Daughter of Ice and Fire

Fifteen

Gauthier sat on the steps of the wagon, peeling potatoes. Two days had passed since he found himself in the care of Gypshens and he was no closer to discovering the woman's name than he had been when he arrived. Scowling, he tossed the potato into the large pot and grabbed another.

"And what is bothering you tonight, my friend?"

Gauthier looked up to find one of the Gypshen men leaning against the back of the wagon, a huge smile on his face. He recognized the man, but just like the woman, he had no idea what his name was. In fact, he only knew a few of the names, and most of those belonged to the children. Seems it wasn't just the Gypshen women who played this game. A game he didn't understand at all.

"Nothing," he muttered, concentrating on the potato.

"The potato begs to differ."

Gauthier threw it in the pot and wiped his hands on the towel left for that use. Rising, he picked up the pot and began walking across the camp. The man followed, waiting on Gauthier's response.

Gauthier had been extremely surprised with his hosts. He, like most of Crusseria's citizens, believed the Gypshens were uncouth, dishonest barbarians. They owned no land, lived in wagons that traversed the country, and generally kept to themselves. Their language was incomprehensible, making people believe the Gypshens were constantly lying and looking to cheat them.

He had been surprised to find out he was completely wrong. Yes, they were wary of outsiders. And secretive. Their language was one he wasn't sure he could ever wrap his tongue around. But they were extremely charitable, unbelievably friendly despite their unwillingness to share their names, and more refined and cultured than the court he currently inhabited. That, he decided, was why they were so secretive.

Arriving at the main cooking area, he handed off his pot, earning a huge smile and a heartfelt thanks. He asked if there was anything more he could do and the head cook, an older lady in a stained apron, pinched his cheek, called him some unpronounceable name, and swatted his butt. Understanding her actions, he smiled in return, blew her a kiss, and ambled back to the wagon, her laughter following.

"Again, prieten, what ails you?"

Gauthier took a moment to gather his thoughts. He had a million questions but was worried about appearing rude. "I don't understand your tribe," he finally said. "The fact none of you will tell me your name frustrates me."

"Ah," the man said, his face radiating understanding along with a healthy dose of humor. "You do not like being told to work for that knowledge."

Gauthier looked at the man, slightly annoyed. The man smiled back, his gold tooth gleaming in the setting sun. Gauthier had discovered that the Gypshens loved to adorn themselves in bright colors and flashy jewelry. Both men and women had pierced ears, some with more than one hole, and many had pierced nostrils as well. The clothing was bright, coming in all shades. The men wore slim pants, often tucked into boots, and square-necked tunics, and the woman wore full skirts, either pleated or multi-layered, topped with blouses with wide sleeves. Jewelry was everywhere, not just in noses or ears. Necklaces, often several, graced every neck, bracelets stacked the arms of the women, and rings could be seen on many fingers. At first, the riot of colors had bothered him but now he found it cheerful, matching the people who wore them.

"Why do you insist I work just to learn a name? I gave you mine freely. Which, by the way, hardly anyone ever uses."

The man laughed, not at all insulted. "One should always work to gain knowledge. For what satisfaction is there in being given something freely?"

"It's just a name."

"Is it?" The man joined Gauthier on the steps and pulled a flask from his shirt. Taking a swallow, he passed it to Gauthier, who sniffed, then took a healthy swig. A fire burned down his throat and he coughed, tears streaming down his face.