Tapestry of Fear (11 page)

“My best horses!” he shouted, outraged. The shadow of the man he was talking to fell across the table, but he remained just beyond my range of vision. “They took my best horses! There was nothing I could do, they were armed.” His voice rose sharply. “And now you ask
me
questions, and let those bastards get away. They can't be far.…”

“No,” the other man cut in icily. “ They can't be far.” It was a voice I had heard before.

Javier's uncle spat in fury. “Your men are wasting their time, searching my farm. I've told you what happened. Those devils have taken my horses.… And what happens? After they rob me, you ransack the place and no-one wants to know. If I complain to the local police, what will they do? Nothing. Sweet bloody nothing!”

He slammed a huge fist onto a wood table and the dog moved up beside him, ears flat, growling softly. “ No-one wants to know. And my animals will be gone for good!”

Javier was right. He could lie. I nearly believed him myself. He was a powerfully built Basque with a swarthy skin and fierce black eyes, his whole body consumed with rage as he slammed his fist once more on the table.

“Don't we have any rights at all? This is France … not Spain!”

“Shut up, fool,” the other said contemptuously. Other footsteps rang across the yard and into the house.

“No sign of anyone,” a third voice said, strangely familiar.

I strained to see them, but my line of vision was cut off at the table. If they would only step forward a foot.…

“Of course there is no sign of anyone,” Javier's uncle said scornfully. “How many more times do I have to tell you. The lunatics you want are getting further away every minute you spend here!”

The other man drummed his knuckles on the table and I could see the sleeve of Spanish uniform.

“You search where you want. You are wasting time.
They are not here!
”

“But they came here, and only minutes ago. Strange that we did not see them as they left, don't you think so?” the voice was hard as steel.

“My God,” Javier's uncle exploded. “I am a Frenchman, terrorised by your bloody separatists, not able to live in peace, not defended by my own police and victimised by Spanish police! I'm no ignorant peasant to be terrified of you. You have no legal right here. None. None at all.”

He moved forward threateningly. The man he was speaking to never flinched. His shadow stayed unwavering.

“Careful, old man,” he said.

A fourth pair of feet hurried into the room. A voice that belonged to Amiano said breathlessly. “They aren't in the outbuildings.”

I could sense the officer scanning the room, studying the dim recesses of the rafters.

He said. “I can
smell
them here.”

Javier's uncle lowered his voice, saying viciously. “I'll see to it that this outrage doesn't remain a secret. You have trespassed over the border once too often.”

My nerves tightened as the other said softly. “You are lying. They are here, aren't they? I
know
they are here.”

He stepped forward, directly beneath me, the bleak light of early morning full on his face. He looked as unpleasant as he had last time I had seen him.

“Martinez,” he said, “ I want those horses shot.”

Jose's hand tightened on mine as the blood pounded in my ears.

“All of them?” Martinez asked.

“All of them. After all, they don't belong to this gentleman. He can't possibly have any objections.”

“And what about the animals those terrorising bastards took! When do you get those back for me?”

“Shoot them, Martinez,” the officer said again. I saw Martinez shrug and leave the room. My chest felt as if it were being squeezed by iron bands.

“You know who the men were who came here?” the officer asked.

“For the hundredth time, no.
No. No. No.
They were Basques and they were desperate
and
they were thieves. They didn't introduce themselves!”

“Two of the men were Villada's.”

Javier's uncle shrugged. “ So what?”

The officer laughed softly. “ Come, even you must have heard of the Villada's.”

“The name means money … not thieving terrorists.”

“I've heard the Villada's have a passion for horses. They won't be too pleased with you when they see the rotting carcasses in your yard.”

“Mother Mary! All I want is some justice. All the time you spend here talking, they are getting further and further away.”

“Are they indeed? Let's see how far away they are when they hear their horses being shot. The sound will, I think, carry quite clearly into the loft above this room.”

Jose tensed beside me and I bit on my fist, fighting back the rising tide of nausea. The sound jarred my eardrums, sending my nerves singing with fear. It was a lifetime before I realised that the sound had not been that of a gun, but of a car. Doors slammed shut and an impatient, authoritive voice spoke angrily in French.

“What is the meaning of this? Why are you and your men here?”

“We were chasing terrorists. Four men and a girl. They are wanted on charges of murder. We shot one of them near the frontier, the others, two of them Villada's and an English girl, came here on horseback. Those are their horses outside.”

“And what crimes are the animals guilty of, that they are to be shot?” the French policeman asked sarcastically, walking across to the table, his men behind him. I heard Jose take a quick breath of surprise, and then the Spanish officer gave a strained laugh.

“None, comrade. We have searched the outbuildings thoroughly and have not found them. They are in the loft above this room. I was trying to trick them into showing themselves. Wait, and I will show you.”

I closed my eyes and prayed.

“You will leave this farm immediately.”

“But.…”

“
Immediately.
We have had instructions that we are not to co-operate any longer with your activities this side of the border. Ponistowski, the Minister of the Interior, has given his word that the French policy towards refugees will be that of shelter. In his own words. We shall be strict in dealing with violence but there will be no abuses. This, my friend, is an abuse.”

The officer swore unbelievingly. “They are here,” he yelled. “Not ten feet away!”

“For the last time I would be obliged if you and your men would return to the frontier.”

“Look at this!” he shrieked, pointing down to his foot, heavily bandaged and on a rocker. “That whore with them did this, and you ask me to return to Spain without them! Never. Not while I draw breath. I swore I would see Villada dead, and I shall!”

“Maybe,” the French officer said. “ But not now. This man has told you what happened. They took his horses and went further into France.”

The Spaniard was seething with frustration. “They are here I tell you! Two of the Villada brothers and an English girl. One minute. Only one minute and I will show you!”

“You will leave immediately. Your senior officer will not be very pleased if publicity is given to this … not so soon after the statement made by our Minister. Certainly not to pursue a personal vendetta. Allow me to escort you off the premises.”

White with rage the Spaniard was surrounded by the French police and forced to leave the room. The sound of their voices faded and I could no longer hear. Minutes later a car engine throbbed, and amidst shouted insults on both sides, the Spanish police left the farm. The French officer walked back into the house.

“Thank you,” Javier's uncle said with heartfelt thanks. “ They would not listen to me.…”

“How many horses did they take?”

“Four, they.…”

“You surprise me. I wouldn't have thought a farm this size had so many fit animals.” He tapped his foot on the stone floor. “ If I were you, I would take care of those horses outside. I know the Villada's. I went to school with Jose, the eldest. He is in Argentina now, breeding horses. The other two were just as bad. Horse mad.”

Javier's uncle sought for words and failed.

“Give them my regards. Tell them from me that Argentina is far more healthy for them than France.”

“Yes … no … I.…”

The door slammed and the officer and the men with him left. Minutes later the engine revved as the car backed over the rough ground and out between the farmyard gates.

The tension and fear and then the unspeakable relief had been to much. I leant my head back against the wall and began to laugh helplessly.

Minutes later Javier's uncle was grinning up at us wiping the beads of perspiration from his forehead.

“Mon Dieu, I wouldn't want to go through all that again.”

“You were magnificent,” Javier said generously. “ I couldn't have done better myself.”

His uncle cuffed him. “You couldn't have done it at
all.
”

My legs, weak as a new-born kitten's, I climbed down the ladder, Romero and Jose behind me.

Javier's uncle stood, legs apart, hands on his hips, aglow with satisfaction.

“There is some good stew warming … and some beer. A bit early in the day perhaps, but we need it. I need it. All you had to do was keep quiet … if it wasn't for my presence of mind and courage.…”

“You mean if it wasn't for the French officer,” Javier said cheekily.

His uncle slammed the soup ladle in his hand down onto the table, and with a roar of anger chased him round the room, the dog barking and joining in, knocking chairs over. Javier's yells of protest increasing the pandemonium. At last, after giving his nephew a vigorous box around the ears, his uncle returned to the stew.

“The Frenchman helped a little,” he said condescendingly. “But only out of respect for me.…”

Javier laughed derisively again, to be quelled by a brandished spoon and indignant glare.

“Who was he?” I asked Jose.

“Felix Sastre. His father and my father were business acquaintances. Felix is younger than me, he was just entering school as I left, so we never knew each other very well.”

“Then why.…”

“His mother lost her reason shortly after the birth of her last child. She was put in a mental hospital at Pau. Her husband could not afford a private nursing home. My father visited her there and what he saw upset him terribly. He insisted that she was taken away and cared for in better surroundings. He knew that pride would forbid the Sastre's accepting money, and so he offered Felix's father a job at a ridiculously high salary on the mutual but unspoken understanding that it would pay the fees for a private nursing home. And,” he said, his arm around me. “I'm very glad he did so. Otherwise you may have had to shoot your friend in the other foot as well!”

“Don't remind me,” I said feelingly. “My only consolation is that at least I know he's had medical attention and isn't still tied to a chair in the cottage.”

“You worry too much,” said Javier, who blatantly never worried about anything. “ I wish he
was
still tied and in the cottage. Not searching the countryside for us. How are we to reach Beyonne with that buffoon and his men lying in wait for us?”

“With great difficulty,” Romero said, ladling the steaming hot stew onto his plate.

“But we
are
in France now.” I said.

“Not far enough, Alison. The Spanish police have operated this side of the border before now.” Romero looked glum. “And besides, as far as the officer is concerned, it's now a personal thing. Twice he has been made to look a fool in front of his men.…”

“That wasn't hard to do, was it?” Javier said gustily, ladling a second helping onto his plate. “The man is an idiot.”

“Idiot or not he could still have us behind bars before the day is out,” Romero said, determined to look on the black side.

“What do we do?” I asked Jose.

“I'm not sure. Leo.…” Javier's uncle turned. “Who lives in the adjoining cottages?”

The big man shrugged. “An elderly couple, and Ricardo and his wife and daughters.”

“How old are the daughters?”

“Nineteen or twenty. They work in Bayonne and only come home in the holidays. I saw them yesterday, so I know they are here at the moment.”

“Anybody else?”

“A young couple moved into the old Anavaros property. They have three children, but very young. Not yet at school.”

“Good,” Jose said thoughtfully. “And how far is it before the road reaches other houses?”

“Not till the village, two miles further down. Then a further mile out of the village it connects with the main coast road.”

“I'm quite sure Felix will see to it that our friends don't hang around the farm, waiting for us to leave. But it will be out of his hands if they try to apprehend us on the road, out of the village. And they will. They know the horses are too tired to ride again, and the only other way out of here is by road.”

“There is my car,” Leo said, “A little old but still she goes.”

“Thanks, Leo. But with only one road to worry about they will be able to watch the cars very carefully.”

“And they will,” Romero said with finality. “We won't be the first people the Spanish police have taken unwillingly back into Spain.”

“They are not going to take us,” Jose said confidently. “ Come with me, Leo. The rest of you finish off the stew and have a rest.” The amber-gold eyes were alight with amusement. “And don't worry Romero. When we leave, we will leave in style.”

The door slammed behind him and Javier, Romero and myself stared at each other.

“It's been too much for him,” Javier said at last. “He's mad.”

“I hate to say it about a blood relation,” Romero said. “But I think you're right. You heard the way the officer spoke to Sastre. He has sworn to see Jose dead and he means it.”