‘I’m you’re brother now. Or so I’m told. Which means that I will act in your interests from here on in. It also means that I promise not to take advantage of anything you tell me.’
Yola returned his gaze. But her eyes were nervous, darting here and there across his face – not settling on any particular feature.
Sabir suddenly realised what her brother’s betrayal and death might really mean to her. Through no fault of her own, Yola now found herself locked into a relationship with a total stranger – a relationship formalised by the laws and customs of her own people so that she might not, of her own volition, easily end it. What if this new brother of hers was a crook? A sexual predator? A confidence trickster? She would have little recourse to any but partial justice.
‘Come with me into my mother’s caravan. Alexi will accompany us. I have a story to tell you both.’
27
Yola indicated that Sabir and Alexi should sit on the bed above her. She took her place on the floor beneath them, her legs drawn up, her back against a brightly painted chest.
‘Listen. Many, many families ago, one of my mothers made friends with a gadje girl from the neighbouring town. At this time we came from the south, near Salon-de-Provence…’
‘ One of your mothers?’
‘The mother of her mother’s mother, but many times over.’ Alexi scowled at Sabir as though he were being forced to explain milking to a dairymaid.
‘Just how long ago would this have been?’
‘As I said. Many families.’
Sabir was fast realising that he was not going to get anywhere by being too literal. He would simply have to suspend the rational, pedantic side of his nature and go with the swing. ‘I’m sorry. Continue.’
‘This girl’s name was Madeleine.’
‘Madeleine?’
‘Yes. This was at the time of the Catholic purges, when gypsies had the privileges we used to enjoy – of free movement and help from the chatelain – taken away from us.’
‘Catholic purges?’ Sabir struck himself a glancing blow on the temple. ‘I’m sorry. But I can’t seem to get my head around this. Are we talking about the Second World War here? Or the French Revolution? The Catholic Inquisition, maybe? Or something a little more recent?’
‘The Inquisition. Yes. That is what my mother called it.’
‘The Inquisition? But that happened five hundred years ago.’
‘Five hundred years ago. Many families. Yes.’
‘Are you serious about this? You’re telling me a story that occurred five hundred years ago?’
‘Why is that strange? We have many stories. Gypsies don’t write things down – they tell. And these tales are passed down. My mother told me, just as her mother told her and just as I shall tell my daughter. For this is a woman’s tale. I am only telling you this because you are my brother and because I think my brother’s death was caused by his curiosity in this matter. As his phral, you must now avenge him.’
‘ I must avenge him?’
‘Did you not understand? Alexi and the other men will help you. But you must find the man who killed your phral and kill him in turn. It is for this reason that I am telling you of our secret. Our mother would have wanted it.’
‘But I can’t go around killing people.’
‘Not even to protect me?’
‘I don’t understand. This is all going too fast.’
‘I have something this man wants. This man who killed Babel. And now he knows I have it, because you brought him here. Alexi has told me of the hiding place on the hill. While I am here, in the camp, I am safe. The men are protecting me. They are on the lookout. But one day he will get through and take me. Then he will do to me what he tried to do to Babel. You are my brother. You must stop him.’
Alexi was nodding, too, as if what Yola said was perfectly normal – a perfectly rational way of behaving.
‘But what is it? What do you have that this man wants?’
Without answering, Yola rocked forwards on to her knees. She opened a small drawer concealed beneath the bed and drew out a broad red leather woman’s belt. With a seamstress’s deft touch she began to unpick the stitching from the belt with a small penknife.
28
Sabir held the manuscript on his knee. ‘This is it?’
‘Yes. This is what Madeleine gave one of my mothers.’
‘You’re sure this girl was called Madeleine?’
‘Yes. She said her father had requested her to give it to the wife of the chief of the gypsies. That if the papers fell into the wrong hands it might possibly mean the destruction of our race. But that we should not physically destroy the papers but hide them, as they were subject to the Will of God and held other secrets that may one day become important too. That her father had left this and some other papers to her in his Testament. In a sealed box.’
‘But this is the Testament. This is a copy of Michel Nostradamus’s Will. Look here. It is dated the 17th of June 1566. Fifteen days before his death. And with a codicil dated the 30th of June, just two days before. Yola, do you know who Nostradamus was?’
‘A prophet. Yes.’
‘No. Not exactly a prophet – Nostradamus would have rejected that name. He was a scryer, rather. A seer. A man who – and only with God’s permission, of course – could sometimes see into the future and anticipate future events. The most famous and the most successful seer in history. I’ve spent a long time studying him. It’s why I allowed myself to be tempted by your brother’s advertisement.’
‘Then you will be able to tell me why this man wants what you have in your hand. What secrets the paper contains. Why he will kill for it. For I cannot possibly understand it.’
Sabir threw up his hands. ‘I don’t think it does contain any secrets. It’s already well known about and in the public domain – you can even find it on the internet, for Christ’s sake. I know of at least two other original copies in private hands – it’s worth a little money, sure, but hardly enough to kill for. It’s just a Will like any other.’ He frowned. ‘But one thing in it does bear upon what you are telling me. Nostradamus did have a daughter called Madeleine. She was fifteen when he died. Listen to this. It is part of the codicil – that’s a piece of writing added after the actual Will has been written and witnessed, but equally binding on any heirs.
‘Et aussy a legue et legue a Damoyselle Magdeleine de Nostradamus sa fi lle legitime et naturelle, outre ce que luy a este legue par sondt testament, savoir est deux coffres de bois noyer estant dans Vestude dudt codicillant, ensemble les habillements, bagues, et joyaux que lade Damoyselle Magdeleine aura dans lesdts coffres, sans que nul puisse voir ny regarder ce que sera dans yceux; ains dudt legat l’en a fait maistresse incontinent apres le deces dudt collicitant; lequel legat lade Damoyselle pourra prendre de son autorite, sans qu’elle soit tenue de les prendre par main d’autruy ny consentement d’aucuns…’
‘And he also bequeaths and has bequeathed to Mademoiselle Madeleine Nostradamus, his legitimate and natural daughter, in addition to that which he bequeathed her in his Will, two coffers made of walnut wood which are at present in the testator’s study, together with the clothes, rings and jewels she shall find in those coffers, on the strict understanding that no one save her may look at or see those things which he has placed inside the coffers; thus, according to this legacy, she has been made mistress of the coffers and their contents after the death of the legator; let this testamentary commission represent all the authority the said Mademoiselle may need so that no one may impede her physically, nor withhold their consent morally, to her taking charge of the legacy forthwith;’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s simple. You see, in his original Will, of which this forms part, Nostradamus left his eldest daughter, Madeleine, 600 crowns, to be paid to her on the day that she married, with 500 crown-pistolets each to be paid to his two youngest daughters, Anne and Diana, on a similar occasion, also as dowries. Then he suddenly changes his mind, two days before his death and decides to leave Madeleine a little something extra.’ Sabir tapped the paper in front of him. ‘But he wants no one else to see what he is leaving her, so he has it sealed inside two coffers, just as it says here. But to allay any jealous suspicions that he is leaving her extra money, he constructs a list of what she might hope to find there. Jewels, clothes, rings and whatnot. But that doesn’t make any sense, does it? If he’s leaving her family heirlooms, why hide them? She’s his eldest daughter – according to medieval custom, she’s entitled to them. And if they once belonged to his mother, everybody would know about them already, wouldn’t they? No. He is leaving her something else. Something secret.’ Sabir shook his head. ‘You’ve not told me everything, have you? Your brother understood enough about what Nostradamus had indirectly left your ancestors to mention ‘lost verses’ in his ad. ‘All written down’. Those were his words. So where are they written down?’