Saddle the Wind (71 page)

‘Where are they? Are they near by?’

‘Well – they’re some little distance away, but –’

He broke in: ‘Are they under cover right now? Have you got blankets for them? And food? Water?’

‘Well, yes, but –’

He frowned. ‘They’re under cover – and you’ve got food and water for them?’ He shook his head in astonishment. ‘Good God, young woman, don’t you realize what’s happening here?’ He gestured with a swift, short movement of his arm. ‘Look around you. There are people dying here for want of attention – and we can’t even bring most of the poor wretches under cover! Look at them – lying out in the rain – and they’ve already spent almost two days out in the open, in near-freezing conditions! Even with
our
ships and the Russian ones we haven’t got enough blankets or enough food for those who are already here. And they’re still being brought in every minute.’ He bent slightly to her, lowering his voice to an intense whisper. ‘So many of these poor devils are going to die – d’you realize that? And there must be two or three thousand who are still trapped. Did you hear me? Two or three thousand, they reckon. And we haven’t got a hope of getting them out before most of them die of their injuries or cold and starvation and madness. Oh, yes, other help will be here soon, we can only hope and pray, but until then whatever we do isn’t enough.’ He shook a hand in front of her, as if brushing away some bothersome creature. ‘Look at you – you’ve got
clothes
. You’re even wearing a
dress
– when most of these poor people haven’t got a pair of drawers to cover their nakedness. You don’t know how fortunate you are. And your friends are in the dry, you tell me – and they’ve got blankets and food.’ He shook his head. ‘How can you come here asking me for help? Can’t you see? – we haven’t got it to give.’ He turned away from her.

Blanche had stood in silence throughout the onslaught, and all the time she had known he was only speaking the truth. Then, in a great trembling gasp she
sucked in the air and sobbed, and stood there in the rain while the tears poured down her cheeks.

The man turned back and saw her standing there, a young woman with a bruised face, clenching and unclenching hands that were cut and raw; a young woman in a torn and filthy dress, her wet hair hanging loose and in strings about her shoulders. His face softened suddenly. He reached out, put a hand on her saturated, muddy sleeve. ‘I do understand,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for speaking so harshly – but if you knew how desperate our situation is …’ He shook his head in a little gesture of hopelessness, then asked: ‘Are they British, your friends?’

She nodded, unable to speak.

‘And you obviously want them taken off the island. Well, maybe tomorrow it will be possible – but at present …’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Go on back to them. Perhaps tomorrow real relief will be here – hospital ships, more supplies. Or perhaps you can get them aboard one of the ships that will be leaving. Until then they’re better off where they are. There’s nothing that can be done today.’

He gave her shoulder a final pat and moved away. She stood looking after him for a moment and then turned and started off through the rain.

It was almost dark. The woman moved on near-silent feet over the rubble that strewed the corner of the piazza. As she moved past one ruined villa her eye was attracted by the faintest glow of light amid the ruins. She halted and stood there, peering into the shadows of the house’s shell. There was no doubt; a very faint glow of light was coming from somewhere. After a further moment she moved quickly and quietly forward. In her mid-fifties, she was heavily built and
wore the coarse clothing of a gypsy. In her hand she carried a stout piece of wood.

After clambering over the ruins she found herself standing at the opening to the villa’s basement. There were steps leading down, and a pale glow of light coming from below. After a moment she took a grip on the piece of wood and silently began to descend.

The stairs ended in a passage, but there was a room to the right, and it was from here that the light shone. On her silent feet she came to a halt in the doorway and stood there, taking in the scene. The room, what looked to be a kitchen, was very large, and with only one small lamp burning on a table nearby the space was so dimly lit that it was difficult at first to make out what was there. Then she saw that there were two figures lying on a mattress. They lay very still. Without making a sound she crept forward. As she drew near she saw that the figures were those of a man and a woman. They lay with their eyes closed, unaware of her presence. Was anyone else near? She turned, looking about her. The other side of the room was in shadow but after a moment or two she could make out what appeared to be the shape of another mattress lying on the floor. She froze, waiting to hear from it some cry of alarm – but none came.

After some moments of absolute quiet, in which she could hear the breathing of the couple who lay nearby, she became emboldened and took a step nearer to them. In the dim light she could see that the woman was young. Her eyes flicked to the man and she saw that his arm was in a sling. Also in the faint light she saw the gleam of metal at his side and saw his watch lying on the floor beside the mattress. She moved forward and bent to pick it up. As she did so there came the child’s cry, a scream of fear. At once it brought the man’s eyes open.

As the woman grasped the watch, his hand shot out and clutched at her wrist, and in the same moment he cried out in alarm.

With the watch still in her hand, the woman struggled to pull away, but the man’s grip was too strong and he refused to let go. She did not hesitate another moment. Raising the piece of wood in her free hand, she swung it, bringing it down with a cracking thud across his skull.

While the child screamed again, the man groaned with the shock and pain of the blow. But still he held on. She raised the wood again. In the same moment there was a flurry of movement beside him, and more screams, and the young woman, quite naked, was rising up, reaching for her. Easily evading her clutching hands, the gypsy brought down the piece of wood again onto the man’s head, and this time his grip on her wrist relaxed and he fell forward, sprawling half off the mattress, half on the floor. Not content, the woman raised the wood again.

‘No! No! No!’

Her shrieks of denial rending the air, the younger woman launched her feeble strength at the attacker, leaping forward, one hand snatching at her arm, the other hand clutching at her face, nails digging into the soft flesh. The watch fell, smashing on the tiles. Ignoring the man, the gypsy turned her attention to the younger woman. Raising the piece of wood she struck out with it with all her force.

Twilight lasted so little time. It was almost quite dark by the time Blanche reached the piazza. Relieved to have got back safely, she picked her way across the rubble towards the entrance to the stairs.

She heard the voices from below as she started down
the stairs – a sudden eruption of sound, screaming from Adriana, joined immediately by cries from Gentry and Marianne – all the voices set against the sounds of violent movement.

Without stopping to think Blanche rushed down the remaining steps into the passage and swung into the kitchen. And the sight that met her eyes brought the fear welling up as if from a fountain, and her knees felt weak and the sweat broke out under her arms.

In the meagre light of the little lamp she saw a writhing mass over the mattress on which Marianne and Gentry had lain, making a large, amorphous shape that moved and separated and fused again. There were the figures there of Marianne and Gentry – and another, a woman. While the kitchen echoed with their cries, the screams of Adriana and Lisa, and the noises of the struggle, Blanche saw the woman strike violently at Gentry’s head with something in her hand. She heard the crack of the blow and saw Gentry fall while the woman raised her hand to strike him again. And then Marianne, shrieking out ‘
No! No! No!
’ was hurling herself at the woman and the woman was striking at her instead, swinging her arm, bringing down the weapon with all her might, the blow smacking against the side of Marianne’s head with a sharp cracking sound that rang in the cavernous room.

In the next split-second Blanche was rushing forward.

Having had her back to the door, and with the noise drowning the sounds of her feet, Blanche had the advantage of the element of surprise.

She threw herself at the woman with such force that they both went thudding onto the floor beside the mattress. As they did so the woman released her hold on the piece of wood and the weapon went sliding across the tiles. Blanche, recovering first, forced herself up, the
woman’s body pinned beneath her own. Holding her by the wrists, Blanche tried with all her force to keep the woman down, struggling to remain astride the thick body while the woman rocked beneath her, spitting and shouting curses at her. Blanche quickly realized that although the woman was years older, she was infinitely the fitter. Further, Blanche realized that she was fighting for her very life, and not only her own life but for the lives of the others in the room.

But she didn’t know what to do. In that moment while she had the advantage the thought flashed through her mind that she should take the woman by the hair and strike her head against the floor – but she could not bring herself to do it. The next moment it was too late. The woman had given a heave and thrown her violently to one side, sending her sprawling.

Driven by desperation which gave her a strength and energy she had never known, Blanche swiftly recovered her balance. Then, as the woman rose on her knees and stretched for the piece of wood. Blanche reached out for the woman’s hair and caught at it, gripping, wrenching her head to one side. The woman cried out with pain. Seconds later the woman’s own hands were reaching out and Blanche felt the fingers clench in her own hair, and she screamed as they pulled with a strength that threatened to tear out her hair by the roots. Stretching up, she found her mouth pressed against the woman’s wrists and she opened her mouth and bit down, hard. With a grunt the woman relaxed her grip on Blanche’s hair, and the next moment they were rolling over on the floor, struggling for supremacy. Blanche knew, however, that she was fighting a losing battle. With a sudden, terrifying realization she knew that in a very short time it was going to be all over, and she would be dead.

Against the chorus of screaming from Adriana and Lisa, the two women rocked together, entwined, gasping and grunting with their exertions. And then suddenly the woman twisted, wrenching herself free. The next moment she was rearing above Blanche and then throwing the weight of her body on top of her. Blanche gasped as the air was knocked out of her lungs. Then, while the strength was draining out of her limbs she felt the woman’s hands reaching forward, grasping at her throat.

The hands clutched, gripped, and began to press. Blanche tried to push her away but the woman, in command, was oblivious to her efforts. In the dim light Blanche could see the gleam of the black eyes as they stared into her own, and she could smell the strong, spicy smell of the woman’s breath. In desperation Blanche dug her fingernails into the backs of the woman’s hands, drawing blood, and for a moment the grip about her throat was loosened. It gave Blanche only an instant’s respite; in another second or two the hands were about her throat once more.

As Blanche’s head began to swim she flung out her arms, scrabbling with her hands on the floor to find something to grip, some purchase that would enable her to throw the woman’s weight from her body. Her fluttering right hand came in contact with the mattress, brushed the flesh of Gentry’s unmoving shoulder as he lay there. And then there was something else beneath her fingers, hard and metallic – the knife she had used earlier in the day. Swiftly grasping it, turning it so that the handle was in her palm, she brought it between herself and the woman and pushed upwards with all her strength. She felt the resistance of the woman’s clothing, of muscle and cartilage, and she withdrew the knife and gave another thrust, this time using every last ounce of her remaining strength.

As the knife pierced the woman’s heart she made a little sound, half grunt, half moan, at the same time loosening her grip about Blanche’s throat and expelling her fetid breath in one long sigh. Her eyes, only inches from Blanche’s own, suddenly fixed and dulled as the spark of life was extinguished. In the same moment Blanche felt the woman’s body, like that of someone suddenly falling asleep, relax heavily onto her own.

With the sounds of Adriana’s and Lisa’s hysterical screams still ringing in the room, Blanche lay without moving for a moment or two, the dead weight of the woman’s body upon her. Then, still fighting to recover her breath, she thrust the body aside and freed herself of its weight. Head hanging, mouth open, gasping, she got to her knees. Then there came Adriana’s cry – ‘
Mama
…’ – and the next moment Adriana was beside her, wrapping her in her arms.

‘It’s all right … It’s all right … my darling … I’m all right …’ Blanche felt as if she would never fully catch her breath, never stop trembling. After holding Adriana to her for a few moments, she called to Lisa – who was growing calmer now – beckoning to her to come and take Adriana away. Hesitantly the girl did as she was bidden, carefully skirting the body of the woman on the floor. Blanche watched as Lisa led Adriana back to the mattress, then she struggled to her feet and turned and walked unsteadily towards Gentry and Marianne.

Gentry lay prone, his face resting on his cheek, blood running from his head. Blanche knelt beside him and put her hand on his heart. Although he was unconscious he was still alive; she could feel the beating of his heart. She turned to Marianne.

Marianne, naked, lay supine on the tiles, one leg on the mattress. Blanche spoke her name, but there was no
answer. She put her hand to Marianne’s breast, but there was no heartbeat there.

‘
Marianne
…’

Falling to the floor beside her, Blanche cried out Marianne’s name while she lifted up her body, cradling it in her arms, bending her head to look into her face. Marianne’s dark eyes, once so bright with warmth and spirit, gazed back dull and lifeless into her own.