Disclaimer: The characters in this story are copyrights of Paramount and Fireworks Productions. No infringement is intended. This story plot is original and copyright of the author, Maril Swan.

The Lovers

by Maril Swan

Part Two

The afternoon passed quickly in the camp as the gitano entertained their guests with food and their warm hospitality. Toward dusk, Tessa became restive, and Marta knew what was on her mind. She must put away the guise of the genial señorita, and take on the mask of the Queen of Swords. Tessa arose from a group of women, and said, "I must go back to my villa now. There are matters I must attend to." Marta began to rise too, but Tessa stopped her with a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Stay here a while longer, Marta. You won't get this chance again soon. I'll come back later tonight."

Marta took Tessa's hand and pressed it fondly. "Be careful," she whispered. Tessa responded with a quick squeeze to Marta's hand and then, striding to her horse, mounted and rode away. Marta watched for several minutes as the rider disappeared, the enjoyment of the day dimmed by what might come in the night.

She was shaken from her reverie by a gitano woman, Lucia whose florid and weathered face grinned as she said, "Marta, you are far away." Lucia laughed, a throaty infectious sound, making Marta smile. Lucia looked off in the direction Tessa had taken, her face serious. "Marta, you should stay with us. You belong with your people, not with the payos. Why be a servant when you can be free?"

"I am free. I can leave if I choose. But I must follow my destiny, and that of another," Marta said.

"She doesn't need you. She is rich. Soon she will marry one of her own kind, have babies. What will you have? When will you begin your own life?" Lucia's maternal feelings were aroused by this younger woman, one of their people, who seemed lost among the payos.

Marta laughed softly, patting Lucia's arm. "This is my life," she said gesturing widely at the land. "It is all I want."

Their conversation was interrupted by the strumming of a guitar as the player, a young man, stepped into the light of the campfire. His fingers began a rapid-fire cascade of notes, and the strings flashed like lightning. His handsome, boyish face was concentrated on the music, almost oblivious to the shouts of praise and encouragement of the others. He finished with a flourish, and a wide grin. Somewhat abashed, he bowed to Marta, and offered her the guitar with an encouraging look.

She shook her head, and said, "I do not play the guitar, and certainly not after such a performance. Play another." The guitarist, Rodrigo, began a folk dance tune, and soon the camp rang with music and laughter, as the gitano gave themselves over wholly to the celebration of life, wherever they might find themselves. Marta danced to exhaustion, finally sitting down again beside Lucia who refilled her wine cup. Her face was flushed with enjoyment as she said to Lucia, "It has been so long. I had almost forgotten there could be so much joy."

Léon stepped forward with his violin and offered it to Marta. At first, she was reluctant, but then arose and took the instrument. "I haven't played in a long while," she said to the group. "My uncle Tonio taught me when I was a girl. Here is a tune he wrote." Tucking the violin under her chin, she stroked the strings tentatively, evoking some awkward squawks at first, causing a few chuckles including her own. She closed her eyes and let her body remember as the tune wove through her mind and into her hands. A sonorous, sad melody flowed from the violin and Marta sighed with pleasure as she recalled the many times she had played this tune for her own people in Andalusia.

The melody ended and Marta tried to return the instrument to Léon, but he said, "That was beautiful, Marta. Perhaps you could teach it to me. Please, play us another." Marta searched her memory and then smiled, striking up a lively folk dance they all knew, and soon they were clapping and dancing again. She returned the violin to Léon, and went back to sit by Lucia.

"You belong with us, Marta." the older woman said. "Your soul is here, with your people. How lonely you must be among the payos."

"I am not lonely at all, Lucia. But I do miss this," Marta whispered, glancing around the camp, watching the dancers. Rodrigo began a flamenco tune, and the gitano, their blood fired by the music and wine, clapped and shouted as a man and woman began to dance. Others joined them, and Lucia said to Marta, "Go and dance with them. I am too old, but you are still young. Dance while you can." Timidly at first, Marta went toward the dancers, who grinned at her with welcoming smiles. Then she let the music carry her into that realm where nothing existed but the dance, and gave herself up wholly to flamenco.

Exhilarated, Marta dropped beside Lucia once more, and drank some wine. She realized she was getting light-headed. Looking up, she noted the position of the constellations, and said, "It is getting late. I must go back to the villa." Guiltily, she remembered that Tessa was somewhere out there in the dark, perhaps risking her life, perhaps in trouble, while she was here, having a fiesta with the gitano. She should have been back by now. Where is she? Marta thought in alarm.

"Stay the night with us, Marta. It is dangerous to ride alone in the dark. Your mistress knows where you are. Go back in the morning when it is light," Lucia coaxed but Marta arose, and began to make her farewells. One of the gitano men saddled her horse and led it over to her. Mounting her horse, Marta trotted out of the firelight and into the night.

Overhead a sickle moon hung amongst the stars, giving a scant light as Marta rode back toward the villa. A warm breeze ruffled her hair and brushed over her face like a sigh. Her heart was full, she was happy and a bit tipsy from the wine. She began to hum the folk tunes she had danced to at the camp. The horse twitched its ears, listening. "Are you criticising my singing? With a voice like yours?" She laughed, patting its neck. The horse shivered and pranced nervously.

The blackness of the night made strange shapes of the rocks she was passing. The horse became increasingly anxious, whickering and blowing, its nervousness infecting its rider as Marta gazed about warily. She noted fearfully, as they approached a low ridge of rocks, that one of the rock shapes looked like a horse and rider. Trying to calm herself, she looked up at the stars and across the landscape, drawing in a tremulous breath.

Coming closer to the rock formation, the horse suddenly screamed with fear, rearing and tossing her to the ground then bolted in its fright. She got up, hurling a string of Rom curses after the fleeing horse. A sound attracted her attention. The rocks moved and a horse and rider stepped out of the darkness toward her. She looked around wildly for a place of escape, but she was on an open plain with very little cover. There was nothing to do but wait.

A familiar voice said, "I suppose it is fortunate I don't understand the Gypsy language. I'm sure those curses were colourful in the extreme." Montoya chuckled as he urged his horse forward, then halted near Marta.

"Colonel Montoya," Marta said, almost relieved. At least it was someone she knew, not a bandit. "What are you doing out here at this time of night?"

"I heard there were Gypsies in the area, and was curious. I have never seen a Gypsy camp and came out to see it."

"Did you bring the soldiers?" she asked, alarmed for her people's safety.

"No. I came alone." The Colonel dismounted and led his horse to Marta. "I spent a very pleasant evening watching the dancing, and listening to the music." The wan light of the moon sparkled in his pale eyes, as he looked at her with a disturbing intensity. "And I came because I knew you would be here tonight. You were magnificent!" he breathed softly. "On the violin, such music, such fire. It makes my poor playing seem insipid by comparison. Perhaps you would teach me to play in the Gypsy way?"

"I hardly think so, Colonel. Now, it is late and I would prefer my own company. Please go." Marta glanced away, trying to avoid his eyes, trying to quell the urge to flee.

He continued as if he had not heard her. "And your dancing; full of joy and passion. Perhaps you have a little passion left over for me," he said, reaching for her suddenly. He pulled her towards him, wrapping her in a vice-like grip and forced his lips onto hers. Taken by surprise, Marta pushed and struggled, her own pulse hammering in her ears. Somewhere between longing and terror, she was suspended as he held her captive. With a sob, she felt herself giving way to the fever in her blood, then nothing mattered but the moment and the man. She returned his kiss with a fiery passion that shocked her.

Suddenly, a vision formed in her mind; a long rifle, an explosion and a man falling from a horse. As he fell, she saw his face-Don Alvarado! With a hard, violent shove, she freed herself, and Montoya fell backwards onto the ground. She snatched the knife from her boot, as she screamed at him, "Murderer! Assassin!" and like a tigress attacked with the knife. Montoya tried to roll away, but she was on him, pressing the knife inexorably toward his throat. His eyes widened in terror as he realized she would kill him. All his strength seemed to desert him as he felt the knife point touch his skin. She suddenly stopped her thrust, and went rigid, panting and gasping, feeling the point of a sword in her back. A voice behind her spoke.

"Woman, get off and drop the knife." Marta turned slightly and saw a masked woman standing over her.

"I am doing you a favour," she rasped, "Killing this snake. Let me finish him."

"Do as I tell you!" the Queen of Swords said harshly, prodding Marta with the sword point. Marta got up abruptly and threw down the knife. She was trembling violently, her ragged breathing loud in the quiet night.

Montoya sprawled back and sighed with relief, touching the spot where the knife-point had penetrated his throat. Surreptitiously, his hand moved toward his sword hilt, but Tessa noticed the movement and flicked her sword point to his chest.

"Treachery so soon, Montoya? I'm hurt - and after I saved your life too," she mocked. "Get up and get out of here, before I change my mind and let the woman finish what she started."

The Colonel staggered to his feet, glaring at the black-masked woman. "Why did you save my life?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"If it was only your life I had to worry about, I would have let her kill you." Tessa laughed shortly. "In fact, I would have helped her. You like to quote Shakespeare. Here is an apt line from Julius Caesar, 'I fear there will a worse come in his place.' I think that is answer enough, Colonel. And," she warned,"If I ever hear you have molested this woman again, I will kill you myself."

Montoya strode to his horse and mounted. He sent a questioning glance at Marta, meeting a glare of such malevolence, he looked away quickly. He smirked at the two women, and said to the Queen, "Don't think because you saved my life, I owe you anything."

"When you get back to the pueblo, Colonel, I think you'll find you owe me quite a lot," Tessa chuckled. The expression on Montoya's face changed to alarm and he spurred his horse into a gallop toward the village, followed by the Queen of Sword's mocking laughter.

As soon as he was gone, Marta whirled on Tessa furiously. "Why did you stop me? He deserves to die. It would end all your troubles."

"No, Marta. It would only be the beginning of many more troubles. I was trying to protect you and your people. Consider how close we are to the gitano camp. If Montoya was found dead, they might be blamed. With Montoya out of the way, Grisham would take over. He might bring the soldiers into the camp and slaughter everyone. At least, Montoya is restrained somewhat by his fear of the Spanish government. Grisham has no such fear. He is a mad dog, and without Montoya's hand on the leash, who knows what he is capable of? Is that the world you want, Marta?"

More composed, Marta bent and picked up her knife, turning it over in her hands. "I wasn't thinking. My mind was clouded with dancing and wine."

"Your mind was clouded, Marta, but not by wine," Tessa said softly.

"What did you see?" Marta whispered harshly.

"Enough." The older woman groaned and turned away in chagrin. Tessa added quickly, "I wasn't spying on you, Marta. After leaving the pueblo, I rode to the gitano camp. I didn't go in when I saw you weren't there; I just came this way hoping to catch up to you. When I saw you with Montoya, I was going to take another way home, then I heard you scream. I was afraid for you." Tessa laughed shortly. "Then I was afraid for Montoya."

"I am so ashamed. How could I..." Marta turned and walked away quickly.

The younger woman caught hold of her friend's arm, forcing her to look in her eyes. "Because you're human, Marta. You want to be loved, same as anyone. Same as I. Don't judge yourself harshly for that."

"But such a man!" Marta spat, shaking her head.

"Well, he is attractive, in his own way," Tessa jibed, nudging Marta playfully in the ribs.

"Attractive! Like a snake is to a mongoose!" Marta retorted.

"Remember, Marta, it is the mongoose that kills the snake. But not tonight." Tessa yawned and stretched, then began to chuckle. "There is quite a surprise awaiting our Colonel when he gets back to the pueblo. Not only did I release all the prisoners, but I was able to liberate enough of his gold for the peasants to pay their taxes. That is why I was so late."

Suddenly exhilarated, Tessa lifted her arms above her head, spun around in pure delight, exclaiming, "It was a magnificent evening, Marta! Such a thrill, so much danger. I just barely escaped, but it was worth it to see Grisham's face." She laughed in remembrance, not noticing the troubled expression on Marta's face.

She courts danger like a lover, Marta thought. Flirts with Death, staying just out of his reach. How long before he catches up with her? Aloud, she said worriedly, "Are you all right. Not hurt?"

"A cut, and a few bruises. Nothing to speak of." Tessa yawned again, and added, "I'm tired, Marta. Let's go home. It's been quite a night." She mounted her horse and helped her friend climb up behind. Turning, she said, "To quote the Bard once more, 'All's well that ends well'."

The End.

The Lovers ©Maril Swan - 2000

Author's Note: The interpretation of the "Lovers" Tarot card is from Joan Bunning's website, ©Learning Tarot Online.