cheap.

‘Fear not, Chiara, I will do what I can for your family,’ I assured her, noting Nanny’s surprise at my words. Chiara began blessing me in several dialects. ‘No need to thank me, as it is clearly the best solution for all of us.’

‘So what have we decided?’ Nanny was quick to ask, sounding a little wary.

‘I think I might surprise you with this one, Nanny.’ I patted her hand. ‘But not to fear, all shall be made clear within the hour.’ I smiled broadly at Albray, rather excited by the prospect of sampling gypsy life.

I could see Nanny was very curious, as I moved from the left to right window looking out for the caravan, but often gypsies had the reputation of being thieves, witches and devil worshippers, so I thought it best to just let the scenario unfold. Nanny was a good judge of character and could make up her own mind about Chiara’s kin.

When I had the coach pull up beside the caravan, I laughed at Nanny’s doubtful expression. ‘I made a promise to someone that helped us escape the Chateau De Vere. I am bound to return this favour,’ I explained and, although Nanny was worried, she trusted me and did not question my course of action.

As I climbed out of my carriage, I was struck by two things: firstly, by how surprised these people were that I had stopped to speak with them, and secondly by how colourful and cheerful their attire was—their bleak expressions were in distinct contrast.

Unlike Chiara’s drab attire, her descendants had obviously travelled and traded more broadly, for these women displayed a kind of Oriental splendour, with gold coins woven into their dark masses of hair and around their necks and breasts. Their skirts were striped and spotted in vibrant clashes of colour. Bright colours and patterns featured in their shirts, shawls and the scarves that were bound about their heads. Chiara had a very handsome clan indeed.

‘Are voi nella difficolta, signore?’ I asked them if they were in trouble, hoping they still employed Italian as well as their native Romany. I also wondered where all the men of the band were. ‘Where sono i vostri uomini?’

They all stared at me and I wondered if I should try French. Then the eldest woman rose from her chair and replied in Italian: ‘What concern is that of yours, my lady?’

‘Well,’ I took a deep breath, and as I was beholden to no one any more, I thought I’d try something novel and tell the truth, ‘I owe Chiara a favour and she requested I stop and help you in return for her service to me.’

There were many gasps from those present, and the women muttered quietly among themselves.

‘A mystic.’ The old woman was pleasantly surprised and quite confident about her claim. ‘If Chiara has sent you, you must be more than you appear to be, for we have very great troubles indeed.’

‘Hmmm.’ I looked at our coach driver who was fidgeting impatiently. ‘If I may impose on your hospitality, ladies, I shall be glad to hear your woes and do what I can.’

‘Any soul sent to me by Chiara is welcome in my wagon,’ the old gypsy confirmed. ‘My name is Chavi Choron. Chiara was my grandmother.’

‘Pleased to meet you Chavi. I am Ashlee—’ I paused before announcing my second name, ‘Winston.’ I decided to take Nanny’s second name as that was safest. ‘Miss,’ I added, so that no one would wonder where my other half was. ‘Unload our luggage, thank you, driver,’ I instructed. ‘We shall not require your services further.’ I paid the coachman double to forget he’d ever seen us and he seemed satisfied with the arrangement. He turned his coach around and headed back to Paris.

As I entered the circle that the horse-drawn caravans formed, the women and children of the clan were smiling shyly at me in greeting. Chavi introduced us to every person there—so many incredibly exotic names whizzed past my ears that, if I didn’t have the ability to read minds, I would have been hard pressed to remember them all. From what I could assess, there were about four extended families in the band.

I introduced my ‘mama’, Beatrice Winston, and they all repeated the foreign name in awe. Nanny was won over from this point on. When she learned that a number of the children present were orphans and in need of tending, Nanny Beat realised she’d just walked into paradise.

I left Nanny with the children and followed Chavi to some chairs that were by her wagon. The old woman’s seat had many cushions and a table was between her seat and mine. As I sat Chavi asked, ‘And who is the knight that comes with you?’

Albray laughed. It seems we have another mystic in our midst.

I looked to Chavi and she wore a cheeky grin, as did I. ‘He is Albray…he is the one who put me in touch with your grandmother.’

‘Chiara wove a spell for you,’ Chavi stated more than asked. Then she went into trance and for a moment she wore a grave expression. ‘You are running from love…but it will catch up with you.’ The old gypsy sounded happy about the latter.

‘We are here to speak about your problems, Chavi,’ I reminded her kindly, so as not to insult her obvious talent. ‘Tell me, where are your men? Chiara said that you don’t usually travel so far west into France.’