PIERRE THE WISE

which were lodged into the tendons and muscles. Placing her hands on the knee, she closed her eyes and resumed her strange incantation.

  The left knee presented a bigger problem. Repeating the same process as with the right, she set about trying to minimise the damage. It was nearly three hours later when she was satisfied with her efforts. Unfortunately, the kneecap had been so badly shattered, it was unlikely he would ever be able to stand on that leg again.

 At last, when she had finally finished with her administrations, she stood up and stumbled over to her bed, physically and mentally drained. Lying exhausted on her back, she whispered a quick prayer. Satisfied she had performed her duty with the gifts God had given her, she fell into a deep sleep.

  The weeks Pierre spent under Manolo's care soon turned into months. During this time, she forced him to undergo regular exercises to develop his muscles and ensure tendons and ligaments did not shrivel and become useless. The physical injuries began to heal steadily enough, but mentally the wounds were very deep, and Pierre would often relapse into a depressive state where he wished only that death had taken him.

Manolo for her part tried to comfort him, spending as much time and energy on his mental torment as the physical. She soon grew to love this bright young man, seeing in him the son she had always desired, but had rejected for her duties.

  After four months under her care, the splints around his legs and arm were removed. Shortly after, Pierre was able to rise from the bed for the first time, and with the help of Manolo was able to sit outside under a warm sun. At first, he could only rise for very short occasions, but daily these periods grew longer.

  A week before they were due to arrive in Barcelona, the Gypsies were making their way along the Rio Ter, twenty kilometres away from Girona. As they rounded a bend in the river, they came face to face with a band of English mercenaries, under the employ of the duke of that town.

  Over a hundred armed and dangerous men, renegades from their own country, surrounded the Gypsies and demanded they pay food and horses for passage. Unfortunately, none of the Gypsies could understand the atrociously poor and accented Spanish spoke by their leader. This inflamed him so much, that he was about to order his men to just take what they wanted and kill anyone who tried to stop them. As the mercenaries waited for his command, swords and muskets ready, the leader hesitated, as he watched in puzzlement a cripple hobbling towards them and shouting in English to stop this nonsense.

  Pierre who had overheard the mercenaries talking and understood their intent,  decided he must intervene. If it meant he would die first, so be it. At least his death would give the Gypsies a little more time to prepare their defence.

  Both parties watched apprehensively, as Pierre made his way to the mounted English captain and, in their own tongue, asked if they would allow him to translate what it was they required.

  The captain was no fool. He saw that the Gypsies had armed themselves and he had now lost the element of surprise. Dismounting, he approached Pierre and stated his demands. For twenty minutes, the two conversed out of earshot of both parties. Then both Pierre and the mercenary approached the lead wagons, where the Elders had now gathered.   Pierre told the clan leaders what they wanted, and, acting as translator for both sides a bargain was struck. Fresh horses and food were delivered to the captain. In return, the nomads received four muskets, some gunpowder and a nominal amount of silver. There was no doubt that the mercenaries had got the better of the bargain, but as Pierre told the Elders: Horses and food are in abundance for people who know the land, life though, is much harder to come by.

  That night, Pierre was asked to attend a meeting of the Elders. They thanked him for the aid he had rendered them that day and they would be honoured they told him, if he would consider staying with them permanently. As there were many foreign soldiers abroad in Southern Europe, he could act as translator and even teach some of the clan their languages. They also asked him if he would act as teacher to the children, teaching them (those who wanted) to understand the meaning of letters. In return for his services, they would feed, clothe and protect him, until such time as he decided to leave or death. Pierre accepted and became one of the clan.

It was many years later, before Pierre returned to Agui Mortes, to exercise some ghosts he carried within him. He learned that Countess Sylviee had died after taking a draught of poison when hearing of the fate of her lover. As for the Count, a year after his wifes death, he had been killed in a battle near Avingon and his eldest son now held sway over the Camargue.

  So Pierre remained with the Gypsies and continued to share the caravan with Manolo right up to her death, twenty five years on. He still lived in the same wagon, and had decided he would remain with his adopted people until death overtook him. His greatest sadness lay in the fact his painting had been destroyed, he had wished her beauty to have been immortalised. Now when ever he became depressed, he would remember his Countess and his painting, and his spirits would be raised. It was an ironic twist, that what had helped to destroy all that he loved, now served to keep him alive.

  Manana, sitting across from Pierre, had heard the story a few times. Pierre himself, often spoke of his Countess to her during the many lessons they had held together. In these lessons, he had taught her much, and she hoped today he would be able to give her the advice she desperately needed.

  It is so difficult, thought Manana. How can I possibly ask for answers, when I do not know the questions. Still clasping the hot tea between her hands, she tried to rationalise her worry.