Jareth was relieved when he saw the flicker of campfires on the road ahead. It had been a long and tiring day, most of it spent on horseback, and the next day would prove to be just as strenuous. He prayed that the owner of the fires would prove to be a hospitable sort. If they wouldn't let him stay the night in their camp, at least perhaps they would provide him with a hot meal and a bath before he set out again. Nudging the sides of his mount lightly with his heels, Jareth guided the stallion towards the wisps of flame ahead.
As he neared the forest clearing, he began to notice other objects that gave him a good idea of who was camped there. Several small and brightly painted wagons formed a loose semi-circle around the three bonfires. The golden light sparkled upon the shiny accents that adorned each one, and a night wind barely moved the thick velvet curtains that covered the back entrances. It had to be a gypsy camp; he was in luck this night, for gypsies were known to at least be polite to unexpected company.
As he drew up on the outskirts of their clearing, Jareth began to hear the soft strains of festive music. Around each fire, he could see men and women of all shapes and sizes. Some danced to the mystical tunes wafting from the musicians. Others merely ate, or sat laughing and chattering in a language Jareth couldn't even comprehend. He could smell the deer and rabbit roasting on their spits, and it made his mouth water with hunger. Guiding his horse in between two of the protective wagons, he made his way towards the center of their camp.
A few heads raised curiously as he approached, but for the most part the gypsies ignored him in favor of going about their nightly routines. Jareth tugged lightly on the reins to bring his mount to a stop, then dismounted. Two women got up from their places by the fire to come and meet him. One was a weathered old woman, sprightly for all her years as she walked across the clearing. The other was a younger woman who appeared in her early twenties. When they were close enough, Jareth gave a low bow to them in greeting.
"Good evening, gentlewomen. My name is Jareth, and I am a fellow traveler in this woodland. I saw your fires from the road, and was hoping perhaps that I could find shelter or at least dinner for tonight. I can pay you well for your troubles." He turned to the side, just enough so that they could view the thin leather strap that bound the hilt of his sword to the sheath. Called a peace knot, it proved that he meant no harm, for with the strap in place he was unable to draw his sword without fair warning. "I mean your people no harm," he added, just to make sure it was clear to them.
At his words, the old woman gave a cackle and shook her head in mirth. "We know you mean us know harm, gaujo," she laughed, calling him by the Romani term for a non-gypsy. "We heard your horse from miles away. If we viewed you as a threat, your blood would be upon the earth by now."
"Is that so?" Jareth replied stiffly. The amusement in the old gypsy's eyes was annoying; it made him feel ill prepared and naïve. "And how do you know that to be true, madam?"
The woman gave no answer. Instead she gave a low, quiet whistle, like the tune of a forest bird. At her signal, several of the curtains on the wagons parted, and Jareth saw that each carriage contained at least three Romani men armed to the teeth. He felt the blood rushing to his face in embarrassment, having been properly put into place. He saw himself through the eyes of the more experienced gypsies: a young and spoiled man, dressed in the clothes of a nobleman and ignorant of the danger he was in. Had he been a threat, these men could have slit his throat before he even knew they were there. He averted his gaze from the two women, half-tempted to remount his horse and find another campsite of his own.
But the younger woman patted the elderly one on the arm. "You have made your point, Maman. Do not torture the poor man more than he already has been." Turning to Jareth, she smiled at him gently. "My name is Raina. This is my grandmother, Danala, leader of this tribe. You and your coin are welcome in this camp."
She motioned for him to follow, and Jareth was all too eager to leave the company of the old woman and her army of hidden assassins. He followed Raina to one of the nearby fires. Several people were already crowded around its warmth, but a few sharp words from Raina in her native tongue were enough to make them part enough to offer them both room. She nodded to one of the men tending the cooking pit, and moments later they were both offered a steaming platter of roasted rabbit. Jareth's stomach was more than happy to see the meal arrive.
He hadn't eaten more than a handful of traveling rations since the noontime sun was strong, and it was all he could do to keep his manners about him and not wolf down the tender meat. All the while as they ate, he noticed Raina watching him curiously, and he took up the opportunity to observe her as well. She was as different from the noblewomen of his kingdom as night was from day. Her hair was long and dark, the tresses falling wild around her shoulders and spilling down her back. She had skin the color of the richest doeskin, a light even shade of tan, and her eyes were a dark brown that complimented the hue.
She wore a bright blue blouse with yellow trim, the fabric loose and thin on her body. Given the right light, he might have been able to see clearly through it, but the firelight only gave him a shadow of her body beneath. Her breasts were well-developed and high set, and he could see the way her ribcage curved down into her waist. She wasn't a thin girl, her stomach soft and pouting slightly, but it attracted him like a magnet. Most of the women he'd been with were like twigs, their waists sculpted by corsets and dieting into drastic shapes.
Her skirt was the same shade of azure as her blouse. He loved the way her hips looked beneath the wispy folds, and he could see her well-fleshed thighs and shapely calves that disappeared into soft leather boots. Raina wasn't shy; she knew an appraising look when she saw one, and didn't shirk from it. Instead, she looked him straight in the eyes and asked, "So what is a prince doing traveling on a forest road at night?"
"How did you know I was a prince?" Jareth asked, surprised. Raina smiled at his question. She looked pointedly at his outfit, at the richness of the tunic he wore. Only royalty was allowed to wear the bold purple shade, and the stitching on the shirt and the cream-colored breeches was top quality. Her eyes flitted up to his carefully groomed dark brown hair, and then down to the knee-high riding boots that bore very little wear and tear. "Oh," he muttered sheepishly, but she merely smiled and waited for his answer. "I'm on my way back home, actually. I've been visiting a cousin in the countryside, and my father sent for me to return to the castle. Something about some upcoming society ball, I believe."
"I see."
"What about you?" He countered. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the woods?"
"We are waiting for our brother tribe to arrive," Raina said. "It is time for the young women to choose their husbands from their families, and for their young women to claim the young men from our camp." She set aside her now-empty plate and picked up a stick from the ground, poking it into the flames. "When they arrive in two days, my maman Danala will choose my future husband for me."
