Authors: Peter Dickinson
Before dawn the Kas Kalaz stormed the eastern ridge and Van Jirri stormed the western ridge and the Captain of Artillery set up her guns and as the sun rose, the men of Varina hurled themselves against the encampment around Potok and slaughtered many
bazouks
, while the Captain of Artillery hindered the gathering of the rest from around the city. But at last they came, in great numbers, marching to surround the Varinians. Then Restaur Vax gave the order to retreat and withdrew his army between the Knees of Athur while Lash the Golden, commanding the rearguard, hindered the pursuit.
When they were not yet fully in between the ridges Selim, riding with his Commanders, looked about him and saw how the land lay and said, ‘This is a trap. Let us halt and clear the mountain sides before we pursue further.’
Then Lash the Golden, seeing they no longer pursued him, halted his men also and said, ‘These Turks are cowards. See, they outnumber us yet two
to
one, and still they dare not follow us. Let us encourage them a little.’
So saying, he strode back towards the Turks and stood on a little mound and mocked them for their cowardice, while they, daring to come no nearer, fired hotly upon him but did not hit, at which he mocked them the more.
Now the man Paulu, lying upon the mountain side and seeing this, said in his heart, ‘If a bullet were now to strike Lash, who but I would know who fired the shot? Thus the house of Kalaz would not be shamed.’ So he took aim and fired and hit Lash below the shoulder-blade, and Lash gave a loud shout and fell down.
Thereon the Turks were encouraged, and, forgetting Selim’s order, they charged forward between the Knees of Athur, and the men of Varina met them from the positions they had prepared, and the Captain of Artillery fired her guns into their flanks, and the marksmen shot among them until the barrels of their muskets were too hot to hold, and there was great slaughter. Notwithstanding, the battle stood in doubt, for the
bazouks
were so many, until Selim, riding past the mound where Lash lay, saw the body of a man with yellow hair lying face down. Rejoicing that one of his chief enemies was slain, he ordered that the body should be turned over, to be certain that it was indeed Lash.
Now Lash was not dead, but sore wounded and dying. He had fainted with the loss of blood, but being moved he woke and saw the shape of a Turk leaning above him. Then he drew from his bosom a small pistol he carried there always, and quickly fired, and the ball struck Selim in the eye, so that he fell from his horse, and by the time his
body
touched the ground he and Lash were both dead.
2
At that the cry went up that Selim was slain, and the Turks lost all their courage and fled, and the Varinians pursued them with great slaughter, until the valley between the Knees of Athur was scarlet with their blood.
When the victory was sure, Restaur Vax gave orders that a search be made for the body of Lash the Golden, and it was found, with the body of Selim Pasha dead beside it. So Restaur Vax came and knelt and lifted the body of his companion up by the shoulders and held it to his chest and wept and spoke praise for the hero.
3
But even as he spoke he felt the wound beneath his hand, and thus knew that Lash had been shot from behind.
Still speaking, he looked at the gathered chieftains and caught the glance of the Kas Kalaz and saw how his face was troubled, and how he in his turn glanced towards the man Paulu, who looked away. Thus Restaur Vax knew what had been done. Nevertheless he spoke to a finish and laid the body back and rose, hiding his bloodstained hand within his coat, and said no word.
1
The Knees of Athur are two spurs of the mountain with a valley between, level and fertile at first, but narrowing to a precipitous defile. The Battle of Tresti took place here in 1826.
2
Alexo Lash is known to have died at Tresti. According to Marie McMahon he was commanding the rearguard during the retreat from an unsuccessful attempt to raise the siege of Potok when he was cut off and surrounded, but the group fought on to the last man. The respite they provided may have been sufficient for Restaur Vax to rally his forces for the decisive counter-attack. The rumour that he was killed by treachery on the part of Kalaz emanates from Lash’s own clan.
3
Somewhat surprisingly, though Restaur Vax makes many references, and wrote several complete poems, to other comrades of his in the War of Independence, there is no mention of Alexo Lash.
SEPTEMBER 1990
MOMMA WAS IN
the living-room, knitting and watching TV with the sound off. The knitting was a gaudy jersey for Poppa which she’d been making for at least three years because she only got it out when she was seriously bothered about something, and then she started off by unpicking most of what she’d done last time.
‘You’re early,’ she said. ‘More trouble?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it about Van? You had his keys.’
‘You didn’t say anything.’
‘I wasn’t noticing. I thought about it after you’d gone. Come here, darling. I need someone to hug.’
She dropped the knitting and made space on the chair beside her. They did their best to arrange themselves comfortably. There seemed to be a lot of elbows.
‘Just like your father,’ said Momma. ‘He’s all corners, too. Well? No, wait. Before you start, you don’t have to tell me it’s not your fault. I know that already.’
That helped a bit. Letta stared at the screen. It was golf. No-one in the family was remotely interested in golf, but you got close-ups of grass, with a little white ball trickling across and popping into a hole, or missing it, which was soothing in a hypnotic sort of way.
‘He asked me to get something out of his bike,’
she
said. ‘He made me promise not to tell anyone about it – he meant specially you or Grandad. It was two things in secret compartments in the panniers. I had to keep them apart, so they were safe. Then I had to ring Mr Orestes. I had to use a call box because he said our line would be tapped and then I had to give Mr Orestes a separate number to ring back from a call box his end. There was a code. Yellow meant I’d got the things and red meant I hadn’t. I felt really bad about it, not telling you. Anyway, they were there. I got them while you were telephoning.’
‘Let’s get this straight. You had to keep them separate, to be sure they were safe?’
‘That’s right. He said they were probably safe even if I didn’t, but . . .’
‘Oh, God! Where are they now?’
‘In my room. In two different places.’
‘All right. Go on.’
‘Then Biddie called, which made things easy. I went to the station and called Mr Orestes from there, to give him her number, but – I still don’t know why I did this – it was something to do with the creepy way he was talking – when he asked a question to give me a chance of saying “red” or “yellow”, I said “red”. It wasn’t a mistake. I did it on purpose. I told him I hadn’t got them.’
‘Oh, thank heavens!’
‘Then when he called me back at Biddie’s, I said I’d found the bike but there was nothing in the secret compartments and Van was badly smashed up in hospital and he couldn’t remember anything about the journey. That’s all. But listen, Momma. I’m pretty sure the next thing he’ll do is come down and try and see Van at the hospital to find
out
what’s happened. You’ve got to stop him. You’ve got to tell them to say Van’s too ill to see anyone. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.’
Momma was breathing slowly and deeply. Her arm round Letta felt like iron.
‘I knew there was something wrong about that bike,’ she muttered.
On the screen it looked as if someone must have won something. He was prancing around punching his fists in the air.
‘Can you ring Poppa?’ said Letta.
Momma looked at her watch.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve left a message for him to ring me at eleven. You’re going to have to move, darling – I should have given your grandfather his pills twenty minutes ago.’
‘Are you going to tell him?’
Momma thought, then sighed.
‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to. He’s old and he’s tired and he’s done his work, but there isn’t anyone else. I’m out of my depth. Oh, God, I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life trying to get us all clear of this sort of thing, and now it comes back. I wish . . . Oh, there’s no point in wishing. At least your grandfather will have some idea what’s going on. It may not be as bad as I think. All right. Will you come? He’ll want to ask you things. I suppose we’d better take the bloody packages, too, while we’re at it.’
They climbed the stairs together. While Letta groped behind her books Momma stood in the doorway, in what seemed to be a sort of daze, but as Letta crossed to get the other package out from behind her clothes she strode in, took one of the plastic bags which held Van’s clothes out of the grip and looked at the print on it.
‘Vienna,’ she said. ‘He was supposed to be in Wolverhampton.’
‘It might be from when he came over before.’
Momma tipped the bag out. There were some new socks, still with their wrapping-strip round them. The writing was German. A till-slip fluttered to the floor. Momma picked it up and read the date.
‘This Monday,’ she said. ‘Come on.’
Grandad was sitting up in bed playing his own brand of patience on a tray while he listened on his short-wave radio to what sounded like a news broadcast in Romanian. He must have been expecting Momma with his pills, but was clearly surprised to see Letta.
‘Hello, my darlings,’ he said, then looking at them more sharply added, ‘Not bad news from the hospital, I hope.’
‘No. Well, not from the hospital,’ said Momma. ‘But we need your help. Letta’s got something to tell you which I don’t like the sound of at all. Can you stand it? I know it’s late, but we’ve got to make our minds up tonight.’
‘Of course.’
He looked questioningly at Letta, who told her story again. It was far easier doing it for him than it had been for Momma. He held out his hands for the packets when she got to that bit, looked at them briefly, and laid them down on either side of his bed. When she’d finished he shook his head.
‘These people are idiots,’ he said.
‘Van told us he was going to Wolverhampton,’ said Momma, ‘but he seems to have been in Varina. I don’t like my children lying to me. It’s some kind of bomb, isn’t it?’
‘Almost certainly,’ said Grandad, picking the
yellow
package up and weighing it in his hands. ‘Semtex, or something of the kind. If it had been the sort of explosives we used, they would need a far larger amount to do any serious damage. If so, it should be highly stable, and perfectly safe . . . I have one thing to say, my darlings. These people are conspirators. Because of that they see conspiracies everywhere. They will not automatically assume that Van has betrayed them, or that Letta has lied. They are perfectly capable of believing that the accident was deliberately engineered by some powerful organization, the CIA or the British Secret Services, so that the packages could be abstracted. In fact that is what they would prefer to believe. It will fuel their own myth about themselves, their belief in their importance . . .’
‘What on earth do they think they’re up to?’ said Momma. ‘This is England, for God’s sake! It’s got nothing to do with Varina!’
‘It’s hard to say precisely what they intend,’ said Grandad. ‘My best information is that part of Vasa’s strategy is to engineer a break-down in relations between Romania and Bulgaria, and then to stage some kind of incident at Listru next year between the Bulgarian authorities and Varinians who are Romanian citizens attending the festival, thus giving the Romanians an excuse to intervene, and ultimately to annex our southern province into Romania. This would allow a unitary Varinian state to begin to be formed, under the hegemony of Romania. If this is right, it is a crazy strategy. It is inconceivable that the Romanians, with their concern over their Hungarian minority in the north, would let themselves be lured into such a scheme. Vasa has some influence in Bucharest, but
there
is a limit to what even he can do with bribery and blackmail.’
‘Anyway, it’s got nothing to do with us,’ said Momma. ‘What on earth could he gain by blowing anything up here?’
‘Publicity, of course. The most likely target is some kind of cultural monument . . . Ah, there is to be a Bulgarian trade fair at Birmingham in November . . . that is a possibility, for an overt motive, at least. But I think it likely that Vasa and his immediate circle may have another idea in their minds. Suppose such an explosion were to take place. Suppose it were then revealed that my grandson was directly implicated, that the explosives had been stored in the house where I live . . . You follow?’
‘Oh, God!’ said Momma. ‘We’ve got to get them out of here.’
‘Couldn’t you ask your policeman to help?’ said Letta.
‘Policeman!’ said Momma.
‘He’s not that kind of policeman,’ said Letta.
‘I’m afraid he is,’ said Grandad. ‘There are limits to what even a privileged security official would be prepared to hush up, and a plan to commit a terrorist offence on British soil is certainly beyond them. Unpleasant though it is, we are trapped by Van’s complicity. Minna, you will have to find somewhere to dispose of them. Separately, if possible. Deep.’
‘All right,’ said Momma. ‘I’ll think of something . . . oh, yes. Do you remember, Letta . . .’
‘Don’t tell us,’ said Grandad. ‘The less we know, the fewer lies we have to remember.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Momma again. ‘I thought we’d got clear of all this sort of thing. All right.’
She spoke in Field, because of Grandad, but it was the same strained, dry voice she’d used to tell Letta what had happened at Lapiri. She put her hands to her face, hiding her eyes, and bowed her head. She paid no attention when Letta moved to her side and put her arm round her to comfort her. Letta glanced at Grandad, but he held up his hand to stop her from speaking. He seemed far away. After a while he reached for his pad and made some notes.