“What is it?” Ronald said eagerly, his pulses running high with expectancy. “A rescue or an abduction? I wonder if this is friend Radko.”
“We shall know soon. Look, they’ve come to a decision.”
The head monk appeared to acquiesce, though wringing his hands, while the other came towards them. At close inspection he showed to less advantage than at a distance. One eye was closed up, and a white weal stretched across his hairy face from forehead to chin, as of a badly healed wound. His face was nearly covered with coarse, greying hair, and the black astrakhan cap was pulled down over his eyes. He was certainly not Radko, or any of their former-escort.
He addressed them in a cracking voice in Bulgarian, but Ronald shook his head. He beckoned the monk forward, who approached, shaking with fear or anger.
“Andrieff has demanded you from us. I cannot fight. We have no chance. You must go with him, but I — ” he broke off, and looked round despairingly at the rocks and the valley below.
The Bulgar motioned with his hand impatiently, and Ronald followed in perplexity. Possibly it was merely a question of holding them to ransom. Anything was better than to remain in the monastery.
His spirits rose high at the thought of escape.
The monk ran after them, pitifully holding out his hands. There was no mistaking the terror on his face.
He fumbled in his robe and produced a dirty piece of paper, on which he recorded the tally of the day’s work.
Ronald still had a pencil and, strange, after all that had transpired, a fountain pen.
“Will you write?” the monk asked. “Tell the Abbot that I had no choice — that I did not help you to escape. It is my only hope. You know the place,” he whispered with trembling lips.
Ronald glanced at the Bulgar, who nodded his head. He scribbled out a short account of the affair and gave it to the monk, who seized the paper gratefully, bowing his thanks.
They passed over the ridge of rock above, and behind a huge mass shaped like a loaf of bread the horses of the band were waiting — rough-haired, tough mountain ponies.
The chief bade them mount by signs, and the remainder of the band fell in, leaving three to cover the monks in case of an attempt at resistance.
The brigand then produced two of those coloured handkerchiefs which are much worn in the plains of Macedonia, and bandaged their eyes carefully. At a harsh command the whole troop moved off, slowly picking their way among the rocks.
They journeyed on in this fashion till Ronald could tell by the sunlight on his face that the day was declining. Then a halt was called, and food was served out.
The weather was very different from the last mountain journey, and only gnawing anxiety about those who had come with them on this disastrous journey and the one who was never absent from Ronald’s mind night or day, troubled their minds.
“It must be getting towards summer now, by the heat and the length of the days,” Ralph remarked, as they drank their coffee.
“Midsummer — but not August yet, pray God.”
“August? Why that month?”
“The sacred rites of Diana are celebrated then,” Ronald answered solemnly.
For four days they wandered on in this fashion, the Bulgars speaking no word. At night the bandages were removed, and their eyes had a rest. Nothing could be seen except the ring of light cast by the fires which the Bulgars lighted, tearing up the scrub and wild olive bushes to make a smoky fire.
On the fourth night they camped beneath a rock, against which Ronald was leaning. He gave a startled exclamation. “Come here,” he whispered to Ralph, who edged carefully to him, lest the Bulgars should take alarm.
“Listen, Ralph. Two nights ago we camped at a rock, you remember? I had some vague idea of escaping, and marked our track. I laid out a few stones in the form of a cross pointing backwards to the route we had travelled. Put your hand here.”
Ralph felt carefully where Ronald indicated, and his hand touched a small heap of stones. His fingers felt the cross.
“What’s the meaning of it?” he asked excitedly.
“Hush. There can only be one meaning. We are crossing our tracks.”
“But why?” Even then Ralph could not see the full significance of the manoeuvre.
“Don’t you see? They are taking us somewhere not very far away, and wish us to think that the journey is a long one. We are travelling in a circle.”
“What’s the object?”
“There can be only one. They would not care about the monastery, or whether we could find that again, but our destination — that’s the secret. They are taking us to the mysterious valley.” His voice thrilled at the words.
“To more dangers — death, I expect,” Ralph grumbled. He had hoped for liberty.
“No; to Diana,” Ronald said softly.
Ralph took his hand. “I am sorry, old bean,” he said, with a faint recurrence of his old drawl. “I’m with you — you don’t doubt that?”
They shook hands silently, with the understanding Englishmen feel but rarely show.
At break of day the bandages were replaced and the march continued. They were going steadily upwards, and the track was becoming worse. The horses frequently stumbled. At night the air was cold. Presently a hollow echo suggested that they were passing through a gorge in the rocks. That night they did not halt, nor were the bandages removed from their eyes. For hours they toiled on, till by the motion of the horses they knew they were going downhill.
They stumbled and slipped on the uneven track, sending loose stones flying on before them.
The sun was getting up and the warmer air suggested that the mountains were left behind them. A word from the leader, and they halted and dismounted, their limbs stiff from the exertion they had undergone.
The bandages were taken from their eyes, to their intense relief. At first spots swam before Ronald’s face, and he rubbed vigorously with his fingers. Then the vision cleared, and he saw what was before them; and at the sight he gave one gasp of astonishment.
Before them lay the golden valley and the Lake of Nemi, shining in the early morning sun, fair as a picture with green forests and white marble buildings mounting the slopes, and a ring of high mountains surrounding the mystic valley and the woodland lake which lay cradled beneath their rugged wardship.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A DYING RACE
“Seek a place in every way like to this.” The words of the old priest at the Lakeside rang in Ronald’s ears as he gazed at the scene before him, fairy-like in the morning mist. Here was the mountain lake, the dark, impenetrable grove of mystery on the hillside beyond, and a temple of pure white marble, of matchless beauty, at a distance resembling a new and perfect Parthenon, as wonderful in its proportions as that temple at Athens dedicated to Athene. A more detailed scrutiny revealed differences. The lake here was larger and lacked something of the filmy unreality of the lake beneath the bluer skies of Italy. The mountain slopes were steeper and more forbidding, and the foliage was darker and more sombre, cypress and pine replacing the deciduous trees of the south.
Beneath them lay a considerable town, of white marble, the houses constructed in the style of ancient Greece, each with a large garden. Space was evidently of no great moment. The town struggled up the hillside without plan or system.
For wild beauty Ronald had never seen a sight to equal this strange, shut-up valley, which had held its secret for centuries.
The brigand motioned to him to mount his horse, and they proceeded slowly down the path. A rider had been sent on ahead, doubtless to announce their coming. Ralph brought his horse up level with Ronald’s.
“I say, old thing, this seems all right, eh? We seem to have fallen on clover,” Ralph remarked gaily, in his usual mixed metaphors. “Looks as though someone has prepared a welcome for us.”
He pointed down the path, to a place where two large cypresses stood on each side of the road. Here a crowd seemed to be collecting. As they approached nearer, the crow
d appeared to form itself into an orderly group, and at the head stood an old man clad in a strange vestment of pure white, on which strange designs were worked in gold. In his hands, he held a sickle, which shone in the sun as with this strange wand of office he directed the crowd.
These appeared to be all women, with long flowing robes and hairless faces, They were golden-haired and fair of complexion.
Ronald looked at his companion and laughed. “We don’t cut much of a figure, do we?” he remarked. A dirtier pair of ragamuffins it would be difficult to find. They had not even had the pleasure of a wash since they had left the monastery, and as for a shave, their razors had been taken from them with their weapons on their arrival, and a couple of gorillas would have put them to shame. For some reason, Ronald felt a sense of shyness and a desire to be able to have a real clean-up. But it was all so strange, so wonderful — like a dream.
Their small cavalcade halted at a spot marked with two white pillars, and a line of white pavement let into the road.
“This is where the ten-mile limit begins.” Ralph was rapidly recovering his buoyancy in the sunlight and in these novel surroundings.
The Bulgars stopped, and Ronald guessed — and subsequently found his guess was correct — that this marked the limit to which the Bulgars were allowed by ancient custom to approach the town.
The brigand chief advanced and spoke at length with the old priest, while the rest lolled about and smoked, the scene evidently having no novelty for them.
At last the conversation was over, and the Bulgar, casting a malevolent glance at Ronald from his one eye, retired to his men, and soon they were passing up the hill to a sort of rest-house by the wayside.
The priest came forward and, bowing to Ronald, bade him welcome to Aricia in pure ancient Greek, but with an accent which made it difficult to follow.
“Welcome, strangers from a distant land,” he chanted in a sort of Gregorian monotone. “Welcome, in the name of the King of the Woods, to Aricia, the holy city; welcome to Nemi, the home of Artemis, and welcome to the sacred Grove and Temple of the goddess, now restored to her people.”
The double row of smiling faces reassured them, and Ronald replied that they thanked him for his welcome and would like a bath, which sounded strangely unromantic, but true.
The old man nodded gravely and gave an order. The white-clad people formed into two lines, and, the old priest leading, they started to march slowly into the town. Ronald saw with a start of surprise that those on the right were males, and those on the left females. It was only at close inspection by their forms they could be known, for they all had the same smooth faces and long hair. Their physique was poor and height indifferent; their faces highly coloured, as though painted, but the features were all beautifully chiselled, the eyes unnaturally large and of a china tea-cup blue, with an unnatural brilliance.
But the peculiarity which struck Ronald most was the utter indifference they displayed. The arrival of strangers might be a daily event for any interest they showed.
Ralph was quick to notice this. “They don’t seem in the least impressed with us,” he remarked. “They’re like a lot of stuffed dummies. They haven’t even brought a band, what?”
“Thank your lucky stars they haven’t fallen on us. I don’t like it. Here’s the place which they have been guarding for centuries against strangers. In the old days of the worship at Nemi strangers were sacrificed outright. It was a fierce, stern worship, and here these people bring us along like this. They haven’t got a weapon between them, except the old man’s sickle, and as far as I can see we could put the lot to flight with a few good blows.”
“They’re awfully alike, aren’t they?” Ralph said. It was true. They might have belonged to one single family. There was a sullen, vacant look on every face and the lips, though finely formed, were close-set and cruel.
“That’s probably because they’ve been shut away from the world. They have had to intermarry for generations; it always leads to a weak frame and similarity in appearance. If Smart were here he would tell us all about it.”
They had reached the main street now and marvelled at the beauty of the structures. They were of the old type found in the ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii, but of white marble, with open porticoes beneath lintels supported by slender columns with Corinthian capitals and surrounded by gorgeous masses of roses in full bloom in this sheltered valley. By the doors they noticed several beings who crawled on their hands and knees and looked up at them with slobbering, imbecile faces. Others showed the dreadful swollen necks of goitre.
There were no children to be seen.
“It’s the same in Switzerland. Inbreeding. Cretins and goitre. It’s a dying race, Ralph. There are things here I don’t like.”
Ralph looked in surprise at him. He had not the knowledge of his friend.
At last they arrived at their destination, which proved to be a house similar in every detail to the others they had seen. The priest who had led the way beckoned them in.
“Here,” he said courteously, “you will find food and can refresh yourselves. Later, I will return and we can talk.”
The doorway led into a cool court or atrium, in which a fountain played, the water falling into a pool of marble, and the spray making a rainbow in the sunlight. Surrounding the court were spaces between pillars, in which curtains hung which appeared to be of tapestry, though the pattern had so faded that the pictures could hardly be denned.
It struck Ronald that they had seen no doors in the town, and no walls or defences of any kind. Whatever power these strange people wielded was not of the sword.
Two scantily clad girls approached and with a charming simplicity took them by the hand and led them to the further end of the courtyard. Pulling aside a curtain they displayed a bath fed with cold water from the fountain. It was as big as a small swimming- bath, and the little platform which surrounded it was of tessellated pavement in coloured marble. The pillars were of lovely greenish stone and highly polished.
“I say, this is top-hole,” Ralph remarked, rubbing his hands in anticipation. “Just tell the Nippies to clear out, and we’ll get to work. A spot of soap would be a good thing, and I could do with a shave.”
Ronald spoke to the girls, telling them that if they retired the strangers would have a bath, but they merely showed mild surprise, and one of them, who appeared to have more vivacity than the people they had seen, replied that they were there to bathe the strangers.
Ronald translated — “I say, old man, that’s a bit steep, eh? I’ve seen our girls on the beach at home, but they don’t go that far, eh? Still, if it’s the custom — ”
“Stop,” said Ronald, laughing. He turned to the waiting maiden. “Soap,” he said, “and towels. We wish to be alone.”
The girl smiled for the first time. She walked round the bath and held a curtain back, displaying an inner chamber, in which were stone divans covered with white cloths and brushes of rough construction and jars of some oil or grease.
“Good Lord, man!” said Ralph. “This is a regular Turkish bath, and I suppose these flappers intend to give us a massage.”
Having got rid of the girls at last, they plunged into the cold water, and never was bath more refreshing. The icy-cold water lapped round their tired bodies, and soaked into the pores of their cracked and bruised skins.
Glancing hurriedly to see that their fair attendants were not in evidence, they made their way to the inner room, where, to their astonishment, they found, of all things in the world, a safety razor and shaving-brush of modern American make.
The jars contained a sweet-smelling grease, with which they anointed themselves all over, and Ronald picked up a piece of coarse cloth to dry himself. The joy of the bath and the pleasure of a shave had taken their minds from the strangeness of the whole experience, but suddenly recollection came.
“Hullo!” Ronald said in a strange voice, holding up the cloth. “It’s the same!”
“Same as what?”
Ralph was vigorously drying himself.
“This cloth. It’s the same material as the piece which I found in Diana’s room that night, and the same as that sprig was wrapped in. They both came from here.” Any lingering doubts as to the truth of the whole bizarre story were removed by this piece of evidence.
At the thought of Diana a stab went through Ronald’s heart. What was she doing here, and what position did she hold? The words of the priest came back to him — “the goddess now restored to her people.”
Ralph broke in on his thoughts. “I could do with some scoff, eh? I’m ravenous.”
A surprise awaited them when they returned to the bath. Their clothes had been removed, and in place of them white linen garments, a peplus and cloak were laid out. But the fact that the whole of their belongings from their pockets, including Ronald’s knife, were carefully placed in two piles on a marble seat reassured them. They dressed themselves in these unaccustomed clothes, which were cool and comfortable, except that they found difficulty in walking.
“What next?” Ralph asked.
There is a sign as old as the Babylonians. Ronald clapped his hands loudly, and a curtain was drawn back. One of the girls held it for them, showing a room with a well-filled table of marble — wood seemed unknown here — with low couches round, covered with soft cushions. The girls stood expectant, as they took their seats.
The food was good and excellently cooked. There was fish from the lake, cooked in olive oil, and partridge, or some allied bird, with fruit and white bread and wine.
The Yellow Mistletoe Page 16