“Am I expected to march like this?” asked Methuen testily.
“Yes.”
“I can use a gun far better than most of these ruffians of yours. You may need me.”
“If we do we will release you.”
Methuen stood up and sighed. Black Peter took his arm and said lightly: “Do not take it too hard. It is a natural precaution. Suppose you were an agent — and I may tell you that we have already had one visitor of the kind. You might escape and take back our position and strength to the Communists in the valley.”
“Do they not know it?”
Black Peter started to walk slowly to his own headquarters, taking Methuen familiarly by the arm as he did so and piloting him along. “I don’t think they do as yet. But we can’t be sure. We have been out of touch with Usizce for several days — I suppose because of all this increased activity. I think that the Communists suspect something big afoot; but they don’t as yet know what. They think we are planning to start a revolution in Serbia. Ach! I’m tired.” They had entered the room which served him for a battle headquarters, and he slumped down at the table once more. The old man lay asleep in the corner on a tattered-looking couch. Black Peter uncorked a bottle of plum brandy and placed two small glasses on the table. “Sit,” he said, “and drink and let us talk about something else apart from this project of ours. I’ve been six months up here living like a goat. Pretty tiring I can tell you.”
It turned out in conversation that Black Peter was not entirely without culture of a sort. He had been trained as an engineer in both Belgrade and Vienna, and at the outbreak of war with Germany had been in charge of a building project in Bosnia. His wife and child had perished early in the war and he had joined the ill-fated Royalist band of General Mihaelovic which called itself Chetnik, and which had been abandoned to its fate by the Allies. With the disappearance of the Chetnik organization and the murder of its chief by the Communists, Black Peter had gone underground and worked for a spell as a cobbler in Usizce.
Then the émigrés in London had started trying to patch together the old Royalist movement from the shreds which remained. Black Peter was called and told of a discovery in south Serbia which set his heart aflame once more. Here was a chance to serve the Royalist cause once more. He spoke with touching simplicity of the dangers undergone and the difficulties surmounted in order to infiltrate a well-armed band into a single mountain area. Many of his comrades had been captured; mistakes had been made. “The gravest mistake has been hurry,” he said. “Too many men, too many arms in too short a time. I wanted another six months to do things gradually without awakening suspicion. But they want me to hurry. Always hurry. Now we are in danger, as you know. We may have to fight our way through to the coast.”
“That would be impossible,” said Methuen. “With the whole army after you?”
“Perhaps. But you do not know the route we are planning to follow. You could not bring an army to bear on us at any place because we travel on the top of the mountains; the only time we come down is to-night, the first valley. The rest of the way you could only bring perhaps two battalions into contact. As far as we are concerned the army can race up and down the roads as much as it wants.”
“And at the coast?”
“You are a pessimist,” said Black Peter impatiently. “You see all the difficulties; but at the coast, my friend, we have a point of rendezvous so perfect that … well, I won’t tell you any more. I will only say that there is not a soldier within a dozen miles of our point of embarkation.”
All this, which sounded on the face of it utterly fantastic, was in fact plausible — so Methuen at least thought as he saw in his mind’s eye the great hairy chain of groined mountains running westward upon the map like a cluster of spiders; the eyries of barren white limestone known as the karst which succeeded the heavily wooded and deeply glaciated chain of hills upon which they now were.
“Drink,” said Black Peter. “Leave the worries to me.” The old man snorted in the corner and muttered something to himself. Methuen smoked on in silence while Black Peter turned his attention to his papers, carefully burning them in a biscuit-box and sifting the ash with a poker before calling for an orderly to take them away. “This pistol of yours is a jewel,” he said, taking it up from the table. “I let you keep your glasses as a special favour.” Methuen smiled. “Will you tell Branko that?” he said. “Because he has relieved me of them.”
Branko was summoned and forced to disgorge his loot, which he did with clumsy reluctance, growling under his breath like a mastiff. Black Peter watched him in silence and then curtly dismissed him. “You see?” he said, turning back to Methuen, “I am a just man, and an honest one.”
“And my pistol?” said Methuen.
“That is different. I want it.” He gave a harsh laugh and slapped Methuen consolingly on the back. “Never mind. We will see. Who lives longest shall keep it for himself.”
It seemed a fair enough solution, though Methuen was already busy with plans for escape. Indeed he was beginning to feel that he had committed a cardinal error in coming to the headquarters of the White Eagles. He should have taken the knowledge gained back to Belgrade with him and not ventured his neck in so risky an exploit. But when he started for the Janko Stone he had not realized that he might find himself a virtual prisoner marching to the coast with a column of armed men, an unwitting target for the attentions of Tito’s whole army. His blood curdled when he thought of the Ambassador’s face. His only hope was to escape and keep the dawn rendezvous on Sunday with Porson; yet as things were it was not going to be easy. One false move and the suspicions of his captors would be aroused. That might lead him to share poor Anson’s fate. And then, on the other hand, it was absolutely vital that some knowledge of the treasure should reach Dombey and the Foreign Office. All sorts of diplomatic repercussions might be expected if the Royalist movement abroad were suddenly to come into large funds. Policy might have to be altered to meet this new contingency. And if the White Eagles did not get through with their precious freight? If he himself perished with them nobody would be any the wiser. Only sooner or later Mr. Judson’s disappearance would have to be accounted for. “O Lord,” said Methuen despondently to himself. “I seem to have made an awful mess of things.”
They ate their midday meal at a clumsy table in the sunshine outside the cave as Black Peter wanted to keep a wary eye on the loading of his mule-team. They ate slices of fat pork-meat heavily spiced and a good country wine with it. Such conversation as there was was punctuated by interruptions. Orderlies came backwards and forwards with reports sent in by scouts; the guides clustered round for detailed instructions as to the route which they had difficulty in following on the map — being unused to such civilized amenities as maps and compasses. Meanwhile the loading went forward steadily and Methuen could not help but admire the excellent camp discipline which he observed; for method and order this ragged band of guerillas would not have disgraced a regular army unit.
As the light slanted towards afternoon he watched a breathtaking transformation of the men and mules into glittering armoured knights and their caparisoned steeds. The shirts of gold gleamed in the sunlight. The mules at first showed fright as the great blankets of gold coins were thrown over them, but their team-leaders soothed them and gradually accustomed them to the new sensation. Panniers were packed, and the great wooden saddles were heaped with the wooden boxes containing the treasure. Black Peter occupied himself tirelessly with details, walking from group to group, admonishing, cajoling and teasing. It was obvious that the men adored him and would follow him anywhere. He was a marvellous natural soldier, thought Methuen with a touch of envy and admiration. It was amazing to watch the whole band a-glitter in gold coats of mail, leading their glittering animals. Once there was an alarm as the sound of planes was heard; but the sound passed away to the east of the camp without anything being spotted in the sky.