34

The Camp

Peter had not been to the Gypsy camp before, but he knew it was somewhere away to the west of Chust. He’d heard that the Gypsies had settled in a clearing in the trees. Sultan moved easily through the great forest, still willing to do his master’s bidding despite their fruitless logging trip.

Peter’s mood was grim, and though rage boiled inside him, his face was nothing but a mask of determination. As he rode he kept one hand on the reins, the other on the shaft of his axe. The world had gone crazy, turned itself upside down. His father had killed someone, and he was riding to confront the victim’s family. He might just need his horse and axe to make it out alive.

And if he didn’t make it out again? At that moment, he didn’t much care. Wasn’t that what the Miorita was telling him? To accept your fate, meekly, with no resistance, no struggle. If that was the case, then he would go to the Gypsy camp without fear, and get them to leave Tomas alone, to fight their own battles.

And as for Sofia…

He kicked Sultan in the ribs unnecessarily hard. The old horse broke into a canter, but shook his head to show he wasn’t happy.

The clearing was ahead, and even at this distance, through the trees, Peter could see the yellows and reds of the caravans, and wood smoke twisting up into the sky.

He pulled Sultan to a halt and tethered him to a tree.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”

Peter wished he were as confident of that as he sounded, but sliding the axe from Sultan’s saddle, he knew he had no choice but to go through with it. The Gypsies would regroup, and be back for the sword.

At first he walked boldy, upright, making no attempt to hide himself as he neared the clearing. He could see the camp clearly now. There were five caravans and two open carts. The caravans were arranged in a circle with their doorways facing a large campfire, over which hung a cooking pot. Horses, tethered to stakes and tree stumps, chomped on the contents of hay bags. Peter saw a series of stakes planted in the ground, in a circle just outside the camp itself, about halfway to where the trees began. From the top of each stake hung a cluster of something white and bulbous. It took a moment for him to realize they were strings of garlic bulbs. Protection.

Now Peter saw someone jump from the low step of one of the caravans, and as he watched the Gypsy crossing the circle, something caught his eye. He dropped to a crouch, and crept a little closer.

Sitting against a large birch trunk on the far side of the clearing was Sofia. She was alone, in the snow, with her legs out straight in front of her, and her arms by her sides.

Seeing her there, and puzzled by it, Peter forgot all about what he had come for, and his anger with her. He crept forward nearly to the edge of the trees, then began to circle round toward her.

He was used to moving through the winter forest, and he made no sound as he deepened his arc slightly to approach Sofia from behind. For a while he thought he had lost sight of the tree where she was sitting, but there it was again, ahead of him.

Now he understood.

Ropes were tied tightly around the trunk and around Sofia. The others had bound her to a tree, and outside the circle of garlic.

“Sofia!” he whispered.

There was no reply, but then, she was on the far side of a thick trunk, unable to move.

As he crept closer, his dexterity deserted him. The head of the axe caught against the trunk of a dead sapling, which cracked loudly. He glanced ahead and saw Sofia’s hair flick out—she had turned her head.

Fearing she might call for help, he rushed the last few paces until he was right against her tree trunk.

“Sofia! It’s me! Peter.”

Nothing for a second, but then he heard: “Peter!” It was no more than a whisper. “Thank God! Set me free!”

“Why did they do this to you?” he asked.

“Not now! Set me free.”

Peter nodded. He pulled his knife from his pocket and began to saw through the thick hemp binding her. As he did so it crossed his mind that maybe she had been tied to the tree for a good reason, maybe she had even been—

No. It was daylight. She couldn’t be one of them and out in the daylight, he reminded himself, and kept on sawing.

“Quick!” Sofia said. “They might come out at any time.”

“There!” Peter said, and loosened the rope.

Sofia stayed motionless, waiting to be sure that she was unobserved, then flung the rope away and spun around the tree into Peter’s arms.

“Thank you!” she cried. “Let’s go away from here.”

“I can’t,” said Peter. “I’ve come to stop them from attacking my father. They’ll have to listen to me.”

“No!” Sofia cried. “They’ll kill you. Nothing is going to stop them. They tied me to the tree because I tried to stop them from stealing the sword from your father. I told them to leave him alone, and they did this to me! One of their kind!”

“They would have left you out in the night?”

“They threatened to. I think it was just meant to scare me. I think. But you can’t stop them.”

“I have to try, Sofia.”

“Peter! Listen to me! My own uncle tied me up. Imagine what they will do to you and your father! Come. Come away.”

She pulled Peter’s hands, dragging him deeper into the wood, and he knew she was right.

He shook himself.

“This way,” he said. “I’ve got Sultan with me.”

They ran.

 


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