THE ALTERED COURSE

BY:  ROSE CARR

CHAPTER ONE

Richelleen was sitting on the bank of the River Seine gazing at the dark running water of the river still swollen from the recent rains. The downpours had washed the streets clean and now there were almost no signs of the recent "disturbances" that had rocked the great city only a few days ago. She was tired for she and the people of her camp had been moving for days trying to stay out of the way of the soldiers and police who were swarming over the city. Her group had scattered to avoid capture and planned to meet at the bridge on the edge of the city as soon as it was safe. Though they had not been part of the recent rebellion, Gypsies were always fair game for the police.

Being beautiful made it easy for Richelleen to charm her way through the police lines. A striking woman of around 30, her figure was lush, her eyes dark and brilliant against creamy, ivory skin. She possessed an air of confidence and charm that could melt the most hardened of hearts.. The death and sadness she had witnessed in Paris broke her heart, but aside from tending to some wounded there was nothing she could do. She was glad they had left the city behind them.

Savoring the little time she had alone, she lay back against the soft green grass and started to drift off for a light nap when the sound of a loud crash snapped her upright. She looked around to see where the sound had come from and decided it had come from the direction of the river. Curious to see what had made such a noise she pushed herself up from the grass and walked nearer the river bank. Getting nearer she saw a mound of rubbish against the base of the bridge. What she saw, after her eyes adjusted to the shadows cast by bridge columns, alarmed her. It was a man tangled in the middle of the debris. Moving closer she could see his face, blanched, white and pale against the dark water.

Sadly she thought he must be dead, a victim of the recent Rebellion or the flooding waters. Crossing herself and saying a quick blessing for the dead she turned to leave when a faint whimper, like that of a weak kitten stopped her. Knowing it had to have come from the man in the water she whirled around and started wading out into the river, yelling for her Papa, who rested in a wagon at the top of the river bank road. Hearing his daughter's cries for help, Andre ran down the sloping bank and arrived at the river's edge just as Richelleen reached the man and had snagged the collar of his coat. Urging caution, Andre worked his way closer, grasped the man by the left arm and turned him so she could grip his other arm. They pulled together and managed to free him and drag him to the edge of the bank.

Andre had helped to rescue members of his camp during terrible floods before so he had some knowledge of what had to be done. He pushed the man over on his stomach and turned his head to the side. The stranger did not breathe and his lips were tinged with blue . . . hitting him sharply on the back brought movement and the man began to cough up dark spouts of water. He sputtered and suddenly his chest rose and fell with an intake of precious air. Andre continued to gently but firmly slap him on the back until the coughing eased and his breathing evened out.

Breaking the silence, Andre said "I think he will be all right Richelleen, but we must get him out of his wet clothes or he will fall ill from the cold."

Without waiting for him to finish, Richelleen was on her way to the wagon; she gathered quilts and soft cloths to dry him off, but did not find any suitable clothing for him to wear. They would have to come later, for now the quilts would do. Working in haste she and her father pulled off his leather boots, heavy coat and a suit of dark blue, fastened by large brass buttons. While she worked, Richelleen began to notice the man they were tending to and decided he was quite handsome. Strong clean features, wide shoulders and long silver hair, still partially tied in back with a narrow black ribbon. Turning him over on his back, and removing the last of his wet things, they covered him with the quilts and began rubbing his hands and feet that were still freezing cold.

Pushing his hair back from his forehead she noticed a gash running along the edge of his hairline from his right temple, down to his ear and into the edge of thick neatly trimmed sideburns. It had stopped bleeding long ago but the edges of the wound were swelling and had started turning a dark purple color. This worried her, as infection setting in from injuries such as this killed more people than the wound itself. She heard Andre's voice saying he was going to get help as he did not think they could move him to the wagon alone. She nodded her head and asked him to bring food, medicines and bandages from the wagon before he left.

Wiping his brow and speaking softly to her silent patient, she told him everything would be okay and that help was on the way . . . his eyes, fringed with impossibly long thick lashes, fluttered open and Richelleen caught a glimpse of their pale blue grey color before they closed again. She was glad that the Seine had not claimed him as a victim, for intuitively she knew he would be important to her and that there was much more to this incident than a simple drowning.

As Andre hurried to find two of his friends who had gone to the nearest shop for some supplies, he thought about what he had just done. He didn't worry about his daughter. She would be fine. She had always been able to take care of herself and the stranger posed no threat in his condition.

No, instead, he worried about the past few weeks in Paris. So many people dead or hurt due to the revolts by the young students. This man did not appear to be a soldier or student . . . and no papers were found on him. This was worrisome because Andre and his family were Gypsies and always treated with suspicion. He feared someone might suspect they had tried to rob and drown the stranger themselves, the mere thought of the Paris police quickened his footsteps.

As the old Gypsy hurried along the road, one might wonder that had the old man known the true identity of the stranger he had saved would he continue in his efforts to do so, or would he have left him to die?

While she waited for her father to return with help, Richelleen made a fire and heated some broth and water. As she treated the big man's wounded head, she could hear him mumble, but could make no sense of what he said. She hoped the wound was not worse than it looked and that her skills as a healer would be up to the challenge at hand.

He felt odd, remembering darkness and falling . . . being tossed about and then . . . nothing until he felt gentle soothing hands and heard a soft voice telling him it would be all right, but WHAT would be all right escaped him. For now he was warm and safe and the soft voice and hands returned to give him sips of water and thick delicious broth. A strong scent of herbs and a faint medicine smell came to him as the hands gently pressed and prodded his head . . . then the darkness would swallow him again.

Andre and two other men returned to help Richelleen get the stranger into her wagon. Though he was not known to them, it did not disturb them to put him in her wagon. Richelleen was always helping people, and anyone needing medical attention was brought to her wagon. What Roland, who fancied himself to be her suitor, would think of this arrangement remained to be seen.

Andre sat at the front of the wagon with Roland who was driving the team of horses and grumbling to himself. It made the old man chuckle because he knew that Roland's unhappiness was caused by the keen interest Richelleen was showing in her patient. Roland had wanted Richelleen for his own for some time now and he resented any interest she showed in other men, for any reason. For all his good looks and charm Roland, who could have had any other woman in camp, could not get Richelleen to fall under his spell. This was a blow to the younger man's vanity, and he had vowed he would not let his "prize" go to another.

Richelleen sat and watched her patient sleep. He was restless, but she knew that fevers did not make for easy sleep, so this did not worry her too much. She could not know it was his nightmares and not the fever that troubled the strangers sleep. He was crying and pulling on her skirt.

"Mama, Mama wake up!" Why didn't she move? "Mama, wake up the guards are coming, they will be angry with you for sleeping." A uniformed man came up to him and began tugging him away from her.

"Come young man, come with me. She is dead. You cannot help her. Come with me to the Warden, he will know what to do with you." "No" the young boy cried out, "I cannot leave her!"

The big man stirred and became agitated. Richelleen sat at the edge of the bed and took his hand and murmured words of comfort to him. His agitation grew. He pulled his hand away and yelled, "I will not, I will not!"

Richelleen pulled his hand back and grasped the other one and held them in hers, telling him he did not have to do anything, that she was there and it would be okay. She had whispered in Romany, the language spoken only by Gypsies, and was surprised that he seemed to understand, for he quieted and slipped back into sleep.

She laid his hands down and wrung out a cloth in cool water and wiped his face that was covered in cold sweat . . . whatever had been done to him must still be torturing him. Having seen the pain on his face and heard his cries she thought she would sleep by his bed tonight, she sensed he might be close to waking up and she did not want him to be alone. She moved her chair closer to the bed and leaned over and put her head on one arm and placed her other arm over him. With the palm of her hand lying flat upon his warm skin, she drifted off to sleep, comforted by the easy sound of his breathing and the rise and fall of his strong chest.

The caravan stopped for the day and made camp. They were in no great hurry as they were still two members short. Young Gaspar and Antoine had not been seen since they had gone into the heart of Paris and Andre thought they may have been arrested or worse, killed; still he wanted to move slow enough for them to catch up with the caravan if they were still alive. He had peeked into his wagon and seen Richelleen asleep by the strangers bed and let her be . . . he knew it would be useless for him to tell her to leave him anyway. He made his way to his own wagon and prepared for bed. The camp got quiet and as darkness fell, all seemed to be asleep.

Roland had felt his anger at Richelleen's interest in the stranger grow with each hour. Now as night fell, needing to see what was happening in her tent, he made his way to her wagon. Spurred on by an unreasonable jealousy, Roland opened the back door of her wagon and crept silently in.. Seeing Richelleen asleep next to the big man further enraged him. He sprang forward and grabbed her by the arms, pulling her up and away from the bed. "What are you doing with him?" he yelled. "Does he need you in his bed to cure him?"

"What, have you gone crazy Roland? How dare you make such an accusation?" She wrenched her arm free and slapped his face. In a rage Roland raised his hand to strike back at her. Suddenly a blood chilling cry rent the air and he felt his arm being wrenched backwards.

"I wouldn't do that Monsieur!" came a booming voice from behind him. For just a moment Richelleen saw surprise on Roland's face, then fear replaced it. Roland felt himself being spun around like a child, and looking up into the angry face of the biggest man he had ever seen. His knees grew weak and he would have fallen to the floor but for the viselike grip of the towering man.

Her champion was dark, tall and naked! Well built and judging by his reactions knew how to defend himself. His long silver hair fell loose and wild and hid much of his face. He looked to be a warrior of some ancient race come to life to save her. Oh, what was she thinking? She could not let the fight continue. She rushed forward and put herself between the two hostile men.

"Stop this!" Richelleen yelled. "Let him go, Monsieur! Please don't hurt him, or yourself. Let him go, please."

The big man looked at Richelleen and momentarily loosened his hold on the struggling young man.. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Roland jerked his arm free and bolted to the back of the wagon. Rubbing his forearm, he turned to Richelleen and spat out, "This is not over yet! Watch your pet closely, lest he meets the same fate he escaped at the river!"

Furious, Richelleen started after Roland but stopped when she heard her new "champion" cry out. "What has happened here? Where am . . . ?"

His voice trailed off and she saw him grab at his head and start to sway. She covered the distance between them in an instant, and placing her arms around his waist, she was able to guide him so that he fell back onto the bed instead of the floor. Grunting with effort she picked up his legs and swung them back onto the bed. Mon Dieu, she would kill Roland if his little jealous fit had caused her "champion" any further injuries. She would however, have to deal with that matter in the morning. For now she busied herself checking the big man's head wound for any signs of bleeding or swelling. Satisfied with his condition, she set her chair upright and moved it closer to the bed. She pillowed her arms on the edge of the bed and laid her head down. A smile came to her face as she remembered how the sleeping man looked as he rose to her defense. She made a mental note to get him his clothes in the morning, but for now she would not worry about it. Feeling the warmth of his body against her bare arms, and still smiling, she drifted off into a sound sleep. As Roland quietly hurried through the sleeping camp toward his own wagon, he was a little amazed that no one had heard the altercation in Richelleen's wagon. She did have Andre park her wagon away from the others, so he surmised that the distance helped muffle the sounds. He felt so stupid letting emotions explode like that. There was also shame in him for having attempted to strike her. He knew he had no real claim on her, but the sight of her with her arm around the sleeping man was more than he could stand. It had it ripped all reason from him. He would have to be smarter next time, control his jealousy, for it would only drive her closer to the big stranger. How would he undo the wrong he had just done? He needed a plan, but he realized he was just to tired to think about it anymore tonight Exhausted, he lay down near his camp fire and fell into a fitful sleep, for images of Richelleen and the stranger plagued him even in his dreams.

Gaspar was becoming more cramped, and colder by the minute. His hiding place seemed more a prison than the safe haven he once thought it was. He had been there for almost three days, only leaving when night fell to get food and drink. He had escaped a sweep of the bistro by Paris Gendarmes where he and Antoine had been drinking only a few days ago. Antoine had been arrested and loaded into a wagon and taken to the post on the Place du Chatalet. Gaspar had followed the police wagon at a safe distance and had been watching for a chance to see his friend. He had a glimpse of Antoine through the window of the post the night after he was arrested. He had started to go in and try to talk to the police Sergeant who was on duty, but as he started across the street corner he noticed a tall figure dressed in a dark blue great coat enter the police building...he heard the Sergeant address him as Monsieur the Inspector. Losing his nerve Gaspar decided against going ahead with his plan to see Antoine. He knew the caravan had left the city, but hoped they had not gone far. He could catch up with them and see what could be done to free Antoine. Roland would know what to do, he thought as he began walking.

The stranger slept well until the dreams came again. Images of him as a young man. . A young man, sitting alone in a small spartan room. Alone as he had been since his mother's death. His studies were complete, and he did not know what would happen to him now. Tears rolled down his face, tears he did not dare let his "Master" see. Hearing footsteps the young man wiped the tears away and faced the door expectantly. An old man appeared, "You will come with me now" he croaked. "Your studies are finished here and you will be sent to Toulon Prison to work as a guard."

"Toulon?" he said. "Please Monsieur, not Toulon, I don't want to go back there!"

"Nonsense", came the reply. "Gather your few things and come along, you will see that you feel at home there. After all you will be returning to your own kind. I have done my duty and now you must do yours." The old man gave an ugly laugh as he turned to leave. Feeling anger well up in him the young man rose from his seat, gathered his things and wished with all his might that he could put his young strong hands around the old man's scrawny neck, but no, he must be in control of his emotions, no one must ever know what he was feeling. The more people knew about you, the more they could hurt you. He vowed to himself that he would never be hurt again. The images blurred and faded, the darkness threatened to claim him again. Struggling to come out of the dream he awoke, trembling and in a cold sweat. It was early morning, but not yet light. He could hear the sound of muffled voices and the soft whinny of horses. Moving his head brought a throbbing pain to his temple. Reaching up he touched heavy bandages and was puzzled as to how they came to be there.

Pushing himself up into a sitting position his right hand came to rest on the shoulder of the sleeping Richelleen. Startled, he looked down to see a woman. Her slim shapely arms folded under her on the side of the bed. Her face was hidden under a mass of shiny curly black hair. Curious, he thought, a woman in his bedroom? If this was his bedroom. Looking around him he found he did not recognize this place at all. It looked as if were not in a room at all, but a wagon, and by the decor and her dress it was a Gypsy wagon. Completely mystified he decided to wake her up. Gently he shook her shoulder.

to be continued. . .

© 1997 Rose Carr

Contact the author:Rosematuse@aol.com

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