The Eagle & The Dove

Part 1:  THE GYPSIES Chapter 4/Page 2

  Habby had also attended on a few occasions. He could never forget the bustling, thriving crowds which seemed to come from throughout Spain to see this spectacle. Where normally, the peasants and farmers would have little to do with Gypsies, the horse fair was the only time this would change.

  Nobility and cavalry soldiers from as far a field as Portugal, France, and Italy would try and pit their equestrian skills against the experienced Gypsies. Very often with little success.

The fair itself was held on the dusty plains of Triana, which lay next to the canal the Moors had begun to dredge before their expulsion.

   Finished by the Christians it now connected the Rio Guadalquivir with Sevilla, simultaneously turning it into an inland port. This rough and ready fair, held under the blazing sun, with no rules and no official order, was a delight to all horse lovers.

  Leaving Sevilla, the Guadalquivir continued to widen. As it drew closer to the Atlantic, the surrounding country gradually became the dreaded swamplands of Las Marismas, or the tide-lands. Here salty Atlantic tides would meet the fresh water tides of the Guadalquivir, the result fourteen hundred square kilometres of swamps.

Habby remembered his childhood days, hunting the Northern geese which came to feed in this rich mineral area. Not only geese nested here, millions of birds from throughout Europe came here to breed and eat.

  When the rains cease after spring, the tide-lands are at their most treacherous. The scorching sun begins to dry out the vast plains. Carp and Bream are trapped in rapidly dissipating streams. Herons in their thousands feed of these carcasses, joined by lynx, fox and vulture. Then there are the ojo's, or eyes as they are called by the local hunters. These are inviting oasis surrounded by green grass, shrubs and small trees. In the rapidly drying lands, they promise water and shade but deliver only death. As parched animals (and many times humans) seek comfort and salvation in the ojo's, they find only treacherous quicksand almost impossible to pull away from. Within the space of a few hours only white bones remain, the vultures hovering soon see to that.

East, Habby recalled, you could only follow the river one hundred kilometres, to its starting point the great lake `del Tranco', two thousand metres up in the Sierra de Segura or safe mountains.

  Habby knew the river and surrounding country better then most men. In his lifetime he had ridden the full six hundred kilometres of the Guadalquivir. His own father, a renowned hunter and horseman had taken Habby on many excursions along the river.

As Habby grew older, he too rode with the Cabelleroes on their yearly horse round up. In later years, he would often go alone on hunting trips along the river bank, staying away sometimes two or three weeks by himself simply to be one with the country.

  Off all the places the Gypsies visited, Andialucia and the Guadalquivir in particular was Habby's favourite.

  There was a time in Habby's life when he thought of leaving the clan. It had been his intention to find a quiet place along the river and build himself a small home. He remembered this period vividly. It had only been the birth of his daughter that had finally persuaded him to stay.

  As Herreria quickened his pace, Habby instinctively urged his mount a little faster.

Many times Habby had tried to imagine what would have happened had he not remained with the clan.

  It was a little over fourteen years ago since she had been born. A sharp sense of guilt and shame ran through him as he recalled the events now running through his mind.

  Manana, his daughter. The greatest gift of his life. The one and only child of Francisco and Anito Lomez.

  As was the custom among the Gypsies, He had married Anito when still very young. He himself had been seventeen years of age, his bride only fourteen. For three years they tried to produce a child, then came the eagerly awaited day when Anito had announced she was expecting.

  Habby had rejoiced. "It will be a son" he had told her, "to continue my line".

Alas it was never to be. On the road from Perpingon, the Gypsy caravan had been attacked by a marauding band of mercenaries. In the ensuing battle, fourteen Gypsies had been killed, including three women and one child. Many more had been injured, his wife included. As a direct result of her injury, Anito had miscarried.

  At first Habby prayed for vengeance. Then as the years went by, he prayed only for another child, yet none was to come. As his wife remained barren, Habby sought help from the healer. Time and time again he approached her asking if she could cure the barrenness that now plagued his marriage. remedies were tried, both herbal and spiritual, always with the same result. No child was forth-coming. In Sants-Maria-de-la-mer on a holy pilgrimage, Habby had kissed the black Madonna, praying for her help. When that to failed, he started to grow bitter.

   He began to drink more. There was no doubt that he still loved his wife, yet still he blamed her for their inability to produce a child.

His marriage grew worse. Disagreements turned into flaming arguments. Things at which they had laughed over now turned into violent disputes and his temper grew shorter.

  It was one such trivial event, after Habby had drunken excessively, that it came to a violent conclusion. In a fit of self recrimination he beat up on his partner. Never before, despite his aggressive ways had he actually used physical violence on her. The next morning, he looked to Anito, her face bruised and inflamed filled him with revulsion and he wept with shame.