A/N: Pronounced 'ease'. Or at least I'd like it to be. I tried googling names of French medieval villages, but I kept getting websites to ritsy summer homes. It was the best I could find.
Chapter Two: "The Village Eze"
The caravan left Paris with little to no resistance. It wasn't long before they were far enough away from the city that they could discard their ungainly monk robes and show their true colors. Vibrant flags were attached to the wagons and music was played. Since they didn't own enough horses, the few they owned pulled the carts. And since the carts were stocked full with all of their goods, everyone had to walk. However no one really seemed to mind much. As they played music, they would dance and sing and swap stories to pass the time and to distract themselves if their feet got sore. True they were being a little elaborate, but potential customers were more likely to buy from them if they seemed jovial and fun-loving.
Their first stop was the village Eze, south of Paris. They reached it right around dusk. The village was a humble one, but the gypsies were well received. Though some of the villagers shut their windows and locked the doors, many of them were eager to see the exotic goods and spices the gypsies had to offer. They set up camp right outside the local tavern, on the border of the village. Since it was already nighttime, they decided to save most of their business and trading until morning. So in the mean time, they drank.
And drank they did. Much merriment was made in the tavern that night. Lots of singing and dancing and laughter. One gypsy, Nadia, a large yet graceful woman hopped up onto a table and entranced the crowd with a tambourine and dance. Several others gallivanted around the room, while the rest were sharing spirits at the tables laughing and whatnot. At one point Clopin had a couple female-folk sitting on his lap (one of which was affectionately wearing his hat), completely captivated by the gypsy king's story of how he fought off six city guards, on top of a speeding carriage over a rapidly collapsing bridge a hundred feet above jagged rocks and certain death (the carriage was on fire). With his hands tied behind his back. Too drunk to be bothered remembering what actually happened (or if that was even him), he improvised ever-so-slightly. Regardless everyone at the table listened like it was the gospel truth.
The only thing that dampened the mood in the tavern was a bewildered old crone, who whispered to herself as she witnessed the merrymaking. She kept a fist of rosary close to her heart as she went around the room incoherantly muttering things like "filthy sinners", "abominations", and "burning hellfire". She seemed harmless enough. However after she started throwing holywater at gypsies to see if its sacred properties would scald their flesh, the innkeeper kindly escorted her off the premises early on in the night. Feeling justified in the fact that she would surely bring down his income if she kept trying to purge the tavern of sin all night.
Midnight rolled around. Since the gypsies still had miles to go and many villages to see they said goodnight to the people of Eze and buckled down early, most of them staggered back to their tents to rest their drunken heads. No one was assigned to stand guard that night (actually, before the alcohol dragged him down to his bed, Clopin vaguely pointed to broom that 'greatly' resembled a gypsy comrade and mumbled an order for it to stand guard). Content and well fed like little bugs and a rug, the gypsies fell fast asleep, excited for the exploits the morning would bring.
There was a scream. It was a rude awakening. Before he was even fully aware, Clopin stuck his head outside his tent. Through the dim red light of dawn he saw, to his horror, soldiers ravaging the caravan. There was a struggle, but none of the gypsies were prepared for such an unexpected and brutal attack. Many of them grabbed whatever they could to fight them off, some even tried fleeing. In the end several were killed. Clopin was one of the last standing, but soon he too was struck down and received a heavy blow to the head. He saw the ground rush up to meet his face, but was unconscious before they met.
A/N: This chapter was rushed as you might be able to tell. And it's true. I'm trying to rush to the good stuff, I just hope it doesn't turn you guys off. I'm trying to throw in a teeny bit of humor in and there, but is it enough? Should I focus on being more entertaining? I'd hate for you to think the story is dry and unengaging.
As always, feedback mucho appreciated. Tell me true, do you think I rushed it? Or is it okay?