The Nostradamus prophecies

28

Sabir held the manuscript on his knee. ‘This is it?’

‘Yes. This is what Madeleine gave one of my mothers.’

‘You’re sure this girl was called Madeleine?’

‘Yes. She said her father had requested her to give it to the wife of the chief of the gypsies. That if the papers fell into the wrong hands it might possibly mean the destruction of our race. But that we should not physically destroy the papers but hide them, as they were subject to the Will of God and held other secrets that may one day become important too. That her father had left this and some other papers to her in his Testament. In a sealed box.’

‘But this is the Testament. This is a copy of Michel Nostradamus’s Will. Look here. It is dated the 17th of June 1566. Fifteen days before his death. And with a codicil dated the 30th of June, just two days before. Yola, do you know who Nostradamus was?’

‘A prophet. Yes.’

‘No. Not exactly a prophet – Nostradamus would have rejected that name. He was a scryer, rather. A seer. A man who – and only with God’s permission, of course – could sometimes see into the future and anticipate future events. The most famous and the most successful seer in history. I’ve spent a long time studying him. It’s why I allowed myself to be tempted by your brother’s advertisement.’

‘Then you will be able to tell me why this man wants what you have in your hand. What secrets the paper contains. Why he will kill for it. For I cannot possibly understand it.’

Sabir threw up his hands. ‘I don’t think it does contain any secrets. It’s already well known about and in the public domain – you can even find it on the internet, for Christ’s sake. I know of at least two other original copies in private hands – it’s worth a little money, sure, but hardly enough to kill for. It’s just a Will like any other.’ He frowned. ‘But one thing in it does bear upon what you are telling me. Nostradamus did have a daughter called Madeleine. She was fifteen when he died. Listen to this. It is part of the codicil – that’s a piece of writing added after the actual Will has been written and witnessed, but equally binding on any heirs.

‘Et aussy a legue et legue a Damoyselle Magdeleine de Nostradamus sa fi lle legitime et naturelle, outre ce que luy a este legue par sondt testament, savoir est deux coffres de bois noyer estant dans Vestude dudt codicillant, ensemble les habillements, bagues, et joyaux que lade Damoyselle Magdeleine aura dans lesdts coffres, sans que nul puisse voir ny regarder ce que sera dans yceux; ains dudt legat l’en a fait maistresse incontinent apres le deces dudt collicitant; lequel legat lade Damoyselle pourra prendre de son autorite, sans qu’elle soit tenue de les prendre par main d’autruy ny consentement d’aucuns…’

‘And he also bequeaths and has bequeathed to Mademoiselle Madeleine Nostradamus, his legitimate and natural daughter, in addition to that which he bequeathed her in his Will, two coffers made of walnut wood which are at present in the testator’s study, together with the clothes, rings and jewels she shall find in those coffers, on the strict understanding that no one save her may look at or see those things which he has placed inside the coffers; thus, according to this legacy, she has been made mistress of the coffers and their contents after the death of the legator; let this testamentary commission represent all the authority the said Mademoiselle may need so that no one may impede her physically, nor withhold their consent morally, to her taking charge of the legacy forthwith;’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s simple. You see, in his original Will, of which this forms part, Nostradamus left his eldest daughter, Madeleine, 600 crowns, to be paid to her on the day that she married, with 500 crown-pistolets each to be paid to his two youngest daughters, Anne and Diana, on a similar occasion, also as dowries. Then he suddenly changes his mind, two days before his death and decides to leave Madeleine a little something extra.’ Sabir tapped the paper in front of him. ‘But he wants no one else to see what he is leaving her, so he has it sealed inside two coffers, just as it says here. But to allay any jealous suspicions that he is leaving her extra money, he constructs a list of what she might hope to find there. Jewels, clothes, rings and whatnot. But that doesn’t make any sense, does it? If he’s leaving her family heirlooms, why hide them? She’s his eldest daughter – according to medieval custom, she’s entitled to them. And if they once belonged to his mother, everybody would know about them already, wouldn’t they? No. He is leaving her something else. Something secret.’ Sabir shook his head. ‘You’ve not told me everything, have you? Your brother understood enough about what Nostradamus had indirectly left your ancestors to mention ‘lost verses’ in his ad. ‘All written down’. Those were his words. So where are they written down?’

‘My brother was a fool. It pains me to say it, but he was not in his senses. The drugs changed him.’

‘Yola, you’re not being straight with me.’

Alexi reached down and prodded her with his finger. ‘Go on. You must tell him, luludji. He is head of your family now. You owe him a duty. Remember what the Bulibasha said.’

Sabir sensed that Yola could still not find it in herself to trust him. ‘Would it help if I gave myself up to the police? If I play it right, I might even be able to convince them to switch their attentions from me to the man who really killed your brother. That way you’d be safe.’

Yola pretended to spit. ‘You really think they would do that? Once they have you in their hands they will let you dig your own grave with the key to your cell and then they will shit inside the hole. When you give yourself up, they will throw us to the winds, just as they would like to do now. Babel was a gypsy. The payos don’t care about him. They never have. Look what they did to us in the gherman war. Before it even began, they hurried to intern us. At Montreuil and Bellay. Like cattle. Then they allowed the ghermans to slaughter one finger in three of our people in France. One madman makes many madmen and many madmen makes madness. That’s what our people say.’ She clapped her hands together above her head. ‘There is no gypsy – none – Manouche, Rom, Gitan, Piemontesi, Sinti, Kalderash, Valsikane – still living, who did not have part of his family massacred. In my mother’s time, every gypsy more than thirteen years old was forced to carry a carnet anthropometrique d’identite. And do you know what they put on this card? Height, breadth, skin pigmentation, age and the length of the nose and right ear. They treated us like animals being stamped, registered and sent to the slaughter-house. Two photos. The prints from five separate fingers. All to be checked when we arrived or left from any commune. They called us Bohemiens and Romanichels – insulting names to us. This only stopped in 1969. And you wonder why three-quarters of us, like my brother, can neither read nor write?’

Sabir felt as if he’d been run over by a herd of stampeding buffaloes. The bitterness in Yola’s voice was uncomfortably raw – unnervingly real. ‘But you can. You can read. And Alexi.’

Alexi shook his head. ‘I left school at six. I didn’t like it. Who needs to read? I can talk, can’t I?’

Yola stood up. ‘You say these two coffers were made of walnut wood?’

‘Yes.’

‘And that you are now my phral? That you willingly accept this responsibility?’

‘Yes.’

She pointed to the brightly painted chest behind her. ‘Well, here is one of the coffers. Prove it to me.’