Blood Fever

  She turned away from the scene of carnage.

  She could not have James. She knew now that that was not to be. God had chosen another fate for him, but there was always Stefano…

  James, Zoltan, Tree-Trunk and Amy had made their way around the top of the mountain and were riding down the other side towards the Gulf of Orosei on horseback. They had found the horses in a stable set some way back from the edge of the dam. With no vehicles up here, this had been the only way for Ugo’s men to get around.

  James was sitting behind the massive bulk of the tattooed Samoan and Amy was clinging on to Zoltan, as much to stop him from falling off as herself.

  Zoltan looked very weak and sick, as if he had done all he needed and was giving up. He swayed in the saddle, his head lolling.

  James didn’t know if he and Amy were prisoners or if they were all escaping together. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to get off this cursed mountain and back down to safety and civilisation.

  He felt empty and numb and couldn’t look at Amy, whose eyes were red from crying.

  As they were leaving the ruined dam a group of Ugo’s men had shot at them half-heartedly from a distance. Zoltan had fired back to scare them off, emptying his Beretta, and they had disappeared.

  After that they had seen no one.

  It was very hot and James had nothing to shade his head. He sat there, staring at the complex tattoos on Tree-Trunk’s back and listening to the incessant clop-clop-clop of the horses’ hoofs on the rocky ground. He found the sound intensely irritating and even when the horses stopped the sound carried on, inside his head, clop-clop-clop…

  After an hour or so they came to a small stream and dismounted. Amy wandered over to get a drink and stretch her aching legs. James approached Zoltan who was sitting in the shade of a tree, fiddling with his Beretta.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he said.

  ‘I am going back to my boat where I belong,’ said Zoltan.

  ‘And what about us?’ James asked.

  Zoltan looked up at him with filmy eyes. ‘Everything that happened is because of that girl,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Then let us go,’ said James.

  ‘I cannot. She is all I have now.’

  ‘Then damn you to hell!’ shouted James.

  A look of fury came into Zoltan’s eyes, but it soon faded. He sighed and put his gun away.

  ‘I am already damned,’ he said. ‘I hoped that Amy would save me. She was something good in my life.’

  ‘Well, you weren’t anything very good in hers,’ said James.

  ‘You are right,’ said Zoltan. ‘As usual.’ He paused and stared down at his useless left hand. Finally he spat and James saw that his saliva was thick and yellow.

  ‘Do you believe in forgiveness?’ said Zoltan quietly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said James.

  ‘I have done many bad things,’ said Zoltan. ‘For once I will do something good.’ He struggled feebly to his feet and went over to his horse. ‘I know now that I must get away from her, or she will be my death. Here, take this.’ He tossed a bag of coins to James. ‘Head always eastward, until you hit the coast, then hire a boat and go home. Look after Amy for me.’

  ‘What? Wait… No…’

  But Zoltan couldn’t be stopped. He muttered something to Tree-Trunk in Hungarian and the two of them climbed into their saddles and galloped off.

  Amy ran over to James.

  ‘Where are they going?’ she said.

  ‘We’re on our own now,’ said James.

  ‘We’re free?’

  ‘It looks like it. Free to die out here in the sun like dogs.’

  They suddenly felt very small and lost and alone.

  ‘What do we do?’ said Amy.

  ‘We walk.’

  After half an hour of stumbling through the scented maquis, the tough plants tearing at their already tattered clothing, James and Amy came out on a dirt road and followed it down the hill towards the coast.

  They plodded along in silence, too weary to speak, staring at their feet as they slapped into the dust.

  Now and then James imagined he could still hear the horses, clop-clop-clopping along. He thought he might be starting to get delirious from sunstroke.

  The sun was pitiless, burning into the back of James’s neck. Amy was suffering as well, the sweat dripped off her nose and chin. In the end, she tore some strips of material off her hated yellow dress and they tied them around their heads. It was better than nothing and offered them some relief from the scorching rays.

  They passed through a narrow gorge and came out on to a wide, dry, stony plain. There was a stand of cork oaks on one side of it and high cliffs on the other.

  James could imagine nowhere more bleak and exposed.

  ‘This is stupid,’ he said to Amy. ‘We should take shelter and wait until it cools down. We’ll be roasted alive out here.’

  Amy nodded and they left the road and set off towards the trees.

  The forest was further than it had looked and the plain seemed to go on forever. They walked and walked but the dark shimmering line of the trees didn’t seem to be getting any nearer.

  Amy sat down.

  ‘I can’t go on,’ she said. ‘Can’t we just wait here?’

  ‘No,’ said James. ‘We need shelter.’

  ‘Can you hear that?’ said Amy.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It sounded like horses’ hoofs. Maybe Zoltan’s coming back.’

  James strained to listen. He hadn’t imagined the sound after all. He looked around to try and see where it was coming from.

  Then Amy stood up and grabbed his arm.

  ‘James, look,’ she said.

  Through the heat haze he could see the dancing shape of a horse and rider walking slowly towards them.

  He squinted. Now he knew he had sunstroke. The rider appeared to have on the ceremonial outfit from the carnival, with the deathly white woman’s mask.

  And he held a silver sword at his side.

  The horse broke into a trot, then it started to canter, then it was galloping at full speed, and James realised that it was headed straight for them.

  The rider raised his sword, the point aimed at James’s heart. James backed away. There was nowhere to run out here in the open, nowhere to hide.

  He stood his ground, eyes fixed on the sword. The rider’s eyes were hidden behind the mask. The horse’s hoofs pounded on the hard ground. The air was hot and still. James waited until the horse was almost upon him and then threw himself to the side. The point of the blade swished harmlessly by and James was aware of a blur of flashing hoofs.

  He rolled on to his feet and saw that the horse was wheeling round for a return attack, but it hadn’t gone far enough to pick up much speed and as it came back James dodged across in front of it so that he was on the opposite side to the rider’s sword arm.

  But then the rider turned and switched his attack to Amy. She stood there not sure what to do as the horse bore down on her. However, at the last moment, she scooped up a pile of powdery dirt and threw it into the air, startling the horse, which shied away.

  James knew they couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

  The rider galloped away and calmed his horse, then began to circle them, planning his next move.

  ‘Split up,’ said James. ‘I’ll try and get him to come after me. You see if you can get to the woods.’

  ‘No,’ said Amy. ‘We’re in this together.’

  James saw movement off to the side and looked over, amazed, as two more horses burst out of the trees.

  It was Zoltan and Tree-Trunk, the big Samoan in the lead, his harpoon held up like a spear, a fat cigar clamped between his teeth.

  The rider in the mask dug his heels into his horse and charged at them.

  Tree-Trunk was well ahead of Zoltan, heading straight for the other horseman.

  Closer and closer they approached, until, at the very last moment, the Samoan let fl
y with his harpoon.

  The masked rider ducked, the harpoon sailed harmlessly over him, and he came up with his sword and thrust it at Tree-Trunk in a quick, deft movement. The next moment their horses collided and Tree-Trunk went down, his mount rolling on top of him.

  The horse got up, but Tree-Trunk didn’t.

  The masked rider stayed in his saddle, but had to fight to control his horse, which was prancing and rearing nervously.

  Zoltan arrived and galloped past James and Amy.

  James caught a glimpse of his face. He was grimacing in pain.

  ‘No,’ he shouted. ‘Go back.’

  Zoltan’s pistol was useless. He had used up all his bullets shooting at the guards near the dam. While the masked rider was distracted he galloped past him, leant over in the saddle and plucked Tree-Trunk’s harpoon out of the ground, then pulled up and turned his horse.

  The man in the mask glanced briefly at James then back at Zoltan, deciding on his next move.

  Zoltan decided it for him.

  He put the harpoon in the crook of his right arm, yelled, spurred his horse forward and charged like a medieval knight with a lance.

  The masked man straightened his arm and pointed his sword at Zoltan. Then, with a shout, he was galloping at the Magyar.

  James clutched Amy as the two men thundered towards each other, dust flying up behind them, their horses foaming with sweat. As they got nearer it became clear that neither of them was prepared to give way. It was going to be sword against harpoon and James hated to think who might be the winner. Zoltan had the longer reach with the harpoon, but he was sick and weak, and the point wobbled in front of him. The masked man held his sword arm perfectly straight and firm and the light flashed off his cruel, thin blade.

  ‘I can’t watch,’ said Amy, and she covered her face with her hands.

  At last they met.

  There was a grating clash and both men were knocked from their saddles. They fell heavily to the ground and their horses slowed to a walk, then wandered off to crop the grass as if nothing had happened.

  The masked rider had been impaled on the harpoon and sat, resting forward on the haft, the fingers of one hand clawing at the dirt, the other hand still clutching the sword, whose tip was broken off.

  He stiffened and grew still.

  James went over to him and removed the mask.

  It was Peter Haight, his handsome face as blank as the mask he had been wearing.

  He was already dead.

  ‘James, help!’

  Amy was crouched over Zoltan, holding her hand to a wound in his chest. ‘He’s hurt,’ she said.

  James peeled back his shirt.

  The broken end of Haight’s sword was deeply embedded between his ribs. Blood bubbled out from around it as he breathed.

  ‘Should we pull it out?’ said Amy.

  ‘No.’ Zoltan opened his eyes, the whites as scarlet as the blood that trickled from his chest. ‘Leave it.’

  He looked at James.

  ‘Always getting into trouble, James…’

  ‘Don’t try and speak,’ said James, ripping the sleeve off his shirt to make a bandage. Zoltan clutched at his arm.

  ‘Please,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to die here. Get me back to my boat. Please, let me die at sea…’

  30

  Just a Boy

  The sun beat down on to the tiny boat as it skimmed over the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean. James had his hand on the tiller and his eyes fixed on the horizon as it see-sawed up and down. His throat was dry and his lips were cracked and burnt. Amy was worse, her pale skin, softened by days spent locked in her dark cell, was red and peeling. The wind was with them, but the boat made slow progress.

  Zoltan was lying in the bottom, shivering. A thin line of blood ran from his lips down his chin and his eyes were cloudy. The noise of the blood bubbling in his lungs was horrible. He mumbled something in Hungarian and Amy bent down close to listen.

  ‘What did you say?’

  Zoltan blinked. ‘I thought you were my anyám,’ he said. ‘My mother.’

  ‘No,’ said Amy. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘I thought I was at home,’ said Zoltan, his voice very faint as if it was coming from far away. ‘The sea… It was a sea of grass. You would like my home, Amy. The Great Plain goes on forever. In the winter it is frozen, and in the summer it bakes. We had a farm, in the middle of nothing. There were long-horned cattle in the fields, geese in the yard and round the house some mulberry trees. And that was all. Wherever you looked there was nothing else to see, just cattle and grass. That was my world. That was the whole world. I should have stayed at home.’

  ‘You can go home again,’ said Amy.

  ‘No. I cannot. I am drowning,’ said Zoltan, with some effort. ‘I am drowning in my own blood.’ He gripped Amy’s shirt with his good hand. ‘I always knew that you would drown me,’ he said. ‘I should have left you where I found you.’

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ said Amy and Zoltan laughed, then choked and spat a mouthful of clotted blood on to the deck.

  ‘I will not be all right,’ he said and sobbed. ‘I wish I was home. I wish I was in my mother’s arms…’ He stopped and James saw that he was crying.

  Amy took hold of him. ‘You’ll be all right,’ she said again and James wondered which one of them was hugging the other.

  ‘At least I am at sea,’ said Zoltan. ‘Even if I am not on my own boat…’

  After they had covered the bodies of Tree-Trunk and Peter Haight with stones they had struggled to the coast, Zoltan tied to the saddle of his horse.

  They had eventually found a tiny fishing village. None of the villagers owned a vehicle, but an ancient fisherman had sold them an equally ancient sailing boat for much more money than it was worth. They put out to sea and steered northward. The further they got, however, the worse Zoltan’s condition had become.

  ‘I am not going to make it,’ he said, staring up at the sky with unseeing eyes. ‘I don’t want to drown in my blood.’

  ‘I won’t have anyone else die,’ said James hotly.

  ‘It is not in your power,’ said Zoltan. ‘You are not God. You are just a boy – an extraordinary boy – but just a boy. You have no power over life and death.’

  ‘Just hold on,’ said James angrily. ‘You mustn’t die.’

  Zoltan spoke softly, every word causing him pain. ‘All your life people you love will die,’ he said. ‘And there will be nothing you can do about it. Getting angry won’t help. It is the way of the world. We are born, we get hurt and we die. But, God, I don’t want to die like this. Put me in the water.’

  ‘You can’t swim,’ said Amy.

  ‘I don’t want to swim,’ said Zoltan. ‘I want to die… I want to die in peace.’

  ‘I won’t do it,’ said James. ‘I’ll get you to your ship. We’ll find someone who can help you. We can remove the blade, stitch you up…’

  ‘You do not believe it,’ said Zoltan. ‘But thank you, anyway. Now, put me over the side; I am hurting too much.’

  ‘No!’ James clenched his teeth and looked down at his feet. There was an inch of water in the bottom of the boat, stained pink with Zoltan’s blood. There was a horrible stench coming off the man, as if he was already dead and rotting. James couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. He let his head drop, closed his eyes for a moment and squeezed them with his free hand.

  ‘Anyám,’ he heard Zoltan sigh. ‘Édesanyám. Hold me. I am scared…’

  There was a small splash and when James looked up, Zoltan was gone and Amy was quietly crying

  He never asked her if she had tipped the dying Magyar over the side or if he had found a final burst of strength and done it himself.

  She never spoke about him again.

  She dried her eyes.

  ‘What do we do now?’ she said.

  ‘We go home,’ said James. ‘To my cousin’s villa… we can sail all the way there.’

  Amy crawled back and put
her arms around James and they sat like that for a long time in silence.

  They sailed past Terranova and continued north-westward, keeping the island always to their left. It was late afternoon when the Maddalena Islands came into view and James pointed out the great rocky pile of Capo d’Orso and the wind-carved rock in the shape of a crouching bear.

  How comforting and familiar this part of the island seemed to him. The prickly pears and the low umbrella pines, the little secluded inlets, the pink rocks and above it all the bear, which had watched over this stretch of coast for countless thousands of years, ignoring the insignificant comings and goings of the people below.

  They steered around the headland, and there was the beach with its clean, white sand. The beach where James had swum with Mauro.

  How long ago that all seemed now, and how peaceful this place remained. They had escaped the madness and were safe at last.

  They manoeuvred the boat into the shelter of a big rock and took down the sail. All day they had been aware of the wind flapping in the canvas, but now there was just the sound of the water gently lapping against the hull.

  James’s hair was matted with salt and his skin felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper; his lips were gritty and swollen; all he wanted to do was get into the cool water.

  ‘Come along,’ he said and tore off his ragged clothes and dived in. Amy followed him, neither of them caring about their nakedness.

  The water felt like a soothing caress on James’s skin, washing away all the pain and heat. He luxuriated in it, twisting and turning, swimming to the bottom, then drifting up and floating on the surface. Finally he swam slowly to the shore and crawled on to the sand, where he lay half in the water and half out.

  He felt as if he could just lie here and sleep for a thousand years.

  Amy lay next to him and they stayed there face to face, looking into each other’s eyes, wordlessly sharing something, a knowledge of all they had been through.

  At last James summoned the energy to raise his head.

  ‘We should secure the boat and get up to the villa,’ he croaked.

  ‘Can’t we stay a moment longer, James?’ said Amy. ‘This is so heavenly.’