The truck halted beside them. A man leaned out of the cab window.
‘English?’ he said cheerfully He must have seen the coach company’s address on the backs of the coaches.
‘Yes,’ said Nigel and Letta together.
‘Why stopping? Accident, eh?’
‘It’s a road-block, miners,’ said Letta.
‘They’re trying to steal our stores,’ said Nigel. ‘Can you sort them out?’
‘OK, OK,’ said the man, grinning and raising a thumb.
The truck roared on. The soldiers in the back waved as if they were going to a party.
‘US Cavalry,’ said Nigel. ‘They’re early. They aren’t supposed to show up till the last reel. What’s the betting they’ll want the stores themselves?’
They moved into the shadow of a coach and waited, drained by heat and tension. Male voices, furious, broke the afternoon calm. The argument ended and the Varinians started to come back down the road, talking and laughing excitedly among themselves and punching triumphant fists into the air. The first to reach Letta were a pair of newly-weds called Milj and Tara. Milj was Varinian but Tara was dark-skinned, from Madagascar.
‘The army showed up and saw them off,’ crowed Milj. ‘Took their guns away and all. Were they pissed off about that!’
‘Can we go on now?’
‘No reason why not.’
But there was. The officer in charge of the soldiers decided that they must stay where they were until he got permission from Timisoara for them to move on. The coaches pulled off onto the verge to let the other traffic through, and then the soldiers searched the entire convoy. They unloaded the trucks and checked everything, and went through the baggage compartments in all the coaches, and then crawled about under the chassis, banging on bits of metal with the handles of their bayonets. When they opened anything, they insisted on the owners being by to see they weren’t stealing. They were delighted with things like video cameras and Walkmans and handed them round among themselves, and wanted to be shown how they worked, but that was more like excited kids with toys, and they always gave them back with smiles and thanks.
‘It can’t be drugs they’re looking for,’ Letta heard a woman say.
‘Something bigger than that,’ said a man. ‘They didn’t bother to open Vicki’s vanity-case.’
‘No, it’s guns,’ said another man.
‘Guns at a culture festival?’ said the woman.
‘We’re going to Potok, honey,’ said the second man, as if that explained everything.
Later, Letta asked Steff about it and he shook his head.
‘Doubt it,’ he said. ‘More likely they were just going through the motions, as a way of keeping us here till they got some sense out of Timisoara. My guess is the Romanians never did their sums and really worked out how many of us were coming, not just from the UK, and now they’re getting anxious.’
‘But could it actually be guns?’ said Nigel.
‘I suppose it’s possible. All these countries are pretty jumpy about their minorities, and there are a lot of hotheads around. No doubt some idiots are trying to smuggle weapons in. But I think they’re just being bureaucrats. When a bureaucrat’s bothered, he invariably presses the hold-everything button. Anyway, it looks as if we’re going to have to camp here for the night, so let’s start sorting ourselves out.’
Mollie had a contingency plan for just this kind of crisis, so it all went smoothly enough. A lot of the travellers had emergency rations with them, and there was plenty to spare in the stores truck. An old man came by in the evening, and some of the travellers who could talk Romanian chatted with him, and he shook hands and left, but came back a little later leading two mules laden with immense bundles of firewood, which he sold for several cans of stewed steak. They lit fires, whose smoke drifted up into the dusky air, and ate together, and sang as they’d sung all the way south. The sun had set in scarlet bands and night rose visibly up the eastern sky, the way it never does in England. Steff pointed at the distance.
Their road must have swung a long way back because the hills, nearer now, were over on their right, a hard-edged ragged line, black against the afterglow of day.
‘See that?’ he said. ‘That’s Varina.’
Well, at least I’ve seen it, thought Letta as she fidgeted in her sleeping-bag, trying to find a place where the iron ground was kinder to her hip. Even if we never get there, at least I’ve seen it.
LEGEND
Father Stephan
NEWS WAS BROUGHT to Falje that the Pasha of Potok, with all his bazouks, was slain by Restaur Vax and the Varinians at Riqui. Then the Pasha of Falje, though he had little love for the Pasha of Potok, was both angry and afraid, and sent letters to the other Pashas, at Slot, and Aloxha, and Jirin, saying, ‘Our brother must now be avenged with many lives, or the Varinians will feel strong in their hearts and know they are indeed a people. Then they will rise against us and slay us all. Moreover it is we who must take vengeance, for if we do less the Sultan will send armies from Byzantium, with Viziers and Generals to oversee the vengeance, and we shall ourselves be called to account. Therefore write each of you to the Sultan, as I have done, saying that we have the matter of vengeance well in hand. That done, come with all your bazouks to Potok and we will begin the work.’
So the Pashas gathered at Potok. Then the Pasha of Slot said, ‘Let these Christian swine understand the full measure of our vengeance. Let us take their bishop, Bishop Pango, and crucify him on the walls of Potok, where all Varina may see him.’
The Pasha of Falje said, ‘I have word that he has fled to the Monastery of St Valia, where there are many secret ways and places of hiding.’
The Pasha of Aloxha said, ‘My Captain of Bazouks is a man who does not know pity or fear. Let him take command, and he will find this infidel.’
So the Captain gave orders and the bazouks surrounded the great monastery, and seized all who fled. They broke down the doors and found the Fathers at prayer, but with blows and insults they herded them into the courtyard. The Captain of Bazouks looked silently at them.
Then he said, ‘Where is your bishop? My masters, the Pashas, would speak with him, but not one hair of his beard will they harm.’
But the Fathers saw that he lied and did not answer.
Then the Captain stood the Fathers in line before him and said, ‘Very well, since you are foolish old men, I must show you that I will have my way. Let every fifth old fool stand forward.’
He walked along the line of Fathers, beckoning each fifth one forward. And a certain Father Stephan, counting swiftly to his right, changed places with the Father on his left, pushing him roughly aside, and when the Captain of Bazouks stood before him this Father shook and trembled as if with fear, and seemed to wish to change his place again. And the Captain of Bazouks, having seen what he did, smiled in his beard and said, ‘You have missed your count, old man, for it is now you who are the fifth one. Stand forward.’
When he had passed in this manner all down the line, the Captain made the Fathers he had chosen kneel down, with necks outstretched, and he posted a bazouk beside each one, with his scimitar drawn and ready to smite, and said, ‘Now which of you will tell me where Bishop Pango is hidden? If none will, then all that I have chosen will die on my signal. Moreover they will die in vain, for I will then burn this monastery with fire, and leave no stone standing on its fellow, and your bishop will die among the ruins.’
Still not one Father spoke, so he gave the signal and they died. Of the rest, some he whipped and some he tortured, but still all held their silence. Then with blows and insults he drove them from the monastery, and his bazouks brought fire, and burned it. Levers too they brought and heaved the stones apart. And many secret ways and places of hiding they uncovered, but Bishop Pango they did not find.