The Eagle & The Dove

  As Habby rode back to the camp, he could see from the shadows cast by the winter sun, that it was around midday. He had been reprimanding himself, since being thrown out of the field by Herreria.  Deep down, he knew that if the circumstances arose again, he would do exactly the same.  So there was no point in continually chastising himself. 

The fact that he hated Herreria, should not have clouded his judgement.  He had a high standing and responsibility in the clan, and he should be setting a good example.  He believed Herrera’s threat, regarding his work prospects in the valley.  The man had powerful friends.  Once he told other farmers about the incident, and the story spread around the taverns and Bodegas, Habby could be in serious trouble.  The farmers(and most of the inhabitants), hated the giant birds, and would punish anyone they thought sympathetic to the eagles.  Because of the hatred that existed between the inhabitants of the valley, and the Gypsies, an incident such as today, could spark off some ugly repercussions.

  He concluded, that the look of frustration he had seen in Herreria had been worth the loss of any job.  He would report to the other Elders tonight, the full facts of the situation.

  His own choices were pretty clear.  As he was an elder himself, he could more or less choose what he wanted to do.  The most obvious choice would be to remain around the camp, organising its day to day running.  There were hunting and foraging trips to arrange and take care of.  Provision needed to be collected and stored.  There was no end to the work that needed doing.  This would also relieve some of the ageing Elders from the more strenuous tasks.

  With his wife a healer/herbalist, and his daughter following the same path, Habby did not really worry about being a burden to the clan.  Despite the easy options that were open to him, Habby knew he would not remain in the camp.  Doing the work of old men or boys did not sound appealing to him.  He would pack his blanket and some supplies this evening, and tomorrow he would ride out of the valley, to seek work.  There was no shortage of work anywhere at this time of year, but Habby thought it prudent if he disappeared for a few weeks.  He realised his presence around the valley would not really be appreciated after today. 

  As Habby approached the village of Guadalvin, he slowed down the pace of his horse to an easy trot.  As to be expected, the village seemed empty of most of its inhabitants.  The majority of the men and women would be busy in the fields.  Each working their own, or another family members olive trees.  Only the Co-operative showed signs of life.  Mules and their drovers were constantly arriving.  Sacks stuffed with already harvested olives lay everywhere, waiting to be weighed then stored.  After depositing their loads, The drovers would spend a few minutes in idle chatter, before herding their mules and departing for the next load.

  Outside the Co-operative, and around the whitewashed houses nearby, old men and women had gathered to pass the day away.  Naturally, the two groups stayed separated.  The women, mostly dressed in black, huddled in small groups relating the latest gossip.  While the men, smoking old clay pipes, were happy just watching the world go by.  As Habby rode past the Co-operative, they all turned their heads to see who it might be.  When they saw it was only one of the Gitanos (as they called all Gypsies).  They immediately turned away again to resume what ever discussion they were having.  Some courteously nodded in greeting, and Habby duly returned the gesture.   

  As he was passing the co-operative, two children accompanied by a scruffy mongrel, suddenly ran from behind a house and right across his path.  The unexpected encounter startled both parties.  The mongrel playing with the children, in a show of bravado, ran snapping and growling at the horses' heels but being careful not to get within kicking range.  The horse became skittish, but with a few tugs of the rein, and some gentle words, Habby immediately calmed his mount.  The children aware of the mischief they had caused, now stopped to stare with frank honesty at the Gypsy.  The look they gave was a mixture of awe and fear.  Here was a real Gitano.  One of the dangerous people their parents always warned them about.  To show there was no hard feelings.  Habby smiled and nodded his head towards the children.   This was to much for the children.  With a look of pure terror, they scampered away behind some houses.  The dog gave a final growl, then he to disappeared in the same direction.    

  Through all this, Habby rode upright and tried to affect an air of indifference.  He was under no illusion as to what the villagers really thought of him.   He was sure, that come the morning, after news of today’s events had been relayed around the valley,  the inhabitants would be a lot more hostile.

  As he neared the end of the narrow street that comprised the main body of the village of Guadalvin, he spotted the Bodega.  It’s large stable like door hung wide ajar, indicated that it was open for the business of selling wine to thirsty villagers.  Outside the Bodega, two upright poles with a vertical length lashed waist high were sunk into the street.  Here customers could tie their horses or donkeys, while they refreshed themselves inside.  Habby dismounted and led his mount to the hitching post.  After securing the reins to the post, he took a two litre ox skin canteen from his saddlebag.  Shaking it once, he then removed the cork stopper and poured what little water remained onto the dusty street.

  Although not a heavy drinker anymore, he still liked a few glasses of wine.  This Bodega stocked a fruity red Valdepeneian wine that was particularly pleasant.  It would relieve the loneliness of being away from his family, when he left the valley to find work.  Entering the Bodega, his nostrils were immediately assailed by the smell of strong tobacco and earthy wine aromas.  After the relatively bright sunlight, his eyes took some time to adjust to this new gloomy interior.  In the far corner, three old men sat smoking pipes and conversing.  Their conversation halted abruptly as Habby entered.  Besides the old men, the proprietor was the only other person inside.  He was leaning against a large cask of wine, with the same look that effected innkeeper's world wide.  It was a look of pure boredom and disinterest.  As Habby walked over to the bar counter, the innkeeper's expression changed to a look of annoyance, that someone should disturb his hard earned boredom.

  Placing his hands directly on the bar counter, Habby surveyed the choice of wines available.  Racked behind the bar, were a variety of wooden casks, in sizes ranging from ten litres to the more common hundred litre ones. Each cask was marked with a drawing that indicated it’s place of origin, type of wine and the price per litre.  Handing over his canteen, Habby asked for it to be filled with rouge de valdapenas.  He also ordered a goblet to drink now and some tapa’s, pointing to the large plate of tortilla behind the bar.  As the bar keeper moved reluctantly to fill Habby’s order, he did so with a sigh that spoke volumes about his desire to do so.  Ignoring him, Habby turned to survey the bar once more.