This was not their first visit to England, nor would it likely be their last, since the English laws dealing with them were not as harsh as they had been in centuries past. They found the English a strange people actually. Many young Englishmen of good family were so fascinated by their beliefs and love of freedom that they wanted to join them, to dress like them, to act like them.

Ivan would tolerate one or two of these Gajos for short periods of time, only because their presence had a calming effect on the English peasants, who would reason that if their own English lords found these people to be trustworthy, then they couldn’t be the thieves they were reputed to be, now could they?

There was one such Gajo with them now, Sir William Thompson. He was not the usual sort to want to join them, far from it. He was an old man, older even than Maria, and she was the oldest among them. She had deigned to speak to him several months ago, not to tell his fortune, which she no longer did for Gajos, but because she had seen the pain in his eyes and had wanted to remove it.

This she did, relieving William of a guilt he had been burdened with for over forty years, so that he could go to his Maker in peace. He was so grateful, he swore to devote his remaining years to Maria. In truth, he had realized that she was dying, and wanted to make her last days as pleasant as he could, in repayment for what she had done for him. No one else knew. Those who had known Maria all their lives didn’t know. Her own granddaughter didn’t know. Yet William had guessed, and it was an unspoken knowledge between them.

Ivan, though, would not have permitted him to stay. His age was a detriment, it was decided. He was too old to contribute to the community coffers. But he demanded to prove himself and did, always returning to the camp with his pockets full of coins, so he was allowed to stay. It was a moot point, really, that he was a wealthy man and the coins were his own. He was merely paying for the privilege to remain near Maria. Besides, he ended up making a further contribution, in bettering their English, which was a good thing, since they had no plans to leave England this year.

Anastasia Stephanoff sat on the stoop of the wagon she shared with Maria, her grandmother next to her. They watched the camp as it settled down for the night. The campfires were banked. A few groups still sat around them talking quietly. Children were rolled up in their blankets wherever they had gotten drowsy. Sir William, whom they had more or less adopted, was snoring loudly under their own wagon.

Anastasia had become very fond of Sir William in the short time they had known him. She found him silly most of the time, in his courtly ways, his stiff hauteur that was so English, in his efforts to make Maria laugh. But there was nothing silly in his devotion to her grandmother, a devotion that was not in doubt.