Jaelle ran her dark and weathered hands over the fine filigree of a silver chalice that she had been inspecting. Her blurry reflection stared back at her, distorted nearly black eyes returned her gaze until she had to look away. Sighing heavily she placed it on the small table that sat in front of her and looked to a distant spot at the back of her caravan. Surrounding her, stacks of crates lined the walls, obscuring the colorfully painted wooden behind them.
The many crates were not only filled with stolen goods, but also an immense collection of objects acquired from her nearly sixty years of life, and especially full of the time she spent before arriving in Paris. Silks, tapestries and furs lined the walls and were draped over the many cushioned seats placed on the floor. But everything that had no room, was packed into one of these many crates. To anyone else, the small caravan was madness, but Jaelle knew where every item was in the crowded space.
The cup had been brought to her by a young girl the day before, she was not yet fourteen, and had been sent to Paris not long ago by her family to work as a scullery maid in a household. Yet Jaelle could not lift her mind from one particular servant girl. She sighed once more thinking of her.
After Jaelle had visited Victoria that morning in the small, isolated tent that she had been forced to live since returning from the Palace, Jaelle and Clopin had crossed paths. It took a strong force to stop Jaelle in her tracks, as it took just as great a force to get her old bones going in the first place. But as she limped back to her caravan, she felt a sudden draft cross her. Jaelle still remembers the look in his eye as he leaned against a stack of barrels, partly covered in shadows, watching her. She squinted to see him in the dim light of morning, but once she had focused on him, it was his look that had caused her not to return to Victoria since that day.
His eyes had hit her, like a warning shot sent from a bow.
It had given her a sour feeling in her stomach, like one she may have gotten as a child after eating the wrong berry or plant from the woods. The look felt like it marked her, and had followed her for each day since. It seemed to tell her that he was watching, and dared her to return to see the girl. But she worried. She hadn't dared go near the far edge of the court, in case she caught a glimpse of the girl, or didn't catch any glimpse at all, which she feared even more.
Something had shifted, changed, and the air was heavy with an ill-fated decision. The morning following her visit, she remembered finding a configuration in the leaves from her kahve. Dark clumps of plant matter showed her that two had come together, but only one would remain.
Two had come together? She remembered the prophecy which found her that morning and a slight chill up her back. It was out of fear that she had not returned to see the girl, but as each day passed she grew more and more afraid.
Clopin himself had not returned, which she knew from watching the one route he took towards the tent on the outer edge where he had been keeping the girl, day after day. But she hadn't seen him, slinking his way towards it, thinking that he had gone unseen, nor had she felt his presence. He was preoccupied with their plans to move the large gathering of Romany out of Paris.
Jaelle's husband, Harmon, had left with some others to meet their brothers and sisters in Spain and make arrangements for the travel of everyone else. Their makeshift village had been growing for years- entire generations had been raised in the Court of Miracles, and many others found their way to the Court as it had become a sort of refuge for Romany in Europe, or white man's lands, she had thought to call it.
Jaelle and Harmon had come when they, themselves, were young. Jaelle longed to leave Paris, as she was born from the heat of Turkish lands, and the winters of her life had become longer and longer with each passing season, but being without her husband was difficult even at her age. Harmon had left days before the girl had returned from the Palace. After he had showed her out of the Court that ill fated morning, he returned to Jaelle with sadness written across his face.
The two had not believed that she would return from the Palace, and neither were certain they would see Clopin again. Jaelle had been sure that days before the girl had arrived in the court, before Jaelle had even known that she was brought there, that she had felt her light go out. She had even lit a rush light for her to burn over night. If Harmon had still been there, he would know what to say. He would have spoken to Clopin, reasoned with him, and perhaps the girl could go free. With the impending visit from the Spanish Gitanos, Clopin would become more difficult to approach about her well being- as his pride would distract him, prevent him from doing so. And the Gitanos, as well as their fellow Romany from the Court, would not be so forgiving as to her presence. Jaelle felt as though what she thought she had been told in her kahve that morning was that something had already shifted, and maybe it was now too late for the girl.
This thought stirred in her once again and she looked down to her hands, sadly. She remembered the day that Victoria had presented herself, an intended servant at a household. Jaelle had clucked her tongue and huffed at the girl.
"What use is an English servant in France? You should find yourself in the country, on a family's land. And fast, harvest is soon approaching."
She remembered advising her, a cruel amusement crossing her face in her smile. Victoria's frown had deepened, but she did not argue.
At the end of her first week, she had returned to Jaelle seemingly empty handed. Jaelle had thrown her head back and cackled.
"It's just as I told you, foolish girl-" She had begun, but before she could continue, the girl had untied her apron and reached into the front of her dress, retrieving three strands of gold necklaces. Jaelle had blinked in disbelief, and Harmon had let out one deep laugh at his wife's hastiness.
A look of pride crossed Victoria's eyes as she tossed the necklaces to the table in front of Jaelle. That week had been meager, and the couple had been struggling to make themselves dinner, she remembered how pleased she was with the girl she even let her eat with them that night. Over time, the English girl proved herself as a cunning thief. She was often overlooked, as she was rarely spoken to directly by the other servants, or the mistresses of the homes where she worked. Jaelle also believed that her cunning came from her upbringing as an orphan. Other girls who came to the city were sent by their parents- unable to be kept at home and too poor for marriage proposals, the girls were sent to the cities to find husbands and work. But the English girl had taken care of herself, and it was not easy to be a singlewoman, without a belonging of some sorts to call home, the way that Jaelle had her people, and the Court.
Jaelle pulled herself from her thoughts, unsure of how long she had been drifting through memories of the past and worries of the day in her mind. She put the silver cup before her away, avoiding her own reflection in its shiny exterior, as if she were afraid that her own face would tell her something she was trying not to hear. That the girl might be in trouble. Jaelle put it out of her mind as she put the chalice out of view, and turned her attention to a tapestry which lay next to her. Her calloused hands threaded a needle of rich purple and she began to pull it through the silken fabric carefully.
The evening passed into night, and her eyes grew heavy as the rush light grew fainter, more of the rush burning away as she had sewn. Unable to keep her eyelids open much longer, she had delicately placed the tapestry back on the cushion next to her and was steadying herself to retire to the pile of cushions and quilts where she slept. As her hand pushed against the table top, she stopped suddenly. A draft had swept towards her from the door to the caravan, which lay just over her shoulder. She turned her heads towards it, slowly allowing her hips to follow.
"What are you doing here?" She had asked before she had even seen Clopin's silhouette in the doorway. There was something in her that just knew it was the brim of his hat which shadowed the entrance to her home late that night. The dim light of her candle flickered across the old wood of her caravan floor, and he stayed in the darkness just outside.
Clopin hesitated a response, before calmly instructing, "Come with me." Something heavy hung in his throat and in an instant Jaelle was more concerned than ever. Her eyes widened in the darkness, everything between them unspoken. But in an attempt to keep control of her heart, which now raced in her chest, she swallowed.
"Very well." was her response.
Moving swiftly, yards ahead of her, Clopin did not wait for Jaelle to catch up. Even at this late hour in the night, he could not risk being seen. Jaelle's distance meant he could take the route which afforded him the most cover and safety, leaving Jaelle to walk slowly on a different path. He did not have to tell her where to go, she had known. The same way she had known so many things before. Her reaction was unsettling to Clopin, and on his quiet route, basked in darkness, he tried not to think about the old woman's voice, full of knowing and concern.
Jaelle walked steadily in the direction towards the girl's tent at the far edge of the court, her walking stick awkwardly hitting the ground as she moved in the darkness, the dying rush light from her caravan stretched out in her other shaking hand in front of her. All of the feelings, and thoughts that had begun to flow through her mind, she kept pushed aside, repeating to herself that she was wrong.
But she had never been wrong when she wanted to be.
Eventually, she found herself at the clearing, and the small tent pressed against the back of the tall stone wall that lay at the perimeter of the court of miracles. Jaelle continued towards the tent, eyeing the dark pile of plates and scrap food from the side, and trying to ignore the tension that was growing with every step she took towards it. A slit lay open in the tent's door, like a small toothless grin, making her more and more uneasy. Finally at it's entrance, she almost heard voices whispering in the darkness, telling her to go away. She looked down to the ground, and saw the iron chain from the girl's shackle snaking its way into the dark tent that lay in front of her, following it into the unknown with her eyes. She took a breath and after a pause, she stepped forward into the tent, the shaking light of the rush candle illuminating the hay where Victoria lay, her back turned to her.
"Girl!" She whispered harshly. Jaelle then held her breath and waited for a sign from the figure on the mattress. There was no response, but her heart skipped a beat as she saw a steady, deep, rise and fall of the girls chest. Had she seen it? Very slowly, Jaelle placed the candle on the ground and got to her knees to approach her. She reached a hand out and placed it on the girl's shoulder. Her heart once again skipped a relieved beat when she felt the warmth of her skin under her dress. But it was too warm- almost burning hot to the touch, and soaking wet with sweat. Jaelle carefully turned the girl to face her.
Victoria's face was pale white, almost glowing in the darkness, like a sickly lantern. Sweat pooled from her forehead, and yet her lips were chapped and dry. Her breath was steady, but much too slow, and came out almost like a wheeze. She looked like a corpse, like someone who had died, but was not allowed to leave their body. Jaelle was no stranger to death, but the smell of sickness, of sadness, of the curse that had overtaken the young girl caused everything inside of her to freeze, stiffened with distress.
Jaelle felt Clopin standing behind her. She frowned, but did not turn to him.
"What did you do to her?" she asked in a low whisper. Clopin did not respond, but she heard as his hand, wrapped in his leather glove, tense into a fist.
Jaelle watched as Victoria's face twisted a little into a wince, and she followed her arm with her eyes to where the girl's hand rested under the quilt. To get a better look, she pulled the quilt back and found both hands clenching her dress at her lower stomach. Jaelle first removed the hand covered with bandages and brought it closer to her face, inspecting it. The dark purple that had once pooled under her fingernails was beginning to fade, and though the bones set in their place- clenched and bent at strange angles- it did not look like it had been getting worse. The two of them watched the girl silently as she fought for her life.
Clopin kept looking away as Jaelle searched the girl for injuries. It was difficult to look at her for too long- she lay there, in another world all together. Though her face strained and her body was working to keep her in this world, the world where he stood quietly, fighting back the demons of his own, he had never seen her so helpless. Her expressions were pained, and afraid, in ways they hadn't been even in the dungeons of the Palace of Justice. As Jaelle continued down her body, he caught himself staring at the curves of her shoulders and hips. They glistened in the candle light, beads of sweat disguising them as something magical, and not like the flesh of a dying girl.
Jaelle ran her hands gently over Victoria's lower stomach, and her hands jumped back. Clopin leaned forward in the entrance.
"What is it?" His whisper came from over her shoulder. The old woman placed her hands back on the girl, unsure of what she had felt herself. She moved her fingers back and forth over the space between her hip bones, that lead to her pubis. Hard bumps lined each crevasse. It was from her fever. Jaelle had seen this before, but not with such severity. She moved her hands up to the girl's throat and carefully touched each side with her forefinger and thumb- the same swelling was here, too. As she removed her hands, Victoria tried to swallow and frowned in pain, moaning slightly.
Clopin once again looked away, her moan painfully reminding him of when he had been in Jaelle's place; his hands running over her, their mouths sharing one breath. Victoria's right leg shook slightly, and tried to pull itself to rest on its foot. Jaelle kept it down firmly, and her eyes shifted to the shackle around the sick girl's ankle. Quickly she leaned forward, now taking the bare calf in her hands as though it were a newborn. Intently, Jaelle frowned at the device, looking as though she were peering down through its vicious iron grasp around Victoria's delicate, pale ankle. Jaelle placed her nose close to it and inhaled slightly, and then peeled back suddenly in alarm.
"Well?" Clopin asked aggressively, suddenly impatient. Jaelle stared at the shackle.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked. Clopin frowned deeply.
"What's the matter with her?!" He exclaimed.
"What did you do?"
"Tell me, woman!" His voice grew low and defensive. Jaelle's eyes narrowed in response.
"Tell me first, why did you bring her here?"
In the darkness, Clopin's eyes darted away from the old woman.
"She must come with me." Jaelle had said solemnly. Clopin shook his head in the doorway to the tent.
"She can not." he had said, his fist tightening. Jaelle then turned to him.
"The girl has a sickness from her ankle, it is rotting here, and has spread to her body."
Jaelle's words spun through his mind, a sudden whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. He was shaking his head sternly without even noticing at first. Jaelle had sighed heavily.
"She can not leave." He said again. "Our Gitanos brothers will-"
"You should have left her!" Jaelle interrupted, staring up at him, her eyes ablaze with frustration.
"You don't understand..." Clopin stared at the ground. His mind was moving like a scale, tipping to each side and then back again as thoughts piled up on either end.
"Then tell me why! She was as good as dead, and would have suffered a shorter fate than to be humiliated, locked up in a dirty tent by-"
"No. Frollo would not have her, she traded in her life to save mine. She belongs to me."
Jaelle rose to her feet so quickly, Clopin stepped back a bit in surprise, his eyes now wide as Jaelle's long finger pointed in his face.
"You..." now it was her voice which crackled into a low growl in the dim light of the tent as it closed in around all three of them. "You selfish, foolish man." Clopin's eyes fell to the ground, almost ashamed.
"This was the only way you could see her again, is that it? Well look at her now, look at what you have done." Jaelle's arm stretched out behind her, and Clopin averted his eyes from the glistening beads of sweat falling down from the face of the girl who lay on the straw mattress. "Some repayment to the one who returned your life to you."
A heavy moment of silence hung between the two of them, until Victoria shuddered, a wispy breath leaving her trembling lips. Clopin took a deep breath.
"It was the only way... that I knew she would be safe." His voice was so small, it passed by Jaelle like a shadow. The words hit her heart on a strange angle, she was unsure what they meant. Jaelle had known the man all of his life, and had never seen him talk about women. She had grown resentful that he had been keeping the girl like a prisoner. Victoria was all alone in the world, she didn't have the Romany people. The fact that she had survived this long had proven that life was a fight within her, and now it could all be taken from her, there in a dark tent, by a man who could never admit that he loved her. Jaelle realized she had been silent, her heavy eyes circling the features of his face. She clucked in return.
"If she does not leave here, she will die." She sternly responded. Clopin's eyes darted back up to meet hers.
"But they will kill her!" He whispered.
"Well, she is yours now, isn't she? You will have to protect her."
A silence took them both once more. Jaelle's eyes stayed on the Romany king, the candle light moving in their dark irises, like grains of sand slipping through the hour glass reminding him that they were losing time for the girl's life. "Clop-" Jaelle had begun to cry out his name, but he silenced her by quickly bending to one knee and producing a ring of iron keys from inside his tunic.
Jaelle side eyed them- this whole time they had been there. Clopin hesitated as he caught her eyes. Between them they shared a moment of knowing; that this action could have many different ramifications. Clopin slid the key into the shackle and turned it forcefully, it groaned in place, and the girl shuddered under its movement. As the heavy iron cracked open, the two hinges separating to reveal the girl's ankle and both Clopin and Jaelle pulled away from the sight that had laid hidden underneath.
The wound was large, red and angry. Along the bone of her ankle, the iron had rubbed down so far that some substance oozed from inside, and the meat of her muscle seemed visible. It appeared as though scabs had formed, been ripped off, and reformed, creating a constellation of different tones, degrees of healed injury. Red lines spread out from the center of it like a spiders web. They had just reached the edge of the shackle, but dared to continue up her leg. Clopin's chest tightened as the girl's heaved, basked in candle light. Her dry lips parted in a slight gasp.
"Clopin..." she said his name, dreamily.
Jaelle turned back to Clopin once again, frowning at him. He avoided her stare by reaching forward and pulling one of the girl's arms around the back of his neck. As he pushed his arms underneath her upper back and legs, he spoke to Jaelle from over his shoulder.
"Take the path that runs through the center of the court, if you run into anyone, distract them." He ordered. Jaelle said nothing in response, but used her walking stick to steady herself as she moved slowly towards the door. She positioned herself at the front of the tent, as Clopin stood up, Victoria draped over his arms. Over her shoulder, Jaelle spoke to Clopin.
"Whatever you have done, after tonight it is finished." She told her King, who seemed to her more like any other man tonight, and now it was Clopin who fell silent in response. Jaelle left the tent and moved as briskly as she could- sensing Clopin move to the far wall of the great hall.
In the darkness, Clopin could just barely make out the features of the girl's face. He strained under her weight, as she lay flickering in unconsciousness, occasionally letting out a sigh or a moan. Her stomach would then gurgle- either from hunger, or from pain, as the infection fell through her. The path was awkward to walk without the weight of a full grown woman on your arms, and very quickly Clopin's body began to ache. Every so often he would look down and swear her eyes were open, staring up at him, but then he would look again and they would be closed and pursed in pain. Sweat pooled under his forearms and across his back and shoulders, his arms and legs tensing with each step.
Finally he had made it to Jaelle's caravan. A light was burning inside. Clopin glanced around before emerging onto the entrance leading to the wooden steps at the mouth of it, to ensure that nobody was watching. As he did so, he took one last look at the girl's face, his eyes hungrily searching her expression for a sign of life, of recognition. Clopin knew all too well that this would be one of the last times he could ever be this close to her, especially if she were to survive. But her face was tense with pain and fever, still distant and unfamiliar. And so, Clopin took the first step up the small ladder to meet Jaelle.
He crossed the caravan and lay Victoria down on a pile of hay stuffed cushions and furs that she had readied. Sliding his arms out from under her body, the lack of her warmth and weight caused them to feel cold and light in an unpleasant way. With the small amount of light from inside Jaelle's home, Clopin took what felt like his truly last opportunity to look upon the young girl, laying down now, waif-like and exhausted. He clenched his jaw, and stood up. Jaelle knelt behind him, eyes watching him fiercely.
"Tell me what happens... If she survives I will figure out what to do." He told her. She nodded, slightly, but the look of disappointment and concern stayed in each line of her face. Shame stirred quietly, with heat, in Clopin, and he moved quickly to put it out, leaving the caravan without looking back, feeling Jaelle's eyes on his back.
Jaelle watched him go. When he was gone from the opening to the caravan, she dipped a long piece of cloth into a washbasin that she had filled. She wrung it out before laying it slowly on top of the girl's head. Victoria sighed, the muscles of her face relaxing a bit with the cool water now in place. It was to be a long night.