The Gypsy Crown by Kate Forsyth

teeth.
    Sweetheart stood up on her hindlegs and lifted her snout high, moaning in distress and bewilderment.
    â€˜Can you control that bear, or will I shoot it now?’ the huntsman said.
    Luka gritted his teeth together and tugged gently on Sweetheart’s chain. She put her paws up to clasp her sore nose. ‘Come on, Sweetheart,’ Luka said, and tugged on the chain again. She sighed and got down on all fours, ambling closer to him with an air of long suffering.
    â€˜Quite a clown,’ the huntsman said. ‘I’m guessing she’s not used to being baited by dogs. She’s lucky she didn’t kill any of them, for then I would have shot her, chain or not. Now, do not even think of trying to escape me. I’ll simply set the dogs to hunt you down again, and have a fine morning’s sport for my trouble. And do not let that bear get out of hand, else I’ll shoot her down and that loathsome little monkey too. I suggest you ride back quietly, like good little children, and then no one will get hurt. Understand me?’
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ Luka said sullenly.
    â€˜Very good. Come along then.’

Nonsuch
    T he journey back to Nonsuch Palace was accomplished in silence. The children slumped on Alida’s back, sunk in utter misery and exhaustion. Even the opening of the gates and the ride through the gardens did not rouse them, though they did look up and stare as the palace loomed over them.
    It was a truly magnificent building, ornately decorated, with tall eight-sided towers at each end. Before it was a broad terrace, lined with great balls and heraldic beasts of white stone and tall obelisks set at equal distances, which looked down on an ornamental lake with a fountain of birds that spouted water. Beyond stretched the gardens, with a formal knot garden bounded by hedges and pyramids of clipped box, leading onto lawns and groves of flowing shrubs. Swans floated on the lake.

    They dismounted and walked through a grand fortified gatehouse, finding themselves within a magnificent courtyard, surrounded on either side by walls decorated with long panels sculptured in high relief.
    â€˜King Harry knocked down a whole village to build this place,’ the huntsman said, noticing the awe on their faces. ‘The church and all the houses. My grandfather was a little boy then. He and his family had to move to Ewell.’
    Luka and Emilia did not reply.
    â€˜See the decorations?’ the huntsman said, jerking his head at the walls. ‘King Harry had them built when his son was born.’
    Emilia stared. She had never seen anything so beautiful. The panels seemed to depict a king about his various duties: sitting in judgement, touching the sick, feasting, hunting and fighting.
    â€˜Good Queen Bess loved this place,’ the huntsman went on. ‘That was when my dad was head hunter here. She died here, you know.’
    It was clear from the huntsman’s voice that he loved the palace and grounds. Emilia found her courage and, with it, her voice.
    â€˜Who … who lives here now?’
    â€˜Colonel Pride,’ the huntsmen replied, and his voice grew neutral. He saw the two children’s puzzled expressions, and said, ‘Must’ve heard of him. Pride’s Purge? It’s famous.’
    Emilia had heard of it vaguely, but she was not much interested in politics and tended to slip away and play whenever the adults began arguing over the campfire. Luka considered himself almost a man now, though, and that meant taking part in, or at least listening to, adult conversation. His eyes widened in surprise.
    â€˜You don’t mean … not the man who arrested all the Royalists in Parliament, so they could not try and stop them chopping off the king’s head?’
    â€˜The very same,’ the huntsman said. He looked at them, and they saw pity on his face. ‘Oh, you’re in the midst of a pretty nest of Puritans here, my weans. Not that you