He called to her as he stood in the darkness of the house. “Gipsy.…”
There was a short silence and he was aware of the darkness. A feeling of foreboding came to him then. Had he been unwise to come? He was the King’s secretary; he carried important documents in his pockets. What if he had been lured to this place to be robbed of those papers? What a fool he was to have brought them with him. He had not thought to clear his pockets. When he was on the trail of a woman he never thought of anything else but what he intended to do with that woman; and if that woman was one such as Gipsy, then the thoughts were all the more vivid, and completely allabsorbing, so that there was no room for caution or anything else.
Then as he hesitated he heard a voice say: “Amigo!” and his fears vanished.
“Where are you, Gipsy?”
“Here!” she was close beside him and he seized her hungrily.
“Wait, impatient one!” she commanded.
But there was to be no waiting. Here! Now! his desires demanded; and there and then it was, there in the darkness of this strange hovel, in one of the least salubrious byways of the town of Pamplona.
“There! Greedy one!” she cried pushing him away from her. “Could you not wait until I get a light?”
“I’ll be ready again when you get the light, Gipsy.”
“You…,” she cried impatiently, “you want too much.”
By the flickering light of a candle he saw the dark little room. So this was her home. He had seen her first near the castle, and he guessed that she came from the vineyards. There had been little time to discover much about each other, and all he knew was that she was a peasant girl who worked with the vines. All she knew was that he was employed at the Court. That made him rich in her eyes.
They had met many times in the vineyards at dusk; and even in daylight it had been easy enough to find a secluded spot. She knew that he carried papers in his pockets for they rustled when he threw off his doublet; he knew she carried a knife in the belt she wore about her waist.
“What is that for?” he had asked.
“For those who would force me against my will,” she told him.
He had laughed triumphantly. She had never attempted to use the knife on him.
He was growing restive with passion again.
“Come up the stairs,” she told him. “There we can lie in comfort.”
“Come then,” he said. “I pray you, lead the way.”
She went before him carrying the candle. He caressed her bare thighs beneath her tattered skirt as they went.
She turned and spat at him: “Your hands stray too much.”
“And how can I help that when I am near you?”
“And near others too!”
“What! You suspect me of infidelity to you?”
“I know,” she answered. “There is one who works with me in the vineyards. She is small and fair and comes from the North.”
He knew to whom she referred. The girl was a contrast to Gipsy; small, fair, almost reluctant, with a virginal air which was a perpetual challenge to him. It had challenged him only yesterday and he had succumbed.
“I knew her once,” he said.
“You knew her yesterday,” she told him.
So the girl had told! Foolish creature! Yet he was not displeased. He liked the women to boast of their connections with him.
Gipsy set down the candle. The room made him shudder. It was not what he was accustomed to. But there was always pleasure in novelty. And when Gipsy carefully unstrapped the belt containing the knife and laid it almost reverently on the floor and then began to take off all her clothes, he saw nothing but Gipsy.
“You also,” she said.
He was more than willing to obey.
Naked she faced him, a magnificent Juno, her hands on her hips.
“So you deceive me with that one!” she spat out.
“It was nothing, Gipsy…over and done with…quickly forgotten.”
“As with me?”
“You I will remember all my life. We shall never be parted now. How could any man be satisfied with another after Gipsy?”
“So you would marry me?”
He hesitated for half a second, and he could not help his mouth twitching slightly at the incongruity of the suggestion. Imagine Gipsy at Court—perhaps being presented to King Jean and Queen Catharine!
“Certainly, I would marry you,” he said glibly.
“I told you once that if you went with another woman I would make you sorry for it.”
“Gipsy…you couldn’t make me anything but happy. You’re too perfect.…”
He seized her, she eluded him; but he laughed exultantly; this was merely lover’s play. He sensed her lassitude even as she struck out at him; in a matter of moments he forced her onto the straw.
Afterwards she lay supine beside him. He felt relaxed, the conqueror. She could not resist him, even though she was so frenziedly jealous.
He need not even bother to cover up his peccadilloes. He had been wrong to imagine that he would have to go carefully with Gipsy. Gipsy was like all the others—so filled with desire for a man of his unusual capabilities that she could not resist him.
She bent over him tenderly. “Sleep,” she whispered. “Let us both sleep for ten minutes; then we will be wide awake again.”
He laughed. “You’re insatiable,” he said, “…even as I. Ah, they’re a well matched pair, my Gipsy and her Amigo.”
She bit his shoulder affectionately. And he closed his eyes.
Gipsy did not sleep, although she lay still beside him with her eyes closed. She was picturing him with that other one, and not only that one. There were many others. This faithful lover! she thought contemptuously.
She had told him that he would be sorry if he were not true to her. She had been true to him, yet he considered her so far beneath him that there was no need to keep his promises to her.
She was passionate; she had revelled in their intercourse; but he was only a man, and there were many like him in Pamplona who would be ready to come to Gipsy’s bed when she beckoned.
She listened to his breathing. He was asleep. Perhaps he slept lightly. Perhaps he would wake if she stirred.
She moved quietly away from him. He groaned and vaguely put out a hand, which she avoided, carefully watching the flickering candlelight on his face as she did so.
His hand dropped; his eyes remained shut.
Gipsy stood for a second, watching him; then she picked up her belt. From it she took the knife.
“No man betrays me,” she whispered. “Not even you, my fancy court gentleman. I warned you, did I not. I said you’d be sorry. But you’ll not be sorry…because you’ll not be anything after tonight.”
Her eyes blazed as she lifted the knife.
He opened his eyes a second too late; he saw her bending over him; he saw her blazing eyes, but this time they shone with hate instead of love, with revenge, not with passion.
“Gipsy…” He tried to speak her name, but there was only a gurgle in his throat. He felt the hot blood on his chest…on his neck, before the darkness blocked out her face, the sordid room in candlelight, and wrapped itself about him, shutting out light, shutting out life.
GIPSY WASHED the blood from her naked body and put on her clothes. Then she blew out the candle and went down the stairs and out to the street.
She ran swiftly through the alley and through several narrow streets until she came to the house she wanted.
She knocked urgently on the door. There was no answer and again she knocked. At length she heard the sound of slow footsteps.
“Quickly, Father,” she cried. “Quickly!”
The door was opened and a man stood peering at her; he was struggling into the robes of a priest.
She stepped inside and shut the door.