Père Follet sat behind a large desk, the folds around his eyes creased as he read the official documents before him. A few
times the Père glanced up at Guillaume, the scowl grew deeper as he examined the boy. Once or twice the old man’s lips
pursed into a tight frown before he released a slight tsking sound from his thin lips.
“Up until this point, you were raised by a hedonist mother,” Père Follet stated as he abruptly closed the file and stood up from
the desk.
Not understanding the older man, Guillaume glanced up at the younger priest who had ushered him into the office. The
younger priest gazed down with compassion as his hand lightly brushed through the boy’s hair.
“Père Marcon, leave us,” the old man ordered as he stood towering over Guillaume.
“Mon Père, I was told that I would…” but before the younger priest could finish his sentence, the head of the orphanage cast
him a sharp glance. At his steely glare, the novice stammered before growing mute. With head bowed in defeat, the younger
man nodded before leaving the new charge alone with the headmaster.
“You were no doubt coddled by your…un-wed mother,” Père Follet stated as he moved to his desk and removed an item
from concealment. “You will learn that there will be no coddling for you here. There will be expectations placed upon you,
boy, and you will obey them or be punished for insolence. Today will be your first lesson,” the tall man stated as he moved
before the small child. The short paddle in hand was easily balanced as he gazed down, the corners of his lips slightly
upturned in the closest thing that resembled a smile.
On that first day Guillaume learned what it meant to be punished. He was allowed to feel the stinging pain so that it would
remain with him throughout his stay in the orphanage. Although he did not know what he did wrong, he knew better than to
argue or question this new world that he was suddenly thrown into…
As Guillaume oversaw the movements of his circus family, he remembered back to that time from long ago. It was not
common for him to dwell upon the sorrows of his childhood, but when they did recur he could not help but have a melancholy
heart. That first beating that he experienced was one of many incurred while in the orphanage. Although there were many
priests who attempted to shield the boys from the headmaster’s wrath, at times it seemed as if Père Follet would not be sated
lest he incur his wrath upon one boy or another.
“Hey, Bengalo, so keres? Devilish, what are you doing?” a voice shouted out to him. When he glanced up and saw his
childhood friend walking towards him, a smile crossed Guillaume’s lips. Stephan was the closest thing to a brother that he
had. Together, they lived in the orphanage at Saint Etienne and when it came time for them to run away, it was only natural
that they went together.
Unlike Guillaume, Stephan grew to be a man of medium height. His build was muscular and his frame solid. Like Guillaume,
Stephan had honed his muscles from the hard work in the circus. Although they were both gadjos, non-Gypsies, they were
easily accepted into the Gypsy clan. Because they were so young when they entered into the Gypsy fold it was easy for them
to assimilate to the new life and freedom of the wandering clan.
“Look at you, Bengalo, lounging around like you haven’t a care in world!” Stephan chuckled as his shoulder length brown
hair was blowing in the wind. In a casual manner Stephan wrapped an arm easily over Guillaume’s shoulder. At his friendly
mannerism Guillaume’s lips curved into a smile.
“I was just remembering our times at the orphanage,” Guillaume said under his breath. Stephan stopped in his tracks and
looked at his friend. The corner of his hazel eyes crinkled as his gaze grew deeper. With a nod of understanding for their
shared past, Stephan looked away as his voice grew solemn.
“Guillaume, that was the past – a very painful past. We should try to not dwell on such unpleasant memories. After all,
everything turned out all right, did it not? Why, look at you, Bengalo,” Stephan used the nickname that had been given to him
by the circus family. “Not only have you grown taller than your protector,” the stocky man pounded his own chest and then
added, “but you’ve become the Queen’s consort!”
Before he realized it, Stephan grappled with him and pulled him down into a head lock. Stifling his laughter, Guillaume tried to
break free, but felt the short man’s grip tightening until all he could do was pat his adversary on the back. With fits of laughter
they broke apart as they clung to each other like old friends.
“Binak, my twin,” Guillaume used a nickname that only he called Stephan. “Do not tell me that you envy my position. I did
not seek it nor would I covet it from another,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“Bah!” Stephan guffawed as he gently nudged the taller man in the ribs. “Me, envious of you?” his thick brows rose up in a
question.
At the sounds of women’s voices nearby, they both turned and watched as the women were supervising the setup of the crew’
s dinner tent. Amongst the group was a short beauty, her long dark hair flew in the wind in gentle waves. Her body was
stout, yet perfectly formed and her gentle curves were enhanced by soft warm bosoms and slightly wide hips. On many
occasions Guillaume had held fast to her hips as he made such sweet love to her welcoming body. Her arms concealed
muscles that could be used for either carrying wandering children or holding him close against her breasts.
“Now who would be envious of you, Bengalo? You are a consort to the Queen and a mate to that chey zuhho,” Stephan
referred to the pureness of her Gypsy heritage, which caused a slight smile to cross Guillaume’s lips. “Think of it, my brother,
who among us have caught the favor of the Queen and one such as that chey, that girl?” the shorter man’s voice lowered to a
whisper, “just the image’s of being able to service her majesty by night, and that young colt by day, it is a treasure only given
to a king!”
A heat crossed Guillaume’s face as the images of his exploits passed his vision. Yes, he had to admit that when it came to
love, he was a very lucky man. As a gadjo, an outsider, he knew from the moment the circus took him in that he had to work
twice as hard to win the Gypsies’ favor. No, they did not force him to work hard. Unlike the orphanage, the circus family
accepted him even though he was nothing more than a scrawny runaway. It was his own incentive that made him want to
work hard for his new family and this plan played out well. Not only was he accepted into the Kumpania, the family unit, but
he was chosen by the Queen herself to be her consort. This was an honor he never thought he would earn.
Before his mind could wander too far, a muted scream rose from a distant vehicle. Instantly alert, Guillaume glanced toward
his mistress’ domain. The hair rose on the back of his neck at the all too familiar sound. He did not have to ask but knew
what had happened. Ignoring Stephan’s earlier comments, his long legs began to instinctively run toward the white vehicle
while he gazed around the area for any signs of intruders. Fear caused his heart to beat uncontrollably as the beads of sweat
plastered his cotton, long sleeve shirt against his torso. As he bounded toward the sounds of death, he glanced up at the
glaring afternoon sun. Guillaume’s eyes closed to slits against the blinding rays as the suffocating heat beat over his tired flesh.
Like him, Stephan’s fear for their Queen spurred him into action. The shorter man’s muscular legs kept up with Guillaume’s
longer strides. Although he did not look it, he knew that Stephan’s muscles were flexing for trouble. The sudden commotion
caught the attention of the men nearby. Following suit, the burly circus men quickly followed close behind them. Each man
was ready to fight, and if need by, die for their Queen.
From somewhere in the commotion, Tonino, the head crewman, joined them. He ran beside them with quick steps. Large of
girth, yet built solidly from his years of setting up the tents, Tonino was as tall as Guillaume. But where Guillaume was slender
and wiry, Tonino was wide like a giant tree. His chest was twice the size of the Queen’s consort and his biceps, accustomed
to heavy lifting, were large and solid. While Tonino never boasted of his own strength, Guillaume knew that no man could
best him in physical combat. Despite his strength Tonino had one failing that resided within his heart. While the Gypsy loved
his Queen dearly, another part of Tonino feared her immense powers. With each step Tonino took the fear seeped from his
pores.
“Santa Maria,” Tonino whisper softly as he unconsciously made the sign of the cross.
Guillaume stared at the man with distaste. He noticed the burly worker’s lips mouthing the superstitious words beneath a
neatly trimmed goatee. His silent prayers were unheard through the commotion of the men. At the sight of the praying man,
Guillaume turned away, a frown settled across his face.
No matter how long he lived, he would never be used to the sight of such open devotion for a religion that saw him and his
circus kin as unholy and it was twice as hard to understand when it existed within some of the Gypsies. Of all the people in
the world to accept such non-sense, he could not understand why those in the Kumpania would follow the religion of a dead
god. Ever since leaving the orphanage Guillaume left behind the world of the Church. The saints and crucified god were
nothing more to him. When he learned the true nature of their Queen, he grew even more distant from the beliefs that would
view her as a demon.
No, the Church was not his friend, so why would he call upon the saints for protection? Why would he rely on an invisible
entity when he could do it for himself, he always asked, yet kept his own thoughts closely guarded. Despite his reticence
Guillaume understood the need for some people to call upon the protectors of the Church. But even so, he did not always
like it especially when it revealed itself in such a distasteful display of emotions.
As if hearing his thoughts, Tonino gulped nervously as he cast Guillaume a shy glance. A crimson blush covered the man’s
ruddy cheeks as he quickly looked away. A low mumble of an apology came from him before his thin lips grew screwed into
a tight line.
Guillaume did not give the man another thought. Instead, he continued to make his way toward his mistress’ abode. The
sounds of footfalls mixed together with the voices of the workers as they hurried toward the single commotion. Those who
stood on the sidelines grew deathly silent as the procession passed by, their eyes darted from the group of men, to the single
vehicle that sat nestled in the middle of the caravan. Like him, many were unaccustomed to the shrill cries of death, especially
when it occurred in the middle of the day. As he ignored their silent questions he made his way toward his mistress. He felt
their eyes glance nervously at him before hastily turning away.
From the crowd came the high pitched squeal and a rapid succession of questions from the circus manager. The short, pudgy
ringmaster pushed his way past the women and quickly followed the group of men. He ran beside them in short little gaits.
Each step he took sent his round body jiggling as his labored breathing wheezed from exertion. Renaldo was not only the ring
master of the circus, but he was also considered the owner and as such all legal responsibilities for the circus fell upon his
shoulders. Despite this auspicious title, everyone knew that it was Guillaume whom Renaldo turned to for advice.
Looking down at the little man Guillaume watched the ringmaster with a tinge of amusement. The sight of his round, pudgy
body wiggling with each step might have caused him laughter on a different day. Today it only caused an already deep-set
frown to harden on Guillaume’s features as the short, round man tried to keep up.
“Guillaume, it’s happened again!” Renaldo exclaimed as he grabbed a hold of the taller man’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.
Nervously the fat man paced from foot to foot. His face was a mask of fear as he nervously tugged at the tips of his long, thin
moustache. In the light of the afternoon sun, Guillaume noticed the streaks of gray within the older man’s jet black hair as
beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and double chin.
“What are we to do?” the ringmaster all but cried as he unconsciously gulped and whipped the sweat from his face. “It’s
happened again, Guillaume! What are we to do? It cannot happen in every town we go to, don’t you understand? This is
such a mess!” Renaldo blubbered as he turned his attention away from his sweat and began to wring his hands together.
“Shut up, you fool!” Guillaume hissed as he tried to contain his anger. “If you had posted a watch, as I suggested, this
would’ve never happened,” the Queen’s consort reminded the older man before moving toward his mistress’ vehicle.
“We are shorthanded as it is, Guillaume, how am I to put someone nearby when every hand that can work in the sun is
already working?” Renaldo whined as he tried to keep up with the group of men. “We must be prepared for the inspection
tomorrow! If we do not pass the city’s code…” the man let his words trail off ominously.
