Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 105, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 640 & 641, March 1995

“Certainly, thanks to you and Garib. I am pleased to join in their wedding celebration. Have you met the bride?”

“No, I haven’t.”

He conducted Michael to a small group of young women clustered around a beaming girl, barely out of her teens, who wore the traditional Rom bridal costume. “This is Quiteria,” he said, introducing Michael.

He took her hand. “Quiteria, what a pretty name! There is a church by that name.”

She nodded, her wide smile full of a bride’s happiness. “We will have the Catholic ceremony there later today. St. Quiteria was a virgin and martyr, widely revered in this area. The people still love her, even though the Church of Rome now doubts she ever lived.”

“But you are living,” Michael told her, “and I wish you every happiness with my friend Garib.”

“Come see the ceremony,” she said as the other girls hurried her away. “It will start soon.”

“A charming young woman,” Nunzio said, watching her run with the others. Then he turned his attention back to Michael Vlado. “Will you be returning home soon?”

“Probably tomorrow. Garib was afraid that once you were released the Butcher would kill again in an effort to implicate you, but it hasn’t happened.”

“Not yet.”

“You never did tell me about your fight with Juan Diaz.”

“He was an overweight man with bad breath and an asthmatic wheeze. Obviously he hated Roms. We had words and I shoved him. I never hit him as he claimed. But he reported it to the police and I was questioned by them. Later, when they needed a scapegoat for the Butcher slayings, they came after me.”

He was standing close as he spoke and for the first time Michael detected a faint spicy odor such as he’d noticed before around Rom encampments. It stirred something in his memory, something about the killings. But before he could think about it there were shouts from the others, summoning them to the wedding ceremony.

As the Rom community gathered round and Gypsy music was played on two violins, the tall, handsome Garib and the smiling Quiteria approached one another. Michael saw now that her classic Rom features were almost Oriental, with large dark eyes set off by arched eyebrows. Her thin lips and high cheekbones gave her a beauty one rarely saw even among Rom women. Garib was a lucky man.

The ceremony was an old tradition, rarely seen in Gypsy communities in these modern times. The groom knelt on his left knee, and Quiteria on her right knee facing him. The best man approached bearing pieces of bread which he placed on both their knees, then sprinkled the bread with salt. Garib bent over and took the bread from his bride’s knee with his mouth, and she did likewise with his bread. As they ate it the best man chanted, “Good fortune and happiness be with you. And even if salt and bread become enemies, may you live in happiness and harmony.” A cheer went up from the crowd as the bridal couple rose to their feet and kissed.

Michael was one of the first to congratulate the groom. “It is a happy day,” Garib admitted. “Now we’ll get the Catholic ceremony over with and we’ll be truly married in the eyes of church and state.”

Michael got a ride with Nunzio and before long the parade of cars was heading into Seville, bound for the Church of St. Quiteria. He remembered Montoto mentioning that this was the feast day of the saint, and it seemed like a coincidence until he realized that the Gypsy Quiteria must have chosen this as her wedding day for exactly that reason.

The church’s own ceremonies were just ending as the wedding party arrived, and a young priest hurried out to tell them that the wedding would be delayed about fifteen minutes. Michael entered the rear of the church and watched while the hooded members of the parish brotherhood filed out. They were unrecognizable in their robes and head coverings, but Michael realized that Montoto was the only one he knew anyway.

He followed them next-door to the rectory hall and found the penitents removing their ceremonial costumes. Enrique Montoto spotted him at once and came over in his robe, holding the pointed gold hood. “You have honored us on our feast day,” he said.

“Actually I’m here for the Rom wedding that follows in a few minutes,” he told Montoto. “These costumes are really striking.”

“Each parish tries to outdo the others.”

“Can I try on the hood?”

The slender man hesitated. “Only for a moment. You are not of the brotherhood.”

The conical shape, like a dunce cap with a mask attached, reached from his chest to a couple of feet above his head. He found the effect stifling, and could smell only the coarse fabric of the cloth pressed against his nose and mouth. He was relieved to remove it. “I wouldn’t want to wear that on a hot day.”

“Happily, they are worn only during Holy Week, and in a few parishes on the patron saint’s day. We store them here the rest of the time.”

“Are there ever any women members of these organizations?”

“Women?” He seemed puzzled by the question. “Well, of course not! A brotherhood is a brotherhood.”