The tribe was also grieving. For them, a powerful member of its people had been lost. Though wilful and riotous in her youth, breaking every code of behaviour in the Calés book of rules, Marujita had ripened into a strong gitana with a commanding presence, someone others would follow. The harsh years spent behind bars had changed her. Tough and unforgiving, so different from the nimble libertine she had been in her youth, she had become a she-thug during and after her prison years, as well as a warrior matriarch, respected and feared by all. Despite her wild and disreputable past, not to mention her involvement with a gajo, the gypsies of Andalucía had elected her their queen. That evening they were arriving in droves, advancing in straggling bands from every corner of that sun-kissed region to pay their last respects and see their queen off to her final home. The orb of day had sunk and the rocks had turned an indigo tinge in the dusk. A full moon high in the sky cast a blue haze, an almost ethereal light, on to the camp.
