"And our guests?"
"Both are hale and in reasonably good spirits, Brother," was the reply, accompanied by a shrug.
"Have you spoken to them?"
"We followed your instructions to the letter and did not say a word."
"Good. Now get some food ready. There is time for one last meal. Feed our guests."
"Yes Brother."
"And afterwards I will want to speak to them alone, you understand?"
"Yes Brother."
After a surprisingly generous mid-day meal, Cesky Brezen and his companion were led from the small room where they had been 'guests' for the last two weeks and into the largest room of the cellar, where, to no one's surprise, Brother Timothy was waiting. He inspected the gypsies carefully. The worst of their injuries had begun to heal and fourteen days of good food and rest had fleshed out their thin bodies somewhat.
He took a small purse from his coat pocket and counted out a pile of gold coins.
"As agreed, I will give you half the money now. Here, take it." He held his hand and watched as Brezen looked back at him from beneath his dark eyelashes. "Come now, we have a bargain," he said when neither man moved.
"Was it part of our bargain to keep us locked up?" asked Brezen surly, still not making a move towards the money.
Brother Timothy shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Unfortunate, I agree, but would you still be here if I had not ... er ... made these special arrangements?" He waited for a reply, and the silence was answer enough. "I make no secret of the fact that your performance in a few hours is important to me and to several other people. It was regrettable, but necessary that you be persuaded to stay amongst us until then. After your performance you will be free to go, and, generously rewarded. You will not have suffered too much."
Coins chinked seductively in Brother Timothy's hand, and Brezen licked his lips and scratched himself. His temporary loss of freedom was annoying, but he rightly guessed that it would be over by the end of the day, with little harm done. He and Balo had enjoyed the food and shelter at a time when their fortunes were at a very low ebb. His goalers had been strangely uncommunicative, but not cruel and he had been able to overhear enough of their conversation to realize that they were just country peasants and not agents of the State Prosecutor's office. A fact that encouraged him considerably. What ever it was that the monk wanted, it was unofficial, and nothing he wanted the authorities involved in. That was good.
On the other hand his ego had been hurt. Brezen was someone who prided himself on being smarter, faster and a quicker thinker than his gaje enemies or marks. This monk had outsmarted him, and the defeat stung. He consoled himself with the fact that he had been trapped during a moment of extreme weakness when his various beatings had left him disoriented and less sharp. But he also knew he was fooling himself. This monk was a worthy opponent. For some reason the gypsy saying "Na may kharunde kai tshi khal tut" - which means "not to scratch where it did not itch' - kept occurring to him. It was a saying that his "tent" used when necessity forced them to cooperate with the non-Rom Gaje.
With a grunt he took a step forward and removed the coins from Brother Timothy's outstretched hand. Balo gave an inaudible gasp. He had not expected his leader to give in so easily.
"Excellent," said Brother Timothy, careful to keep any note of triumph out of his voice. Despite his calm exterior, he had been in considerable doubt as to whether or not the gypsy would continue to cooperate. "Sit, we have much to talk about. We must go over the details of your upcoming performance. Are you ready?" Brezen nodded.
"Good."