Tapestry of Fear (10 page)

Roque was nearby, caring and protective, and now and then Jose would swing round, and though it was too dark for me to see his face, I knew he was smiling at me, giving me encouragement.

Out in the open the horses moved easily, cantering over the short turf, the rampart of tall swaying pines to the left, the scree and ravines above them, grim shadows beneath the milk-white of the moon, and to our right the hillside descending steeply, and somewhere, far below, was the road and the fleeing mob led by Garmendia and Cia.

Wisps of cloud drifted over the moon, plunging us into deeper darkness and I did not know whether to be grateful for it or not. With such a moon we would not easily be seen, but without it our way would be even more difficult.

We had reached, God alone knew how, a flat, grassy plain stretching ephemerally out on either side in the blackness. Jose's horse began to gallop, the hooves thundering in the stillness. Javier and Romero were flying behind him and I gripped tight with my knees and followed, Solitaire's mane of pale cream streaming in the wind, Roque hard behind me.

The land shelved, deepening down, and the horses gallop increased, until once more all there was in the world was the feel of Solitaire beneath me, the rush of wind tearing at my skirts and hair, and the supple muscles of Solitaire stretching out to the full. I could see Jose check his horse, veering to the right and heard Roque's shouted instructions. I did as he told me, swerving past the bank of plunging ground, too exhilerated to feel fear.

We flew through the open countryside, avoiding the dark cluster of hamlets and villages, and often seeing, from our welcome distance, the wraith-like snake of a road. Slowly we began to climb, the turf giving way to barren ground and rocks. Just as I was beginning to think my aching muscles would take no more, Jose reined in his horse and waited for us to reach him.

“They need a rest and a rub down,” he said to Roque. “And we need to eat.”

Roque tended the steaming horses and we sat in a tight circle on cold slabs of stone and uneven boulders, and Jose passed round bread and chunks of cheese and bottles of wine. Then he sat beside me, leaning his back against a smooth rock, one arm around my shoulder, drawing me close to him as we ate and drank in silence. Romero sat with hunched shoulders, his pain at the loss of Lindaraja evident in every movement. I was tired, my eyes heavy, longing for sleep. Only Javier retained good spirits. He grinned at me, pushing his thick hair away from his face.

“This is better than a night out in Zarauz, eh?”

“Is it?” I asked, eyes half closed, content to be beside Jose, to feel his body so near to mine, to be together.…

“Miss Daventry was in the International Brigade during the civil war,” he said undaunted. “She would have enjoyed this. Some of the tales Pedro has told us about those days … do you know they were both in Guernica on the day it was bombed?” he whistled admiringly. “ What a lady that one is.…”

Jose stirred, ruffling my hair with his hand. “The next hour is the crucial one. Javier knows the border like he does the streets of Miguelou. We should be in France before the dawn.”

“And we should be on our way,” Javier said, standing up. “We stand no chance once the sun rises.”

Jose squeezed my shoulder, his lips brushing my hair as he helped me to my feet. “ Frightened?” he asked.

“No,” I said truthfully, my fingers interlocked with his. “ Not when I am with you.”

For a moment I was in the circle of his arms and he was laughing down at me, dark eyes gleaming.

“Good,” he said, then helped me mount Solitaire. “It's nearly over now.”

All thoughts of any danger we were in as we tried to cross the border illegally were far from my mind. I was still warmed by Jose's nearness. My heart and mind full of him. I longed for Bayonne and a chance to talk. A chance for him to tell me about Carmen. More than anything, I needed him to tell me about Carmen. I felt a slight flicker of fear, then determindly thrust it aside. I had seen the expression in his eyes when he looked at me. Seen love and desire there. Surely that was enough? ‘Bayonne,' I whispered to myself as we began to move forwards again. “ Please,
please
let us reach Bayonne.…”

The way was more difficult now. No lights from lonely cottages gleamed in the distance. The darkness was thick and total. Gingerly the horses picked their way, climbing higher and higher, stones and pebbles clattering in heavy falls as the horse's hooves disturbed them, seeking for secure ground. The isolation of the wilderness that pressed in on us became menacing and frightening. Giant in the darkness were the black density of mountains and forests. The higher we rode the stronger were the gusts of wind that swept across us and soon the gleaming black buttresses of rock were all around us and I could hear Romero swear beneath his breath as he struggled to guide his horse onto what little safe ground there was.

With growing apprehension I saw the first paling of the night sky in the east, and smelt the damp of the coming day. We were in single file now, the rock hemming us in on either side, squeezing through with only inches to spare. Suddenly Jose halted, the wind tearing at him, carrying his words away almost before we had heard them.

“If there is going to be trouble, it is going to be in the next fifteen minutes. From here it is downhill and straight into France. It's a route Javier has taken many times.” He pointed away to the east. “The nearest road is in that direction, if there is any trouble it will come from there. Don't stop. Not for anything. Better one captured than all captured.”

Spumes of cloud still masked the sky, but they were racing harder now and there was the damp spit of rain in the air. The path before us was narrow and tortuous, a sliver of space between the ink-black of the rocks. The sound of the horse's hooves rang metalically against stone, and then, as we emerged, the rolling hillsides of France stretched ghost-like in the grey of early morning, hill after hill, with the slender rim of the moon sinking down, tingeing the slopes mother-of-pearl.

For minutes, hardly daring to breathe, we reined in our horses and searched with aching eyes for the signs of army or police. Nothing stirred, only Solitaire's head moved as he stretched his neck, his mane cascading caressingly over my hand.

With a deep, purposeful intake of breath, Jose said softly: “ Come on. This is it. And remember, don't stop. Not for anything.”

With infinite care he rode out of the protective shadows of the rocks, guiding his horse slowly and quietly across the open ground, over the indefinable line that severed Spain from France. My heart palpitating painfully, I urged Solitaire to follow Romero and Javier, and Roque, as always, stayed in the rear.

Those few short moments, that brief spell of riding that took us across the frontier, seemed to hang timeless. The sight of the men in front of me, supple bodies on strong horses that were breaking into a loose canter, creamy tails swinging in the breeze, defiantly beautiful against the rose of the coming dawn, is etched in my memory forever.

I stroked Solitaire's gleaming neck and he flung his head up. Then he was off, cantering past Romero and hovering at Javier's side.

He turned his head, giving me that irresistable face splitting smile, his eyes exultant.

“It's been easy,” he said joyfully. “Tonight we will be in Bayonne!”

The road was so far away, only an indentation amongst the grey-green landscape, that I didn't give it a thought. Like Javier, I felt relaxed and free and safe. So that when the shot rang out, my heart lurched into my mouth and I was numbed.

From the distant line of the road came the pinprick glint of motor cycle mirrors. Roque slapped Solitaire's hide, shouting frantic orders as the horses broke out into a break-neck gallop, their hooves pounding like thunder over the firm ground, whipping up clouds of dry pale dust. Jose swung round, wheeling in the dust as he galloped beside me, staying protectively at my side. In front was the gleam of Romero's horse and the fleeing hooves and Romero crouched low and tense, his dark hair merging into the mane of the galloping beast.

Javier was abreast with him, his horse plunging across the hillside, and then the second shot rang out and I remember thinking to myself: ‘Fools, how can they hope to hit us at this distance and this speed,' and then the next thing I knew was Roque's scream and the dragging thud of his body as it fell from the saddle, foot still caught in the stirrup, and my own panic at not being able to curb Solitaire's wild flight and Jose's horse rearing round, high on his haunches, his nostrils flaring, his hooves deadly inches away from my face. And then I had slithered off Solitaire's back, running with pain in my heart and my head, racing back to where Roque lay lifeless in the dew spangled grass. There must have been other shots but if there were I was oblivious of them, and then Jose was thrusting me violently aside, kneeling over Roque's body, shouting at me to continue.

“
Is he all right? Is he dead? Oh God, is he dead?
” I cried frantically, trying to see Roque's face and Jose's arms pulled me aside, flinging my physically from the inert body.

“I told you to stop for nothing!” he yelled, his face contorted with rage and grief. “ Get the hell out of here!”

I was stumbling to my feet, hands and knees sliding over slippery grass, my breath hurting so much that I could hardly gasp out yet again:

“But Roque! Is he dead? Is he?”

“
Yes!
” Jose shouted, spinning away from the body that had never moved since it had fallen so heavily to the earth. “Yes, he's dead.
Dead! Dead! Dead!
”

His fury filled my ears, reverberating through all my senses. I was blinded by tears as he hurled me on to Solitaire's back and with a slap on her hide sent me careering off after the distant, fleeing figures of Romero and Javier.

Solitaire charged over the turf, Romero and Javier a cloud of dust in the distance. Pounding hooves were behind me, and then Jose drew abreast, heading Solitaire downhill. I could see a huddle of houses and gasped breathlessly: “ But the road.…”

Jose, white-faced and grim, shouted only: “Keep on.”

“But.…”

“Keep on!”

The rain began to fall, fine arrows that sprayed my face, merging with the sweat that soaked me. The hillside sloped steeply down to tended fields, the stone and slate of a farmhouse growing clearer, the half dozen cottages straggling out in an uneven arc beyond. Far ahead of me I saw Romero and Javier wheel round, disappearing in the direction of the farm. Solitaire lunged after them and I was crying tears of grief and fear, hardly knowing where one ended and the other began.

A cart track led away from the farm, up to the hills where there was pasture for the cattle. Solitaire veered down it, Jose only feet behind me. Down between fields of sad looking wheat, the rain falling heavier, blinding my eyes and stinging my face. Ahead was the bleak farmyard and untidy outbuildings, and Romero and Javier's horses lathered and steaming, and then Solitaire plunged across the rutted yard, rearing up as a strange man shouted and reached for his head. I was hurled from Solitaire's back, hard on to the cobbles of the yard, terrified as the frightened horse struck the air above me with flashing hooves.

Jose slithered from his horse, scooping me up from the dust and dirt, racing with me into the farmhouse. The man ran behind us saying frenziedly:

“Quick. You must be quick!”

The room was large with a high raftered ceiling and flagged floor. A dog stirred near the massive fireplace, ears pricked as Jose swung me to my feet at the foot of a ladder that led up to the dimness of the rafters. Hardly able to regain my breath or my senses, I climbed urgently up in front of Jose. Strong arms reached down for me as Javier dragged me into the dark and then Jose was beside me, pulling the ladder in after him. Lowering the square of wood that sealed us in, leaning back against the wall, panting for breath.

“Dear God,” he said fervently, and then in the dark his hands reached out for me, pulling me fiercely towards him, burrowing his head in my hair. We were crouched on the floor, Javier and Romero opposite us, gasping in lungfuls of stale air. As his breathing steadied, Jose said hoarsely to me. “ The man is Javier's uncle. He was expecting us.”

“Not like this, he wasn't!” Javier said.

“What will happen?” I asked, my heart hammering wildly. Jose leant his head back against the wall, his arm around my waist.

“Technically the Spanish police can't operate on French soil. But it sometimes happens. It all depends on the mood of the French police at the time. From the point where they saw us the road swings away, they wouldn't be able to see where we went, but as this is the first farm for miles they would be idiots not to guess we were here. Another ten minutes and we will know for sure.”

I licked dry lips. “The horses,” I whispered. “Whoever comes will see the horses.”

“Too damn right they will,” Romero said defeatedly, his head in his hands.

Javier slapped him on the back. “You think my uncle can't lie his way out of this.…”

“If he lies like you, then there's a faint chance,” Romero said grudgingly.

Jose's hand tightened around me. There came the unmistakeable sound of a speeding car shooting into the farmyard, skidding to a halt.

“This is where we start to pray,” Javier said softly.

Jose moved, lying full length on the sawdust floor, his eye to a glimmer of a crack in the floorboards. Nervously I stretched out beside him, straining my ears to hear what the raised voices at the open doorway were saying.

Javier's uncle, hands raised despairingly to heaven, shoulders shrugged high in helplessness, stepped into view. I had barely seen him on my frantic arrival at the farm. Now he stood only feet below me, the veins in his neck standing out, his face mottled with rage.