They danced until as if at a signal, which Ileana did not hear, the bandits rose and began to dance too.
Then the music changed into what she thought must be a folk dance that she had never heard before, but came perhaps from the South or from Greece.
The bandits certainly knew every step of it and as they danced they sang and the rhythmic motion of so many men and the enjoyment evident in their voices was in its way very moving.
Then, as she sat watching, feeling a little out of it, the General was standing in front of her and taking her by the hand drew her to her feet.
For a moment she thought he was going to ask her to dance with him and was ready to refuse.
She knew that, although she was considered to be a very good dancer in traditional style, she could not equal the grace and the wild abandonment of the gypsies.
But the General merely drew her away towards the tent and because there was no possibility of making themselves heard above the noise, they walked in silence.
Her head was aching and, as they entered the tent, Ileana pulled off her headdress.
Only when she was inside did she realise that she was not in the General’s tent as she had expected to be, but in her own.
She had hardly noticed the couch-like bed that had been pushed to one side while she dressed.
Now she saw it was pulled into the centre and there was a candelabrum holding three candles on one side of it and on the other a huge vase filled with flowers that scented the whole tent with their fragrance.
There were white fur rugs on either side of the bed that Ileana suddenly realised with a constriction of her heart was big enough for two.
It was then that she turned her face to look at the General and realised he was closing the flap of the tent behind them and fastening it with knots which she would find it difficult to undo should she try to escape.
He bent down to fasten the one closest to the ground and as he did so one of the jewelled daggers he wore in his sash slipped out.
With a swiftness engendered by fear Ileana picked it up.
Even as she grasped the handle the General straightened himself and turned to face her.
She backed away from him until she was standing against the bed and now she raised the dagger, the point very sharp, towards him.
“Are you defending yourself or intending to kill me?” he asked.
It was perhaps the note of amusement in his voice that made her lose the last semblance of her self-control.
While she had watched him dancing and was forced to admire the way he performed, she had felt her hatred grow.
He had not only compelled her to marry him, but also left her side without apology or explanation as if, now that he had got his way, she was of no consequence and of little further interest to him.
Now because he goaded her, she replied,
“Both! I will kill you sometime and if you touch me or come near me, I will do it now!”
“So we know exactly where we stand!” the General said calmly. “But I think while you appear very threatening, you have omitted to consider what is behind you.”
Involuntarily, without consciously thinking, Ileana turned her head and only as he moved did she realise that she had been caught by a very old trick.
Moving with the swiftness of a beast of prey, he grasped her wrist, forcing her hand that held the knife upwards and at the same time bending her backwards onto the bed.
Then he was lying on top of her, pinning her down, rendering her completely helpless.
She gave a cry of unbridled terror.
She knew how foolish she had been to let him trick her, which made her even angrier.
Slowly his fingers tightened on her wrist until as the blood drained from her hand she was forced to relinquish her hold on the knife and it clattered down onto the ground.
She was now completely at his mercy and his expression was, she thought, triumphant as he said mockingly,
“You are not a very skilful opponent!”
“I hate you!” Ileana screeched. “I loathe and detest you! Leave me – alone!”
“And if I will not, what will you do about it?”
She felt that his weight on top of her was intolerable. One arm where he grasped it just above the elbow was extremely painful and the fact that his fingers still held her wrist made her want to scream.
He looked down at her and she was aware that his mouth was not far from hers and there was an expression in his eyes that frightened her.
Quite suddenly she was afraid in a way she had never been afraid before.
She was no longer a Princess fighting a brigand, but a woman fighting a man.
The struggle had become one which was entirely primitive and her anger was replaced by a sickening feeling of weakness as she realised she was helpless in his power.
She was terribly afraid of what he might do and she knew that nothing she could say could prevent him from making her his, if that was what he insisted on.
“No! – No! – No!”
Her voice was low and hoarse.
Without her being aware of it, her green eyes looking up into his no longer had the fire of hatred or defiance in them.
Instead there was an involuntary appeal for mercy and the look of a child who is suddenly afraid of the dark and has no idea what to do about it.
For a long time, it seemed almost a century, the General looked at her and, she felt in a strange and inexplicable way, that he was looking deep into her very heart and soul.
Then he said and there was a note of laughter in his voice,
“I find it difficult to decide whether, since you are so unpredictable, I should beat you or kiss you!”
With an effort because he had made her breathless, Ileana replied,
“If I have a – choice I would rather you – beat me. It is what I would – expect of a – brigand.”
She tried to speak in the defiant voice she had used earlier, but instead it was a soft and rather incoherent effort.
The General laughed.
“I will in future remember your preference.”
He lifted himself off her, leaving her for a moment spread-eagled, her gown crumpled by the weight of his body.
Then, as he stood looking down at her, she hastily sat up and straightened her dress in a protective gesture.
He moved towards his own tent and, as he reached the opening, he said,
“Sleep well, Ileana! Remember you are well guarded and it would be useless for you to attempt to leave without my permission.”
He did not wait for her reply, but passed into his own tent and she thought as he fastened the flap behind him that her prison was complete.
For a moment, in relief that what she had feared had not transpired and he had let her go, she felt too weak to move and lay back against the pillows.
Then she told herself that the sooner she tried to sleep the more alert she would be tomorrow to try to extract some kind of sanity out of the incredible mess she found herself in.
It was hard to believe that only this morning she had been content, happy and safe in her own Palace, running Zokāla in her own way and determined not to be pressurised into marriage by anything the Prime Minister or anybody else might say.
But now she was married – married to an outlaw – a man she hated with every fibre of her being and at the same time feared.
How could this have happened? How was it possible?
Then she knew it was because he was clever enough to have such modern up-to-date weapons and so many men under his command.
However much she loathed him, she knew that he was cultured enough to appreciate comfort and good food and wine and the dancing of the gypsies.
Equally he was more frightening and more menacing than she had ever imagined any man could be.
“What can I do? Oh, God, what can I do?” she asked aloud.
Then, because she was exhausted by all that had happened and by the turbulence of her emotions, whic
h were far more violent than anything she had ever felt before, she realised that the sensible thing to do now was to go to bed.
Slowly she undressed, thinking vaguely as she did so that this had obviously been the General’s sleeping tent before he had handed it over to her.
He certainly made himself very comfortable, as she found when she climbed into bed and appreciated the fine linen sheets beneath the lamb’s wool blankets that were as light and luxurious as anything she had in the Palace.
She recognised that the mattress was filled with down, as were the pillows.
When she lay down and felt as if she floated on a cloud, she admitted to herself that the General, had she not been so terrifyingly involved with him, was a remarkable character and any country in which he lived would make him into a legend.
“If only I had a hundred men like him in Zokāla!” she murmured.
There was no answer to this and, as she closed her eyes, she felt herself drifting away into the realms of sleep where she was listening to the gypsy music.
They were still playing outside and she thought, although it seemed impossible, the music somehow held out a note of hope in its wild ecstatic rhythm.
It was like a light in what was otherwise a sea of darkness, hatred and despair.
*
Ileana awoke to the realisation that there was somebody in her tent.
As she half opened her eyes, she saw it was the Greek woman who was picking up her wedding gown, which she had thrown carelessly down to the ground when she had taken it off the night before.
She then lifted the necklace from the table that also supported the mirror.
When she saw that Ileana was awake, the Greek woman said,
“A beautiful morning, gracious Lady! I will bring you breakfast in a few minutes. Our Leader wishes you to be ready in one hour.”
‘And I suppose I have to obey his order!’ Ileana told herself, but she did not say so aloud.
Instead, almost as if the Greek woman compelled her, she went into the bathroom and found the bath had been refilled and was waiting for her.
The water was cool but exhilarating.
She dried herself and came back into the bedroom to find that her breakfast was waiting on a tray and she was relieved to find that she did not have to take this meal with the General.
Sitting still wrapped only in a big Turkish towel, she ate eggs and ham, which were well cooked and drank a cup of French coffee.
She might easily have been in her own Palace or any other Palace she had visited in the past.
But the truth was that she was in the tent of a brigand, who had invaded her country unlawfully and had forced her to become his wife without giving her any chance of refusing him.
As she felt stronger, once again her anger began rising within her.
When she had finished her breakfast, she rose still wrapped in the towel to look for her clothes.
She saw instead the Greek woman bringing into the tent a red skirt and a white blouse, and with them a black velvet bodice such as was traditionally worn by the native women of Zokāla.
“I want my own clothes!” she said sharply. “Where are they?”
“They are gone, gracious Lady.”
“Gone? What do you mean – gone?”
“Our Leader ordered them last night to be burnt!”
“Burnt?”
Ileana’s exclamation was shrill.
“Yes, burnt,” the Greek woman repeated. “Our Leader does not approve of ladies wearing clothes that are intended for men.”
Ileana thought it was what she might have expected.
However, the manner in which he had disposed of her belongings made her wish she had been quick enough last night to kill him when she had the opportunity.
Had she driven the knife into his back, things would now be very different.
Then she had to admit that, if she had in fact killed their Leader, the brigands would doubtless have killed her.
She was aware that he had an air of authority about him and a kind of magnetic force that made his men follow him loyally wherever he might lead them.
‘The devil has the same power!’ she thought and decided that was what he was – a devil – and there was no doubt that he would drag her down to Hell.
Quickly, because there was nothing else she could do and she was afraid if she refused to put on the clothes the General might, as he had threatened, constitute himself as her lady’s-maid, she dressed herself.
First there was a lace-trimmed chemise, which was silk and felt very soft on her skin and then she put on the stiff lace-trimmed petticoats, which went under the red skirt.
As she did so, she realised that the clothes were of the finest quality and that they fitted her perfectly.
She could not but recognise the General’s brilliant organising ability.
But she pressed her lips together to prevent herself from telling the Greek woman exactly what she thought of her Leader.
Than there was a blouse, very similar to those the peasants wore, but embroidered very elaborately and edged on the large puffed sleeves with lace that was the finest made by any of the Zokālan lace makers.
The skirt fitted exactly round her small waist and when the Greek woman placed the black velvet bodice around her, Ileana knew that the costume was exceedingly becoming.
There was an apron, also beautifully embroidered and elaborate like those the Zokālan women kept for very special occasions.
It infuriated Ileana to know that, not only the white stockings but also the black shoes, which were of leather with silver buckles, fitted her exactly.
As she sat in front of the mirror, the Greek woman brushed her hair until it shone like sunlight and then, as was traditional, left it hanging over her shoulders and down to her waist.
Over it she placed a wreath that arched over her head and was decorated with flowers and ribbons of green, silver and gold.
She guessed, and it annoyed her, that the General had carefully precluded there being any red near her hair.
Now she was ready and, as she rose to her feet, the Greek woman said,
“The gracious Lady is very beautiful and a very fitting wife for our Leader!”
She paused.
Then she said in a soft voice,
“Please, be kind to him. He is so very wonderful!”
There was something in the way she spoke and the suspicion of tears in her eyes that made Ileana look at her sharply.
She realised, as she did so, how immensely beautiful the Greek woman was, almost like a Goddess.
Before she could really formulate it, the idea flashed through her mind, as she remembered the way the gypsy girls had danced with him, that his life had not been without women.
Without really understanding what she was thinking, she replied to the Greek woman harshy,
“Why should I be kind to a man who has forced me against my will to become his wife?”
“He could marry anybody he chose – anybody!” the Greek woman answered. “But he wanted you! You must, gracious Lady, thank God on your knees for such a privilege!”
The way she spoke and the rapt note in her voice checked the angry retort that came to Ileana’s lips.
Instead, feeling this was a conversation that should not be taking place, she enquired,
“What is your name?”
“Thelia.”
“Thank you, Thelia, for looking after me. You have been very kind.”
The Greek woman did not reply. She merely curtsied with her eyes downcast and her lashes long and dark against her pale cheeks.
Ileana was certain that she was hiding her tears, as she turned away abruptly and without looking back walked from her tent into the adjoining one.
It was empty not only of people but also of the desk and everything else with which it had been furnished yesterday.
Then as she stood wondering what she should do, the General came in through the main entrance.
“You a
re ready?” he asked.
His eyes flickered over her appearance almost as if he was checking to see that she was dressed exactly as he had wished her to be.
It was then she saw that he was wearing the red tunic and colourful insignia of the Commander-in-Chief of the Zokālan Army.
Under his arm he carried a plumed hat, which only her father would have worn when he took the salute at the Ceremony of the Trooping the Colour.
His coat blazed with the decorations he had worn last night when he married her and across his chest was a blue ribbon from which dangled the jewelled decoration of St. Miklös, the Patron Saint of Zokāla.
Ileana stared at him in astonishment.
Then she exploded,
“How dare you deck yourself out with decorations to which you are not entitled? Even our lowest peasant will be aware that you have stolen them!”
“That is what I expected you to think,” the General replied, “but explanations will be made later. Come, everything is ready for our drive into the next valley with our troops behind us. The rest of my people will follow.”
For a moment Ileana defied him.
Then she said,
“I am ashamed – deeply ashamed and humiliated to be associated with an imposter. One day, make no mistake, I will have my revenge!”
The General laughed.
“I shall be looking forward to it! But for the moment I find it somewhat early in the morning for dramatics!”
The way he spoke made Ileana clench her fingers together to prevent herself from attempting to kill him with her bare hands.
Then realising how helpless she was, she preceded him out of the tent feeling as if even the bright sunshine was mocking her.
Chapter Five
To her astonishment, Ileana saw waiting for them the Landau that her father used on state occasions.
It was an open carriage drawn by six perfectly matched white horses and the postilions accompanying it were dressed in the Royal uniform.
A troop of the King’s Cavalry was drawn up behind it and, as she and the General appeared the Officer-in-Charge saluted them.
In a voice that only the General could hear Ileana said beneath her breath,
“I suppose you ordered this in my name!”
Bride to a Brigand Page 8