‘Is that the church of Gyurkuca? Perhaps we could pass that way tomorrow? I’d like to see it.’
‘As your Lordship wishes.’
The road was extremely steep and also, because it was used by the peasants for hauling down the cut tree trunks, very slippery. To Balint it seemed a miracle that the little ponies could manage to climb it at all. As they went on their way they met a few Romanian peasants on the way down, their ox-carts dragging huge trunks after them. Each time a cart appeared, Krisan Gyorgye would run forward ordering them out of the way shouting and waving his arms about to show the Mariassa — the exalted one — that he was loyal, efficient, and always strict and severe in his master’s service. His zeal was such that Balint had occasionally to intervene to prevent him boxing the ears of the poor sandal-shod peasants. Andras Zutor’s behaviour was quite different. Always soft-spoken, he opened his mouth only if it were necessary to ask for a receipt or check that no more than the quota had been taken. Then he would ride on without a word.
The little party finally arrived at the highest point of the track which marked the boundary of the Abady forest holdings. Here they rested for a while and Balint dismounted to sit on a rock and enjoy the view before they plunged once more into the darkness of the woods.
Four of the gornyiks went ahead so as to prepare the night’s camp before their master arrived. With long even strides, they soon crossed the open meadow and disappeared into the dense fir plantations.
Abady decided to follow, but this time he went on foot for, not being used to the high wooden saddle and the steepness of the climb, his legs were beginning to feel cramped. Going was slow on the icy path. The forest was beautiful and mysterious, silent and seemingly full of secrets. The sun’s rays, unable to penetrate the dense overhead foliage, cast no shadows and, on each side of the track, dark fir trees stood, majestic in their perfect immobility. As the little party moved slowly onwards the deep silence was broken by the faint sound of knocking in the distance and, as they turned a bend in the track, in a clearing fifty yards below, two men could be seen cutting a great fir with their axes. Wood thieves, obviously, for as soon as they realized that they had been spotted they ran swiftly off downhill, with Krisan Gyorgye after them, using his axe-handle as a rudder as he skidded down the slope on his heels as if they were skis. Fast though he moved the men had long disappeared into the depths of the forest by the time he reached the tree stump. For a moment, until Abady told him to return, Krisan stood there shouting curses after the thieves, and he continued to growl and curse under his breath long after the march had been resumed, thereby still showing the Mariassa how faithfully he was served.
The camp was well sited, a low stone wall forming a semicircle under an outcrop of rock. In the centre a pillar made of a tree trunk supported a roof thickly covered by fir-boughs. Below, beds of more fir-boughs neatly tied together, were ready for the rugs that would be thrown over them. Firewood, long dry branches, had been laid against the entire length of the stone wall. When lit these would have to be fed all night so that those inside the shelter would not freeze to death.
Even before they had finished unloading the horses and bringing their supplies into the shelter, Zsukuczo, who knew better than the others how to arrange the dry sticks, feed the young flames slowly and intersperse them with strips of resiny bark so that the flames spread evenly, had had the campfire started. In ten minutes it was burning merrily.
It was Zsukuczo, too, who had chosen the site. As a former poacher he knew the whole forest even better than the others and he knew, too, how important was the protection offered by the rock-face and where the nearest spring of sweet water bubbled up among the rocks. No man bred to the mountains would ever camp on an open site or far from water.
Darkness fell and Zutor handed out the bread, bacon and onions that were to be their evening meal. The men, knowing their station in life, settled near the fire a little away from the place accorded to the master; and when Zutor gave out the large tin cups generously filled with brandy, they all drank noisily, with much clearing of throats, which was the way of mountain folk when they wanted to show their appreciation that so little water had been added to the spirit.
As soon as Balint got into his sleeping bag he fell into a deep sleep partly because he was so tired but also because everyone slept well in the sharp mountain air. At about eleven, however, he woke up, conscious that around the campfire his party was entertaining visitors. Three men had joined the group, as is the custom in the mountains where men will walk three hours and more if they see a camp fire where they can come and talk the night away exchanging news and discussing their problems.
As everyone thought that the Mariassa was asleep they talked freely without restraint. They spoke in Romanian, and one of the visitors, an old shrivelled man squatting on his haunches, who was facing Balint, was recounting a long and mournful tale of injustice concerning a house, money, lambs, loans and interest, and cheese. The words domnu Notar occurred frequently and there was some reference to the Romanian priest at Gyurkuca. Even more frequently he repeated a name, Rusz Pantyilimon, and each time he did so he spat contemptuously into the fire.
Balint raised himself on to his elbow trying to hear what was being said, but even though he could remember a few words of Romanian from his childhood, he could not grasp the details of the old man’s tale of woe. He understood, all the same, that the others commiserated with him and nodded their heads in sympathy.
At one moment Zsukuczo got up from where he was sitting to stir the dying embers of the fire with his axe-handle. When all was arranged he threw on some new dry branches and, as the flames sprang up, he noticed that Balint was awake. Quickly he turned away and said something to the others who fell silent.
Balint watched as the campfire blazed into life again. The thick logs on which it had been built were already half consumed, and a multitude of tiny white flames glowed round the dark stumps at the heart of the fire. Every now and again, stirred by some internal gust of air there stretched out long tentacles of orange flame, dancing with apparent life, which rose up in moving arabesques only to vanish and die as quickly as they had appeared. He watched for a long time, feeling that he had never before seen such beauty, such a raging desire for life, and as this thought came into his mind he was reminded of Adrienne flying over the ice. Did she not have the same restless thirst for movement, for life? Was it not of a flame that she had then made him think, as she fluttered, bending and gliding from one partner to another, her half-opened mouth red and burning with life?
Thinking now once more of Adrienne, he felt that at last he knew what she was really like and that she, like the fire, was driven by some fatal force of which she herself could barely be aware but which, powerful and uncontrollable, must, in the end, prove fatal.
Balint felt relieved that he had at last understood the truth behind her mystery, and said to himself that he was lucky to have realized this before he was tempted to start an affair with her. Driven by this demonic passion Adrienne was not a woman with whom one could amuse oneself for a few hours, with whom one could have a light-hearted adventure and then part to remain light-hearted friends. Ah, no! It would be wiser not to start anything. Of course it would have been different if he had been in love with her, but he wasn’t. Better leave well alone, far better …
And then he went back to sleep.
When Balint awoke it was already dawn. It was bitterly cold and he was shivering. He felt better after a mug of hot tea laced with rum, and better still when he had eaten the bacon that Krisan prepared for him, roasting it on a split of wood over the embers of the fire. As he ate the men started loading up the horses and soon they were on their way again.