Snake Oil

July 13, 2015 by helenamarlinspike 3 Comments

Gypsy wagons rolled to a halt in pastures new, at the edge of an unknown forest. Necessity had forced them to venture this side of the mountain range. The horses’ hooves had clung to the sparse paths that edged the peaks. They had scrambled to find purchase and one of the wagons had almost been lost down a steep ravine, but now they were safe, in the corner of a meadow, ringed by jagged ridges, a half day’s walk from the nearest town. As the light began to drain behind the range, the first snowflakes of the season fluttered harmlessly around the camp. Soon dusk cast its deep shadows and chill wind made the horses tremble and the dogs wine. The frost was coming and the Gypsies knew that they could not now return but also that the war could no longer follow them.

Other men’s wars had pushed them to make wider circles and navigate new paths. They knew of old that war bred distrust and in towns and villages where they were once welcomed, they had been met with suspicion. They had hoped that this new realm was a peaceful haven, but along the mountain route they had passed two battalions; fresh horses, fresh faces and untested confidence. Had this kingdom also joined the fighting too? The omens weren’t good.

Here, in this new realm, word soon spread that strange, exotic travellers were bivouacked at the forest’s edge. The townsfolk were excited and frightened in turns. Children came to spy first. The adults soon followed. Gawpers hoped to be shocked or thrilled, drunks came to shake their fists and folk in need came, speculatively having heard of the dark powers of these mysterious people. One evening a small but stately carriage wended its way from a distant city to the encampment. Inside, Two young women – a lady’s maid and a young noblewoman nodded and bobbed to the rhythm of the wheels clacking over the rough stone road. The maid, a small, rosy girl, pulled the curtain open an inch to peak at the night sky.

“Close the curtain Annie!”, The lady snapped, making the girl jump. “I don’t want the world and his dog to know my business”.

Annie, annoyingly pulled the curtain wider to show her lady, (a young queen), the beauty of the night.

“The road is empty Ma’am, but look! The sky is aglow with a beautiful blue moon”, Annie swooned, expecting the young queen to agree. The queen rolled her eyes. She inspected the maid’s face. A line of blue light divided Annie’s face. An open, honest face, the queen thought – a face untroubled by issues of state. A trustworthy face, she hoped. The maid was not so much younger than the queen, but the burdens of a courtly upbringing and regal duty had chiselled the queen’s fine-boned face so that it cast a quality of an ancient alabaster statue. As a royal she had never had the airy freedom of her maid and it irked her that all the jewels in the world could not buy this youthful optimism. Privilege, for the young queen had been an ermine-lined prison.

The queen leaned in closer to the maid until they were nose to nose and the maid could smell the sweet oils dabbed behind her ears. She looked about to fire off a volley of rebukes, but turned suddenly to peer out of the chink in the curtains at the moon. It stared back at her, much closer tonight.

“Tis a good omen Ma’am…for fertility”, the maid offered.

The queen flashed a look and Annie, realising she had forgotten herself once again, prepared for the worst. The queen’s dressing down was brought up short by a fearful noise, a mournful echoing howl from the nearby woods. The shock sent the horses rearing and while the driver tried to regain control, both women now forgot their places and cleaved to one another for support.

As the carriage approached the encampment, both women peered out inquisitively. From this distance it seemed festive and jovial. As the carriage drew closer they could hear simple, hypnotic music wafting through the air, mingled with this, the smell of spices and sizzling fat. On arrival, some of the children stared as a footman hopped down to open the door for this a pale young noblewoman, swathed in a sumptuous velvet cloak. She tottered a little on anxious legs, so the foot man held out his arm for her. She waved it away sharply and when the maid alighted to arrange her cloak, icy words were spoken and the maid retreated hurriedly, head bowed. Instead, the young woman threw her cloak about herself breathed deeply and carefully wended her way toward a small boy. She bent very slightly to talk to him as he stared agog at her finery. He nodded and pointed to the small red wagon near the edge of the forest. Before the wagon sat a shrivelled lady smoking a long clay pipe, her face the map of a long life lived in full. With her piercing green eyes she shot a look up at the approaching stranger. On creaking joints she hauled herself up, attempted to bow slightly and coughed chestily. The queen sneered slightly and recoiled. From out her cape the incognito queen drew a small purse and dropped it into the crone’s outstretched hand. She weighed it in her hand a moment and nodded and with the other hand invited her to climb into the wagon. When she spoke she sounded like crackling embers,

“Thank you, Your Majesty, go right in”

The queen, annoyed that her subterfuge had been pointless snipped her response,

“Don’t expect me to be impressed!”  and gestured towards the carriage

“A lucky guess”

This set the crone chuckling, which became a hacking cough which set the dogs barking and howling in an alarming cacophony. The young queen hastily turned and climbed the laddered steps to the wagon entrance but hesitated a moment before entering. The dogs’ barks became whimpers and whines and finally were stilled. The queen looked around to check for spies. The full moon shed silver radiance this evening, illuminating everything, but the campsite seemed suddenly empty. All had grown still, but for a horse swishing flies away and a dying campfire that softly crackling, shed dancing amber colours over the silent wagons. Even the old crone seemed to have disappeared. Was this a magical trick? It made her shudder. Though alarmed, the queen was made of stern stuff and so she ungloved a hand and raised a fist to knock on the small wagon door. Before she could rap her knuckles to it, it swung open with an accompanying creak. Her heart was racing now. She took a deep breath and entered, moving aside a heavy brocade curtain to reveal the interior. It smelled strongly of dark, exotic incense. Every surface had been painted, draped or embroidered. Patterns battled with each other for dominance. It felt as though the place vibrated and glowed with an otherworldly energy. A curtain at the other end of the space was swished aside and through which stepped the fortune teller. She was tall but slight, with long fine bones under cinnamon skin. Her eyes were deep-set and black as pitch, framed by arched calligraphic brows, which were in turn framed by endless black curls. She stood demurely with her bangled wrists loosely crossed in front of her. She tilted her head slightly and stared blatantly, straight into the eyes of the queen. The air between them now filled with the queens affront. Do these people not know how to address their betters? She thought. Then, as the queen opened her mouth to introduce herself, the girl spoke with a rich smoky accent,

“You need a child”

The queen’s temper broke,

“And you need some manners girl! How dare you stare at your Queen! I could have you and your whole family executed for less!”

The angry outburst turned, surprisingly to tears as though it had opened a floodgate to all the fears the queen had held within her for so long. The girl came to her and put a bony arm around her – another affront, but the queen had stopped counting.

“Madam Queen forgive me, my powers allow me to see inside the hearts and minds of men where people have no rank”, she touched her own chest lightly. “There are no crowns in here. In the heart”

The queen looked up from her sobbing and seeing that the girl was trying to comfort her, decided to hold her tongue, rather than express her outrage at being considered equal in any part to the hoi polloi.

“So, fortune teller… do you see my question?”

The girl nodded deeply, but said nothing.

“So?”, the queen continued anxiously, “…..am I pregnant?”

The girl tilted her head to one side and sighed,

“A child of necessity can be shy and difficult to find. A child of love? Pah! He comes even when we have no room for him.”

The young queen now felt judged. As the fortune teller’s black eyes burrowing into her soul where all her secrets were laid bare the queen decided to take the risk and share her worries,

“Mistress fortune teller,’ she began respectfully, ‘ it is my duty to provide an heir to this kingdom. Love has surprisingly little to do with it.”

At this the fortune teller shrugged and made gestures with her hands that the queen chose to interpret as supportive. She continued,

“The King, my husband left for the battlefield this morning. Should something happen to him there…” she paused to reframe her words and avoid treason, “Look, I was chosen to be queen and bring forth the next generation of this dynasty. It is the simplest task. A beggar woman in the street can bear a child – how hard could it be?”

More nodding, shrugging and hand gestures from the fortune teller, but still no words. Exasperated, the queen reiterated her central question,

“Well? Do I carry his heir or not?!”

The fortune teller offered a seat at a tiny table, but the queen preferred to stand.  She shrugged, arranged herself on a small stool to lean over the large glass orb, placed centrally on the tiny table. She breathed in slowly and shook her hands before gingerly placing them around the orb, like a parent cupping a child’s face. Instantly a small blue light flickered, dancing in the middle of the glass. It grew quickly. Light filled the orb and spilled out over every surface. The girl frowned, tutted and finally stroked the orb before speaking.

“No, Madam Queen, you are not with child. I am so sorry”

The queen slumped visibly. Even if the king returned triumphant, what would stop him finding another queen? It was the worst kept secret at the palace that there was no love lost between them. The marriage was a business transaction made long before either of them could talk to oppose it. They made the best of it, but without an heir to the throne after so long, her position was becoming fragile. Finally she looked up.

“But could you make me pregnant?”

The girl raised an eyebrow and smirked, to which the queen slammed her hand down hard on the table.

“Damn it girl, you know what I mean! Some enchantment, a potion, a spell?”

The fortune teller was momentarily taken aback by the speed with which the queen’s emotions changed. Having leant back a little to gain her composure, she searched her mind for the appropriate action. There was always the Water-witch…. She shuddered a little at the thought of the risk of entering into a bargain with such a fearsome natural power. She looked back at the queen, another fearsome power and felt she had little choice. She gestured towards the night sky, poetically,

“Under a full moon, Madam, all things are possible….but not without considerable cost”

The queen let out a cynical grunt. Of course, she thought, she was about to be sold some snake oil for silver – why on earth had she even entertained the idea that this girl would be any different from any of the quacks and witches that had presented themselves to her? She rolled her eyes asking bluntly,

“How much?”

The fortune teller implored quickly, shaking her hands,

“No, no, Madam Queen, I want no payment, but the entity I will invoke, she is fierce and she will need to be pacified by something of considerable personal value to you”

The queen raised an eyebrow,

“So, you don’t want my money? What then?”

The fortune teller rubbed her fingers anxiously, seeking the right phrases in translation,

“For the spell to work, to bring forth a child from the waters, I need a gift from your husband to you. I will return it to you but..” she paused to look deep into the queens eyes, to be sure she understood, “ but you must then cast this item into the nearest river. Do you have such an item from the King?”

The queen thought a moment, touching the many items of jewellery about her person, weighing up which one she might do without. Would the spell work if it was not of great personal value? She decided not to take the risk and with some unease, twisted a delicate silver and ruby ring from her finger. In the early days, when newly weds, the king had given the ring as a symbol of their love. It was as thin as blind hope and though it had been replaced by several more substantial items of jewellery, the marriage had not matched it.

“Here”, she said placing the ring on the table, adding, “and I will know if you attempt to switch this with a bauble”

The fortune teller looked to the ring, thinking, I have no bauble this small with which to make a switch. She looked up and continued,

“And something from your person, Madam Queen…”

As the fortune teller spoke she slowly raised a hand towards the queen then, in a seamless move, quickly snatched a single strand of hair. It stung only briefly, but the queen slapped a hand onto her head in silent shock.

“So sorry”, the fortune teller said, unconvincingly as she set about winding the golden hair around the ring. As she worked she felt the need to share a warning.

“Madam Queen, it is possible to make a child without a father – a child that looks to all the stars and moon like any other child. But half of that child will belong in the realms of magic and that magic will shine out of him like a beacon to any other magical beings. That child will never be truly safe, because he will never be truly yours”

The queen gave it a thought, momentarily, before she dismissed the warning,

“Oh, but the child will be a prince or princess – guarded day and night.”

And by the time its out of my charge, she thought to herself, I will no doubt have a spare, maybe many other children and the realm will be secure.

The gypsy girl looked away, so as not to betray the fear written on her face. Should this queen not fulfil her promise, it would be the fortune teller, the broker and invoker of this magic who would be found first. She shook the silver ring and golden hair in cupped hands and holding them up to her face whispered softly the incantation. Then she pressed her hands together tightly and fell into a trance. A minute of silence passed. Finally, the queen enquired anxiously,

“Is it done?”

Still with closed eyes, the fortune teller stood beside the queen. She placed the ring and threaded hair into the queen’s palm, closing it with both her hands. As she did so, the queen felt a surge of raw energy flow from her toes to the top of her head. When it reached the top of her head, it broke, like a wave. She let out a small yelp.

“Now, it is done Madam Queen,” The fortune teller said, though continued holding her closed hand, searching her face to check again for understanding,

“It is done, but for one small but important act. This ring no longer belongs to you. It belongs to the water folk. It is their payment and if you don’t do not cast it to them, they will exact payment some other way.”

The queen wrenched her hand from the grip of the fortune teller’s. How dare she speak to me like a superstitious child, she thought. Her face had returned to its usual stony expression. The magic moment had ebbed away and now in the cold light of normality, the queen deeply regretted sharing her vulnerability with this girl. She threw her velvet hood up over her head, obscuring her eyes, so that all that was visible was a rather mean mouth and a sharp pointed chin. The words she spoke were laced with cold  menace.

“I am a queen and I will not be threatened or blackmailed by thieves, charlatans and vagabonds. If you speak a word of what has passed between us tonight, I will have you and your grandmother hung at the crossroads. Now take your nags, your mangy dogs, your dirty children, your snake oil and potions and peddle them elsewhere, or I will ensure your wagons are raised to the ground.”

With a swish of her cloak she turned to descend the steps. The fortune teller watched her picked her way, regally, back to her carriage and staff.  Once the carriage door had closed the old crone poked her head into the red caravan,

“Are we leaving?”

The fortune teller was placing a tarot card on the table – The Tower. Without looking up she responded.

“Yes, tonight and we cannot come back”

As the carriage drew away, heading back to the distant city the maid kept her counsel, too afraid to break this brittle silence, though she was bursting with questions. The queen had drawn open the curtain and watched the encampment grow small in the distance.

“Remind me Annie, to send my guards to clear this eyesore in the morning.”

“Yes Maam”, Annie nodded and powerless to stop her mouth from running, “Was it bad news then?”

The queen, who was turning the ring in her ungloved hand, glared up in answer. Annie bit her lip. As the queen spun the ring on the end of her finger the tightly bound thread of her hair began to unwind. Unconsciously she touched her belly. Just in case…,she thought to herself as she told the driver to stop the coach at the bridge.

“Take this Annie” she said placing the silver ring in her hand and closing her fingers around it. “Don’t look at it! Just throw it over the bridge”

Annie, obedient but confused stepped out of the carriage. At the edge of the bridge she opened her hand. The silver glinted in the moonlight and the strand of hair, loosely wound around it flickered in the breeze. How golden the queen’s hair was, she thought as she gently unwound the strand.

The queen now impatient, shouted to the maid,

“Hurry up girl! Is it done?”

The maid jumped and the ring bounced from her hand, so that she scrambled to catch it from being taken by the wind.

“Yes Maam, almost” she called, as she realised with horror that the ring had somehow pushed itself onto one of her fat fingers. She twisted and twisted it, but it was stuck fast.

“Well get to it girl and get back into the coach!”

In a panic, Annie jumped back into the carriage, covering her ringed hand with the other. Below the bridge, tiny whirlpools and eddies began to boil up from nowhere. As the coachman flicked the reins to get the horses moving again, a large wake rolled up to the bridge at speed and underneath it, a long dark shadow. As it neared the bridge the shadowy beast turned suddenly, flicking a mighty scaled tail at one of the supports. The carriage was well on its way on the road as the bridges central support gently crumbled. A  moment later, with no one watching,  the bridge collapsed into the river with a satisfying splash.