P) The Nomad and the Gypsy Queen.

It was the only way of life she knew. A hard life, but she was wild
and vivacious and she took the knocks and gave out a few of her own.
Marla had never been to school, she didn't know what new books smelled
like and she wouldn't know an alphabet from an elephant's arse, but
there wasn't a horse bred that Marla couldn't break. Horses were her
talent and her first love.

Marla Lowther was an Irish Gypsy, not a traveller, a potter, a tinker
or a gypo. She was a gypsy from true Romany stock. She was a
thirty-second generation Irish/ Romany Gypsy and as proud of her
heritage as The Queen of England. Though if there was one thing that
Marla hated it was that she had true Gypsy-Rosa-Lee looks. How she
longed for short blonde hair and an English accent. What she had
instead was her mother's raven black hair. It fell in a thick, shining
curtain of unruly curls down her back, and her eyes were as green as
the mossy waters of the river Shannon in spring. Shoes felt heavy and
cumbersome on Marla's small feet. She liked to feel the earth beneath
her toes and could walk on the roughest chipping's barefoot without so
much as a wince. To the chagrin of her family she was also blessed with
a typical Irish temper. Darcy Lowther, her father would laugh until he
cried as she flew into on of her rages. "Oim not a stereotype," she'd
be heard to yell. "Just because I don't look like one of them fancy
women doesn't mean that I can't be posh loik one. You see, oim going to
be a la-dy in a fine house." She separated the word lady into two
distinct syllables and spoke the word with whispered reverence.

The band of eight families who were currently travelling together
never stayed for long in any one camp. Previous travellers had soured
the way before them. Whispers that the gypos's were back in town soon
spread to the local inhabitants and before very long either the police
would be moving them on or they would feel unwelcome and move of their
own accord. Darcy Lowther was the leader of the band, rumours abounded
that he was a gypsy king, but if this was the case then his crown and
his title meant little in the changing world. What he was though was a
proud man. True enough he'd never paid a days taxation in his life. He
firmly believed that the country belonged to all men and therefore he
should be free to travel it and stay where he liked without having to
pay a king's ransom.

They lived their life the old way. Moving from place to place with only
their antique trailers and horses to pull them. Their caravans weren't
these modern outrages forty-foot long with double glazing and sky
television. They were small domed caravans in the old style. Each
individually decorated with the family's personal designs. They had no
running water or piped gas. They washed from streams and used
candlelight to illuminate their homes when the sun went down. Darcy
Lowther believed in a man being worthy of his hire. He was prepared to
do an honest days work for an honest days pay. He had no gold
sovereigns or hooped earrings, he had cegs and callousness from
building barns and tending machinery as he travelled. The women didn't
sell lucky charms by using veiled threats or scabby children. They
worked the land alongside their menfolk or cooked the harvest suppers.
Many times the word 'Thief' had rung in their ears yet Darcy would have
boxed the ears of any child, or laid cold any man, or horsewhipped any
woman, who ever took anything that didn't rightfully belong to them. It
was a simple life, a good life but it was a hard way of life, one that
had to be worked.

Appleby Fair was the main event in the Gypsy calendar. Not only was it
the best horse fair the country had to offer, but it was also a social
occasion where the old families met up and showed off their new band
members. Butt-naked children ran amongst horse's feet, never fearing to
be trampled or hurt. They ate fresh fruit and crusty bread and cheese
and their faces glowed chubby and red as the sun browned their skin and
made them wholesome.

Marla loved the fair because it put her amongst the horses, it mattered
not that they belonged to other people, to her all horses were
fundamentally free. She never forgot a horse and often years later a
horse previously for sale at the fair came up again, and Marla would
know him and pet him in the enclosure, calming him before he took his
turn in the bidding ring. She spent her days riding out the horses down
the lane showing off one after another for their owners urging them on
to do their best. Marla rode easy, She had a natural stance that was
born to her and never taught. When she rode it was difficult to
determine where the horse stopped and she began. She had a grace and
poise that made the motion fluid and the horse proud, though she had
never sat in a saddle in her life. Her lower leg was long from
stretching her calf to mould the horse. Her spine erect but supple
cushioning the trot, absorbing the canter and surging with the gallop
and she cradled her torso over the horses ears and tucked her pubic
bone under her seat to streamline herself to her mount. Her six annual
days at the fair passed in a blur of horse sweat and the sweet smell of
hay. These were the happiest days of her life.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. Marla was used to male attention.
All the men watched her, but she didn't care. She made no effort to
hold their gaze as her bronzed thighs gripped tightly to the horses
withers and her skirt flew in gossamer exhaust behind her. She had no
time for lusty men, only for her horses.

"I'll bid ye to take ye filthy mind back to ye childbearing missus and
let her be dealin` with yer." She'd yell with a switch of her riding
whip at the men loosed and empowered by ale. They all knew that Marla
was as yet untouchable, a virgin, but all at one time or another
fancied their chances with the feral woman who was more of a
girl.

She hadn't seen this one before. He had straw-blonde hair and
denim-blue eyes, and a shy smile that made the woman in her pout her
lips wantonly as she rode past him. She had ridden the same horse, a
strong blanket appaloosa, up and down the lane five times. He was
throwing his hind left, and the seller and potential buyer were arguing
about weakness in the hind leg. They bartered price until finally a
deal was struck, hands were spat on and then pressed together to seal
the agreement and Bill gave Marla the nod to bring the horse in.

She came down the lane at a soft canter and wheeled the horse
effortlessly into the clearing where she was going to dismount. He, the
blonde lad, was holding a hand up to her.

"Please let me help you."

Marla's eyes flashed with fiery temper.

"Now Oim askin` you here, Am I lookin` loike the type of woman who
can't be getting` myself down off a horses back? Am I?"

She swung her leg over the blonde man's head exposing the full length
of her naked thigh and landed lightly on her feet, almost knocking him
off balance in the soft earth. She grabbed two handfuls of loose straw
from the ground and began to briskly rub down the lathered horse. Her
rounded vowels softened slightly as the temper left her voice.

"I'll have to be walkin` him to cool him down, you can come too if you
like."

And so their friendship was forged. Tom and Marla spent most of the
next few days together. He was a nice lad, Only nineteen and alone to
fend for himself in the world. Eventually in bits and pieces he told
Marla some of his life story. He'd been born to a mother who liked a
drink and a father who liked ten. He became a ward of the court from
the age of five and had lived in foster homes most of his life. He told
Marla of his desire to settle down and have a home of his own. She in
turn told him of her dreams and desires. And at night she danced for
him and sang sweet melodies in the moonlight. All that disturbed them
was the occasional whickering of a restless horse.

It was on the last night that Tommy told her he loved her. He wanted to
be sure before he said anything, though he had known it from the first
moment she had ridden boldly into his life. He wanted to know if she
felt the same for him.

She turned away from him slightly and distractedly played with a length
of her hair twisting it round and round her fingers.

"Aww Tommy man, you know I'm fond of you something fierce, But I'm
going to be a la-dy. I'm going to be somebody Tommy. I'm going to cut
my hair and dye it white and by the love of Mary I'm going to have al
the fine things that life has denied me. There's no place in my plans
for you Tommy. You're a good lad and you'll make a fine man, but you'll
never be anybody special Tommy. You'll never be able to give me what I
want and without it, I'd grow to hate you."

Give me a chance to make you happy Marla that's all I ask. I'll do
anything to make you happy. I can't live without you Marla, please
don't let it go without ever giving it a chance to work.

Marla turned to him, her eyes rimmed with tears about to fall. She
kissed him lightly on the cheek and got up and walked away from him
down the lane.

She walked back to the vans slowly. Her heart was heavy and she hummed
a song as she walked. About half way along the path she heard rustling
in the trees to the left-hand side of her. Hands reached out and
grabbed her and one of them big and strong clamped firmly over her
mouth so that she couldn't scream. She could fight though and she
fought like a wildcat kicking out and flailing her arms. The man was
too much for her, and soon had her overpowered and lying spent in the
fallen leaves at the side of the track. It was dark here, the moonlight
hidden by black clouds and dappled trees. She couldn't see who he was.
And her first thought was that it was Tommy intent on revenge.

The man pinned her down and grunted in his lust. He was strong enough
to force her arms over her head with one hand while he kept her quiet
with his left knee. Her mouth was battered and broken by the knee
forcing its way between her teeth and her scream was silenced as she
felt him releasing his manhood into her. He thrust and grunted like a
pig as he forced himself upon her and her squirming and writhing only
served to aid his purpose not hers. Finally she lay still and closed
her eyes. He ripped at her top until her breasts were freed and bit
savagely down on first one then the other. She winced but made no
attempt to scream out anymore. When his seed exploded into her a single
tear rolled down her cheek and inside Marla Lowther seethed with a
hatred the like of which she'd never known.

When he was spent and finished he just walked away leaving her lying on
her back in the silent woods. The whole attack had taken less than five
minutes but every brutal second of it was etched into her memory and
she knew that as long as she lived she would rewind the experience
every time she closed her eyes.

Marla was calm as she limped the rest of the way to the camp. She
walked past the site where the vans were parked and groups of people
sang and danced by firelight. Marla was lost in her thoughts and only
her beloved horses could give her comfort.

From that night on she would always be tainted. She could never be a
fine person now, living in a grand house, how could she? Everyone would
know what she was? What she had done? What had been done to her? She
was alive with a burning hatred against all humanity.

Hundreds of horses stood in the paddocks, gathering under the
sheltering bough of weeping trees. Marla went round them all whispering
to each one in turn.

Hours later at the same moment, the horses went mad, driven into a
frenzy by some unknown force. They stampeded breaking through the camps
and trampling people in their beds underfoot. Children and adults alike
were killed or maimed. Horses fell broken and terrified but still the
others moved on, jumping over them. Every one of those hundreds of
horses turned Loco.

Much later when people were sorting through the debris and trying to
find loved ones and make sense of what had happened, a young girl Found
Marla Lowther's body hanging from a tree in the paddocks.

The next day Tommy made his way back up to the fair ground. He had to
see Marla, had to make her see sense. She had hurt him badly the
previous night, but he knew that she was all he ever wanted and he had
to have another go at making her see that if they loved each other they
could be happy. He wanted to love and protect her forever. He knew he
could be a good provider. She may not have everything that she wanted,
but he knew that he'd never let anybody hurt her.

As he walked along the lane towards the ground he knew there was
something wrong, it was too quiet. Eerily quiet, he rounded the last
bend and was met by a wide-open space with nothing at all on it. Today
was the last day of the fair. The day when the most business was
conducted, where was everyone?

He saw an old man some way up the lane picking blackberries and putting
them one by one into a wicker basket.

"Excuse me please? Where is everyone? Where's the fair."

"Hah you've missed it lad, the last day was yesterday. Everybody's been
and long gone by now. Only me and the swallows here today."

"But, today was supposed to be the last day of the fair."

"Nay lad, the fair hasn't run over six days for neigh on a hundred
years. There's a tale runs round these parts about the gypsy girl's
ghost, been on the telly and everything it has. Marla Lowther they
called her. On the last night of the fair over a hundred years ago now,
she was raped you see. It drove her mad and she possessed all the
horses and made them loco. And then when all her friends and family
were dead, killed by them mad horses, she killed herself. Just over
there it was. The trees long since been chopped down, but that's where
it happened right enough."

"W w what do you mean? What are you talking about? I was here
yesterday. She was here, the horses." He tailed off confused. His head
beginning to spin.

"I lad it's a sad tale, but do you know for years round here there were
strange whispers heard in the paddock on the last night and the horses
would go wild. They had to call the sixth day off in the end. Everybody
rushes to be away before dark fall on fifth night, some say they've
even seen her, wild eyes and face all cut and battered. Some say
there's men gone as loco as the horses when they'd seen her. She
whispers to them see. Foul words calling them on. Mind, I've been here
since I were a lad and I've never seen owt."

The old man carried on talking but Tommy turned in a daze. He fingered
the bite marks on his knee and limped back the way he had come.