Time was long and food scarce, so when Sergeant Percival sent two of his men out to shoot rabbits, the lads went with them. It was a relief to find something for which life at Linmore prepared them. They came back refreshed by the exertion and satisfied with their endeavours.
They returned, two hours, six rabbits and four pigeons later, to find their tutor suffering a relapse, caused by septic wounds from the bloodletting physician’s practice. The gypsy remedy put paid to the original fever, but now they needed more supplies, which took another week to resolve.
Wishing to do something useful, Joshua offered to use money from his own pocket to pay for extra help, even going so far as to suggest he and Charlie practised their Greek language skills in the negotiations. To his surprise, Sergeant Percival declined.
“I know your offer is kindly meant, Mr Joshua, but I don’t want either of you two young gentlemen going out talking to any females.”
“But why?” they asked as one.
“This is a poor area, and some of the women might be tempted to offer you all kinds of services for money, and then we’d have their menfolk chasing us all out of the village before we’re ready to leave.”
It was obvious, from the expression on the soldier’s face, this did not relate to the washing of dirty linen. Joshua sensed that the book of sermons would hold the answer.
Despite the frustration of having so much time to spare, and being restricted in what they could do, it seemed strangely companionable to sit in a flea-ridden inn, contemplating supper, smelling like a couple of tramps.
They did not complain, for the food was better some days than others. Several of the former soldiers had a flair for foraging. They went out three at a time to exercise the horses, and came back with bulging knapsacks. The contents usually guaranteed them a couple of meals with meat on the plate, then stew or a thin broth from the bones.
Pigeons and rabbits formed much of their diet, but on a good day the foragers might acquire eggs or poultry from a farm, and once, some river fish, which tasted like trout. It was a rare treat.
There was plenty of bread, but not the kind they ate at home. This was dense and dark, and took a lot of chewing, but at least it was filling, for it sat an unconscionably long time in the belly.
Tonight, the innkeeper shuffled into the room and placed a bowl before them on the hardwood table. It was always the man. The young maidservant they saw on their arrival seemed to have vanished without trace.
The first hint of tainted aroma told Joshua the rough-made vessel contained an indeterminate broth-like liquid. With luck, there might be a handful of herbs tossed in to mask the floating globules of grease, and a chunk of black, bitter-tasting bread on the accompanying platter.
It was just as well the low-beamed ceilings and little slits for windows prevented them from seeing the contents; otherwise, it was doubtful if they would swallow a mouthful.
Joshua stirred the lukewarm mess of potage, trying to force himself to fill his spoon and raise it to his lips. His belly rumbled in protest, anticipating the onslaught it was about to be dealt. Then he listened to Charlie, slurping one spoonful after another down his throat without a thought. He watched for a full minute and then said, “Do you like this stuff?”
“No,” Charlie scarcely stopped long enough to answer, “but an empty belly’s worse than this. My pa told me a soldier takes what he’s offered because every meal might be his last.”
Feeling ashamed, Joshua broke off pieces of bread and soaked it in the broth. After a minute or two, he gulped it down. Charlie was right – it was almost palatable, probably a third time rendering from the rabbit carcases. When he had drained the bowl and mopped it clean, he said, “I wonder what the others eat, out in the barn.”
“From what Gilbert was saying, they have army rations; a bowl of gruel, a crust of bread and some broth every day.”
The knowledge of how little others had to eat stunned Joshua. It was no good complaining. They wanted to learn about army life on the road, and their tutor’s illness gave them first hand knowledge. This was the reality.
Descriptions of poverty could wait until their return home. What did it matter if the grease and smoky atmosphere in the tavern permeated their clothes? The hardships for people in the village were worse.
There was no colour. Everywhere Joshua looked, poverty showed its weary face. Old and young alike wore faded cloth, frayed to the point of destruction, and boots held together around splitting soles and gaping holes. Even at his dirtiest, he would never be in this state. Until now, it had never occurred to him to wonder if families in Linmore Dale lived in such poverty. He hoped not.
He thought back to the first day when they went out to shoot rabbits. A group of ragged children followed and vied with each other to pick up the carcases – anything to earn a reward. Their eyes looked so sad, he was tempted to dispense a coin to each in the group, but the former soldiers warned against it.
“If you give five of them a coin today,” said Edwin, one of the grooms, “there’ll be a dozen waiting tomorrow, and every time they see you. I doubt you carry that amount of money.”
“He’s right,” Fredrick, the outrider, a one-time dragoon, agreed.
Joshua knew they were right, but he still wished he could.
“Are we lost, Sergeant Percival?” Joshua wanted to know.
Most evenings, Sergeant Percival came to sit with them in the tavern room, to drink a cup of coffee, and play cards by candlelight. Often, one or two of the soldiers joined them, while the rest of the men stayed outside with the animals. It was a friendly division, with different people every night, but Joshua and Charlie were rarely alone.
Percival concentrated on blowing cool air across the surface of his steaming cup of coffee. Then he looked up and said in a quiet voice,
“Yes, but only in the sense of having taken a wrong turn down in the valley. Once we did that, there was nowhere to turn around, so we came on, but I think we will probably pick up the right track about a couple of miles from here. The road to Thessalonica, I mean.”
“But not by the route Dr Hawley intended. It can’t be, because the storm blew the ship off course, and we went inland further down the coast to Tirana.”
The guide glanced at the two soldiers sitting beside him, then back to Joshua.
“Having guessed half of it right, you might as well know the rest. The storm was providential, because it meant the professor could not argue with me about the direction we travelled. I never intended taking you the way he said.”
Joshua and Charlie listened in amazement.
“Dr Hawley’s notions about travel didn’t take into account the political situation. It is my job to keep you safe, and Tirana was no place for you to go. The city belongs to Ali Pasha, and he’s more trouble than you lads would want in a lifetime.”
“Who’s he?” said Charlie.
“He was the son of a brigand warlord. Now, he is a very powerful man, who contrives to serve his own ends, and the Ottoman Empire.”
“I thought you said there were bandits in the hills.”
“So there are, and pirates on the sea and slavers as well, down the coast; but Pasha’s Court in Tirana is worse than any of them – for reasons you don’t need to know. As soon as the professor is fit to travel, we will make our way to the capital.”
“Does Dr Hawley know this?”
The soldier gave a wry smile. “Your tutor is an idealist, and I doubt he was aware of the hazards, even before he was ill. If he wants to believe this is the road to Skopje, then I’ll not argue, if it keeps him happy.”
“But we are in Macedonia – aren’t we?”
Sergeant Percival smiled at Joshua’s persistence.
“No, we are not,” he said. “We’ve been in Greece all along, but if it makes you feel any better, we will cross the Macedonian border before we get to Thessalonica. I’ve arranged to send your father a report from there, and collect any messages from him. Then we will go to Athens.”
How could they explain to Dr Hawley? He would never forgive them.
“Let me show you where we are,” Sergeant Percival said, spreading out the map on the table, and tracing the route with his index finger.
“We’re in this region here.” He jabbed a point on the track. “The border is probably within twenty miles of here, and the capital, anything up to fifty miles beyond. How long it takes depends on a lot of things: Dr Hawley’s recovery, the weather and the horses.”
“What have the horses to do with it?” said Charlie.
“Having so many in one place attracts attention. The animals need food and exercise, just as we do; which is why I don’t intend staying here too long. We could either lose the lot, or end up eating them.”
“But it’s so quiet here. There’s nobody about,” Joshua said.
“Oh yes there is. They are up in the hills, watching our every move. Their spyglasses catch the sunlight. The lads saw them when you went out shooting rabbits. We post guards at night, because if the horses disappear, we might find ourselves walking to Thessalonica. In that case, anything could happen…”
A cold shiver of realisation touched Joshua’s spine. Sergeant Percival did not say the people in the hills were brigands, but that was what he meant. This might not be Macedonia, but there was still danger in this remote place.
“Tomorrow, the lads will go foraging for enough food for another few days. Then I want to be on the move, at least down into the valley. If things hadn’t been so desperate, we would have moved long before now.”
“Is there anything we can do to help, Sergeant Percival?”
“Yes,” the guide said. “You can ride in the small coach tomorrow. It is the best way to exercise the horses without drawing attention to the fact. The drivers can find fodder for the animals, and bring extra sacks of flour and oatmeal. All I ask is you keep out of sight and let them do the talking.”
On the way back, Joshua asked the coach driver to stop at the little stone-built church, on the edge of the village. Inside was a single room, with lime-washed walls. An alcove stood at one end, with a tiny altar and wooden cross. The sight filled them with a profound sense of peace and tranquillity.
Joshua dropped to his knees, bowed his head and without thinking, the right words came to mind.
Dear God, please help Dr Hawley recover his strength, and… Bless Sergeant Percival for keeping us safe.
Charlie’s prayer echoed his own, and as they left, each placed a silver coin in the offertory box. It was the least they could do.
Two days later, Sergeant Percival was ready to move on.
The entire village turned out to see them leave. There were people of every age. Even the priest came and said a prayer for Dr Hawley’s safe deliverance. Sergeant Percival expressed his thanks and gave him a handful of coins for the poor of the parish, together with the surplus sacks of ground flour. Ever practical, he stored a sack of oatmeal for gruel in the coach, with several loaves of bread, and animal fodder for a couple of days.
Then the children guided them back to the main road, and waved them on their way. Joshua added half the coins in his pocket to the collection. He wished he could offer more, but whatever else he saw on his travels, he knew he would take the memory of those skinny little faces back home with him.
On reaching the valley floor, Sergeant Percival continued until they reached a small town, five miles further. Clean lodgings and better food did much to revive their spirits and aid Dr Hawley’s recovery. Best of all, it enabled Gilbert to find someone to wash their clothes.
After spending a week there, they set off in easy stages towards the Macedonian border. Of necessity, the days of travel were short, a few hours at most. Dr Hawley’s gaunt frame, on which his clothes hung, was a constant reminder of what they endured. His lethargy added to the problem, and fretfulness made even the shortest day seem long.
To relieve the monotony, Joshua and Charlie took turns to read Virgil’s poems about rural life to the convalescent. After a few minutes, Dr Hawley’s attention lapsed, but he seemed to know if they stopped reading.
They talked in whispers for fear of disturbing the tutor’s rest, or gazed through the window, looking at the scenery. After a while, all views looked the same. Joshua knew he should be grateful they were on the move, but it was not enough. More than anything, he wanted a bath, and knew Charlie felt the same.
Gradually, he noticed the land levelling out and the pace of travel increased as they covered more miles in a day. The air was fresher each time they stepped out of the coach, a sign they were nearing the coast. Their spirits rose at the thought of seeing the sea again, almost seven weeks since they left Italy. Where had the time gone?
When they stopped outside the British Embassy in Thessalonica, Sergeant Percival drew Joshua aside as he stepped down from the coach. Tiredness showed in every pore of the man’s face, and not even the thick coating of dust from the road could hide its presence.
“Mr Joshua,” he said, “I’m going to ask if you will take your father’s letter to the ambassador. I doubt if the embassy staff would let someone like me through the door, but they couldn’t refuse you.”
“Me? But I’m a bit… for visiting.” Joshua twitched his nose and indicated the crumpled state of his clothes.
“They’d think nothing of that when you’ve been travelling. Most likely offer you the chance of a bath. The thing is the professor isn’t in a fit state to see anyone, so it’s up to you, sir.”
This was the first time Joshua had taken adult responsibility on the journey. As the soldier said, they were his father’s letters, which was why he and Charlie stood shoulder-to-shoulder, waiting to meet the British Envoy.
When Joshua explained his predicament, the diplomat offered Dr Hawley the services of his personal physician. At the same time, insisting that when the tutor was fit to travel, they must join his entourage en route for Athens. It seemed if they had delayed their journey even by a few days, they would have missed him.
Joshua accepted the offer with alacrity, but when he told his tutor, Dr Hawley said in a peevish tone, “Master Norbery, you must allow me to be the judge of where to go. Surely, you recall me saying two weeks ago that I wished to stay in the city.”
Before Joshua could explain, Sergeant Percival held aloft a sheet of notepaper, “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir,” he said. “Squire Norbery has heard of your illness, and he insists we go straight to Athens. That’s why the ambassador offered to take us.”
“I beg your pardon,” Dr Hawley said in a prim tone. “I was unaware… my memory of events is not what it was.”
“That’s all right, sir, I quite understand,” the tour guide said, looking towards Joshua and gently lowering an eyelid.
They never heard another word of complaint.
The baths in the old city were unlike any they had seen before. It was Joshua’s dream come true – a sheer indulgence to find a large room, tiled in marble, with screened alcoves along the walls, containing sunken baths filled with deep, oil-scented water, for each member of the group. There were servants in attendance, and in another room, minions waited to apply oil for massage.
They shed their begrimed clothes and sank down into gloriously warm water, and let the cares of the last few weeks slide away. After the meagre conditions endured whilst travelling, Joshua and Charlie would have been content to wallow all night, but for the invitation to dine with the ambassador’s family. It was a foretaste of what was to come.
Joshua’s political connection opened many doors. By the time they emerged from the water, their miraculously refreshed clothes awaited them in the bedchambers allocated for their use.
When they entered the dining hall, they found tables groaning under the weight of more food than they had seen for several months. Servants hovered around, waiting to serve them with succulent meats and varieties of fish cooked in spices and a dozen different sauces. To their delight, the choice included several varieties of baklava, an
d exotic fruits. It was a real treat for all.
Whilst the sight of the victuals revived their tutor’s flagging spirits, Joshua and Charlie ate sparingly. They made tiredness their excuse, but in truth, the memory of the hungry children in the mountains blighted their appetites. The difference was too much to comprehend.
Within a week, the physician declared Dr Hawley fit for travel and they were on board a ship, sailing along the coastal route to Athens. On their arrival, the British Embassy staff found them a suite of rooms in a nearby hotel until they hired a villa in the locality.
Letters from home awaited them at the embassy, and they spent the first few days catching up with their correspondence.
Joshua received one each from his father and Aunt Jane. In the first, dated three months ago, he heard that his sister, Caroline, had given birth to a little boy called Master Henry Shettleston. He supposed that meant he was an uncle. It was a strange thought. He had only seen one baby before, the tiny foundling in Hillend village, but he presumed his nephew was larger.
A second item of news related to his brother, Matthew, returning to Linmore from his tour, the thought of which almost made it worthwhile being away from home – but not quite, for he missed it horribly. It seemed a long way away.
Charlie received several letters from Sophie, which filled him with joy, and Joshua could not begrudge his friend the enthusiasm, which bubbled over.
“Hey, Josh,” he said for the third time. “Did I tell you Sophie is at school in Bredenbridge? She is having a marvellous time. Her special friend is the daughter of an industrialist, and the family invited her to stay with them at weekends and holidays.” He chuckled. “You can tell she’s excited. It’s difficult enough to read her writing normally, without cramming so much on the paper.”
Joshua felt quite envious. Compared to that, being a new uncle seemed mundane. He read his letters again in case he missed anything of significance. Yes, Aunt Jane mentioned his father taking her to visit Dr Hawley’s sister on several occasions.
“Listen to this, Josh.” Charlie looked up from the crumpled sheet of notepaper he was reading. You would never believe it, Charlie. They have so… much… money and eat off gold plates. You should see their jewel boxes, filled to overflowing…
Brothers at Arms Page 19