Roman Read online

  Something orange and black and white that walked on silent paws eyed the man in the cart bed with ill-concealed malice and a flick of its whiskered cheek pads.

  The moment Roman realized the nature of the beast that threatened van Groen was the moment the tiger noticed Roman, lying on his stomach on the ground. It swung its head from the cart and gave a little start, crouching down and testing the ground with one paw, perhaps waiting to see if he would run.

  Which was precisely what Roman intended to do.

  He raised up slowly onto his hands and knees. He’d never been a swift runner, but if he, like the crowd that had run, could make it to the labyrinth of wagons, perhaps he would be safe. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Isra, standing as if frozen, the donkey pulling backward away from its bridle, little sounds of distress emanating from her barrel chest.

  Isra was staring directly at the tiger. Roman turned his head back.

  The tiger was staring directly at him.

  A loud bray broke the tense silence, and then the thumping of hooves in soft dirt. He wanted to turn around to see if Isra had also fled, for he would not run past her and leave her to the tiger. His question was answered in the next moment when she called out to him.

  “Do not move, I pray thee, my lord,” she said. Her voice grew louder, as if she was moving toward him. “Remember the words of the wise Wynn.”

  It could not be possible that she was coming closer. Surely she had seen that there was a tiger preparing to eat him.

  “Asa van Groen!” she called out in a sharp voice. “Throw me your whip, and also a staff from the driver’s seat.”

  “There are two—” the man began.

  “Either one. Quickly.”

  Roman wanted to turn his head to see what Isra was about, but he was mesmerized by the big animal staring him down. The tiger flicked its eyes over Roman’s back, as if also interested in the activities of the woman behind him.

  “Isra,” Roman tried in a low voice, “you must find a safe place to hide. You have not come so far to be mauled by a beast.”

  “It is only a tiger,” Isra replied in a strangely calm tone. “A mismanaged tiger, from what I have witnessed. What is it called?”

  “Kahn,” Van Groen said.

  “Where is its home?”

  “That wagon behind him.”

  “Ensure that the door is open and ready to receive him,” Isra commanded.

  Roman heard the scrabbling of feet against wood, then the thump of boots landing in the dirt.

  “Isra,” Roman called out warily.

  “Shh, my lord,” she said, her voice directly above him now.

  Roman saw the shift in the tiger’s attention as Isra’s skirts swished by his arm and then before his face, blocking his view of the animal.

  “I’m not certain this is the best time to test Brother Wynn’s methods.”

  “If not now, when?” she replied, and Roman could have sworn he heard a smile in the woman’s voice. It was gone when next she spoke.

  The whip cracked twice in quick succession. “Hie, Kahn! Hie! Hie now!” And Isra’s slippers began to move away from him.

  Chapter 9

  The tiger was bigger than Princess, even though his matted coat seemed to hang on his large bones like a once magnificent rug neglected for decades, the pattern of stripes muddy, the colors dull. Even the white tufts around the sides of his head were yellowed.

  “Hie, Kahn!” she called out again and cracked the whip in her right hand as she continued to move slowly, slowly toward the animal. She held both arms away from her now, the staff—perhaps four feet long end to end—feeling weighty and solid in her grip.

  The tiger crouched down and flashed his teeth at her. Isra thought he could be missing several, and she wondered how old he was, what sort of mistreatment he’d suffered at the hands of the people currently hiding from him, or others before them.

  She came to a stop, observing that Kahn was refusing to retreat and needing a breath to plan her next move. Isra glanced over the tiger and saw the rear of a wooden wagon with a tall, rectangular box for a bed. An equally tall door stood open and a ramp led from the black interior to the ground. Asa van Groen stood behind the open door, both of his black boots balancing him on the top of one of the wagon’s rear wheels.

  She needed the tiger to back up or turn around. Advancing on him was clearly not working, and if she should press the issue, Isra was fairly certain the animal was prepared to show her that his remaining teeth still served him in a satisfactory manner. She thought back to when she’d first seen Brother Wynn bringing Princess out into the gallery. He’d never driven or backed her; he’d guided her.

  Isra crossed her left foot behind her right and began a slow, sidling semicircle around the tiger, who was now between Isra and the little two-wheeled cart. “Kahn!” she shouted, and then remembered the albino cracking the whip in the opposite direction from where he wished his tiger to go. But she doubted she could make the whip sound should she move it into her left hand.

  She raised the staff with her left arm and swung it down as hard as she could against the cart. The tiger sprang to her right, away from the staff, and again showed her his teeth, but he, too, was now doing a cross step with his wide front paws, mirroring Isra’s movements.

  “Yes,” she said in a steady voice. “Nothing for you out here; back to your safe home. Hie, Kahn!” she shouted, and whipped the staff down again, only this time it whistled against the air.

  The tiger sidled away farther toward the wagon, the ramp of which was perhaps only ten paces from the animal. Kahn was perpendicular to her now and so Isra cracked the whip, causing the tiger to swing fully toward the ramp and continue on in a slow, deliberate pace. He hesitated at the bottom of the ramp, but after a glance over his sliding shoulders at Isra—who cracked the whip again—he leaped up the ramp in two bounds. Asa van Groen slammed the door to the wagon shut.

  Even as cheers erupted behind her, the brief glance she’d gotten of the inside of Kahn’s wagon was seared into Isra’s mind: the filthy floor crusted with excrement, rotting vegetables strewn about in piles, the buzzing of insects that should have died out with the season.

  The image was jostled from her immediate attention as she felt herself being hoisted up through the air by many hands until she was riding atop a pair of shoulders, one of them Isra was quite certain belonging to a man Roman had bested only a pair of hours before.

  She saw him standing there beyond the crowd with Lou once more perched near his ear, people still running past him toward her, whooping and shouting their delight at her success. But Isra paid none of them any heed; she couldn’t look away from the huge blond man and his falcon, his vivid eyes seeming to light up the dreary clearing as he sent her a crooked smile.

  Her fingers were clasped and she was lowered to her feet, and Asa van Groen was bowing over her hand. Isra looked past his rounded back in time to catch Roman’s frown and see him begin to walk toward her.

  “A thousand thank-yous, mistress,” van Groen said. “How can we ever repay you for saving us? Name any prize and it shall be yours.”

  And then Isra remembered what she had seen inside the tiger’s wagon.

  She snatched her fingers away from the dark-haired man’s grasp just as it seemed he’d been about to place his lips on the back of her hand. When he raised his unnaturally pale face to look at her, Isra slapped his cheek.

  The crowd gasped and moved a step closer en masse, but van Groen raised the hand not pressed to his face.

  “No, let her have her say. She deserves at least that.” He dropped both his hands and looked at her. “Although it was indeed one of our own, I didn’t steal your things, nor did I order them stolen.”

  Roman had paused a pair of steps from her when she’d struck the man, but now he came to her side, grasping her right forearm gently, urging her to look up at him.

  His gaze was serious. “I’ll ready the wagon.” But he did not leave her. Isra rea
lized he was asking if she wanted him to stay and intervene for her with van Groen.

  He was asking her.

  “As you wish,” she said, giving him a nod. She thought she felt him squeeze her flesh before his hand fell away and he moved to the cart. Isra faced Asa van Groen.

  “How long have you had possession of the tiger, and from where did you get him?” she demanded in a clear voice.

  His eyes widened and he blinked away the expression. “Kahn’s been with us for two months; we bought him from a pelt trader when he realized the old tapestry wouldn’t bring as much as we would pay. He’s been our greatest attraction.” Asa’s thin mouth quirked as he added, “When he cooperates.”

  Isra had felt her eyebrows drawing closer together the longer the man spoke. “Your greatest attraction?” she asked.

  “Of course, mistress.” The man smiled and then spread his arms, indicating that Isra should look around her. “Think you we travel in such a manner only for pleasure?”

  And she did see, finally, now that her attention was not completely taken up with either Roman being attacked or trying to corral a deadly beast into a cage. She noticed that all the wagons pulled in a wide circle in the clearing bore the same kinds of wild, colorful decoration. And then she noticed the people—or rather the anomalies—in the crowd.

  A bearded individual nearly as tall as Roman but twice as wide, and wearing a lovely gown.

  A hunter, perhaps, dressed all in green with his quiver at the ready on his back.

  A woman holding in her arms four of the smallest dogs Isra had ever seen, while at least four more ran about her ankles.

  The old hag who had tended the fire, hunched near the front of the crowd and watching everything with keen amusement.

  The variety was too much for Isra to comprehend and so she looked back to Asa van Groen. He lay his hand upon his heart as he had done earlier and stretched out his left arm.

  “Welcome, dear friends, to van Groen’s Magical Mankind Menagerie!” he announced, and then gave Isra a bow. He grinned at her as he rose. “Of course we now have Kahn, so I am considering removing Mankind from the name.”

  Isra ignored his display. “What are you feeding him?”

  Asa looked at her sideways for a moment. “Whatever we have left over, mistress. You must understand, life in a circus is not the luxury you likely think it to be. Although I’m certain we appear quite—”

  “Tigers eat flesh,” Isra interrupted. “You are fortunate you have not yet ended up as Kahn’s supper. He is starving. The wagon in which you keep him is a disgrace. It is little wonder he wishes to kill you. Or die himself,” she emphasized.

  “No, no—he can’t die,” Asa rushed. “We—all of us—used the last coin we had to purchase him.”

  “Then someone needs to go into the wood and find him something to eat.”

  “Now?” Asa asked.

  “Now.”

  “But,” the man hesitated, “we don’t have permission to be here, you see. It’s one thing to stop overnight, quite another to poach animals from a lordship’s lands. Trust me—they can get very touchy.”

  Isra only stared at the man.

  Asa sighed and then looked over her head and behind him, scanning the crowd. “Dracus!” he called.

  The hunter in green stepped forward. “Yes, boss.”

  “The queen demands her tiger have fresh meat,” he said, grinning at Isra as he spoke.

  She did not return his smile.

  The man nodded and reached his hand behind his neck, pulling an arrow from his quiver. “May I take some for us all?”

  “Better not.” Asa frowned. “Just Kahn for now.”

  “Yes, boss.” The man called Dracus moved from the crowd.

  “There,” he said, turning toward her once more. “That should make you more—”

  “His wagon must be cleaned,” Isra interrupted.

  He rolled his lips inward for a moment. “When you say ‘must be cleaned,’ you mean . . . ?”

  “I mean someone needs to shovel out the excrement, scrub the floors and walls and ceiling with soap and water and a stiff brush, and then put some bedding down for him to lie on.”

  “You’re quite concerned about him, aren’t you?”

  “I would think you be at least as concerned if you hope to use him to earn back the coin you paid for him.” Roman joined them then, and he must have seen the distress on Isra’s face.

  “What is it?” Roman asked, and then he turned his face to Asa van Groen. “What have you done?”

  The man clapped his palms to his chest and made his eyes wide. “I’ve done nothing at all, I assure you, large fellow. But I am dumbfounded at the ideas your woman—”

  “She’s not my woman,” Roman interrupted.

  “Your . . . ?” Asa led, but both Roman and Isra let him dangle. “Oh, fine, then.” He looked only to Isra now. “If you won’t tell me your name, then I will continue to call you queen, which is what I wish to call you any matter. It’s as if God himself has sent you to us. It’s why I asked you if you were Egyptian earlier. And then you return and direct Kahn as if he has been yours since he was only a kit!”

  “What are you talking about?” Isra demanded.

  “We need someone capable of showing Kahn. We have had some success leaving him in the wagon behind a curtain and charging a penny just to see him, but not many believe he’s real as all he does is lie in a corner. They eventually throw things at him through the bars.”

  Isra felt her ire rising again.

  “If you will stay with us, travel with us however far you are going and train a replacement, I will allow you to keep half of whatever Kahn earns.”

  “You want me to show Kahn?” she repeated. “To whom?”

  “The towns and villages we pass through,” Asa exclaimed, and Isra could see the man was becoming excited at the idea. “Perhaps then we might be more frequently granted audience with higher nobles and perform for the courts. I know we could with you—with the Egyptian queen and Kahn!” Asa stood and announced this with such a flourish it was as if he was already before spectators. Isra wondered if the man was ever not performing.

  Roman grasped her elbow and leaned his big body between Isra and Asa’s. “No. Good-bye.”

  Roman turned, and although he indicated the direction in which she should go, he didn’t pull her or force her. And so Isra went with him, even though she felt a tugging in her heart coming from the direction of the dark, quiet wagon.

  “Wait!” Asa called out and ran around to stand in front of Roman. “Wait! Only think of the opportunity I am offering. You can travel in comfort and safety, earning coin along the way rather than spending it.”

  Roman reached out and swept the smaller man from their path with one swipe of his arm.

  But Asa van Groen popped back up in an instant, like a fly that couldn’t quite be swatted flat. “At least tell me where you are going,” he said. “Perhaps it’s fated to be. If we have the same destination, it would be foolish to refuse!”

  “Oh, certainly,” Roman said with a roll of his eyes. “And there is no chance that no matter where I say we are traveling, that will be your destination as well.”

  “I’ll go first, then,” Asa volunteered and then swallowed, took a deep breath, and wiped his palms on his chausses. “Van Groen’s Menagerie is traveling south through Venice and then along the coast. We hope to make Constantinople by spring.”

  Isra looked to Roman’s face. She knew her eyes were wide.

  But Roman only blinked. “Sorry to disappoint you. We’re only traveling as far as Venice.” He looked down at Isra. “Are you ready?”

  She forced herself to nod, and Roman led her to the cart and helped her onto the driver’s seat. The censer was again hung but not yet lit; likely it needed a good scrub. The bell lay on the floor of the driver’s perch, and Isra handed the missing staff to Roman, who walked around the wagon and slid it into place. He took the bell and hung it, tying it off carefu
lly.

  Isra could not keep her eyes from going to the still, lonely wagon into which the tiger had disappeared. The barred window was dark. She fancied she could smell the animal’s wretched quarters from where she sat.

  He probably wouldn’t live out the fortnight.

  The wagon rocked as Roman and Lou gained the seat beside her, and Isra wondered how long she would be allowed to ride with him out in the open for anyone to see.

  Likely only as long as it took them to gain the road.

  Roman glanced at her as he shook the reins and the donkey began to turn the cart. He looked back to her. “What?”

  “Nothing, my lord,” she said, looking away into the trees.

  The crowd was parting, but slowly, as though reluctant to let them through.

  “But perhaps he had a point,” she said.

  Roman looked at her again. “You want to stay?”

  “Have you given it your true consideration, or is your opinion colored by the fact that you have decided you simply do not care for the man? They are traveling to Constantinople, my lord,” she leaned over to whisper into his biceps.

  “I’m not your lord.” Roman looked over the head of the donkey. “You think I’m being stubborn.”

  “I would never think that of you. My lord.” Isra rolled her lips inward and bit down on them.

  “Hmph,” he said. “I don’t much care for him; you’re right. But we might have better cover, if he can keep the lot of them out of jail.”

  “And you would not have to play at being a monk,” she suggested. “Although it would mean completely abandoning the plan your friends have made for you.”

  Roman pulled the donkey to a halt and they both looked over their shoulders at the crowd standing in the clearing, staring after them mournfully.

  They looked back to each other at the same moment.

  Chapter 10

  Although Roman had convinced himself that he disliked Asa van Groen from the first moment he’d seen the man, he had to admit that the leader of the strange band of travelers had a way of getting things done.