Lawrence Durrell - White Eagles Over Serbia

At last, in exasperation, he sat down and refused to walk another step unless he could see the chief. Branko cursed and swore and tugged vigorously at the rope but all to no avail. “Here I stay”, said Methuen in a low voice, “until I speak to him.” The column of mules had halted uncertainly. Branko muttered murderously and drew his pistol which he thrust under Methuen’s nose in a threatening manner. But Methuen simply said: “Go on and shoot me, then. I am not moving.” While the argument was still going on in hissing whispers Black Peter and his party retraced their steps hastily to see what was the cause of the hold-up. “What is it?” he said angrily.

“He won’t move,” said Branko.

“Black Peter,” said Methuen, “I shall not be able to march with you unless I have my hands free. I am already half-dead. Either you give me a chance to march freely or you can kill me now.”

He was in an extremely bad temper by this time, and pouring with sweat. Black Peter paused for a long moment, and then, without a word drew a knife and cut him free. “But be careful,” he whispered, and turning to Branko added: “Keep a good hold on the rope.”

It was a prodigious relief and Methuen now found that he could keep up with the forward party with comparative ease. They all seemed to be skilled mountaineers, and at almost every stage of the journey they gave proof of their talents, slipping off to the left and right of the road on short reconnaisances, using natural cover like born huntsmen. A small group of four scouts had been pushed out about a mile ahead of the party, and each in turn waited to make contact before moving off ahead again; his place was always taken by another. In this way they had an intelligence relay of runners bringing them information about the country they were traversing. These men were the only ones not cumbered with the coin-coats or bandoliers.

It was after midnight when the order came to halt and the party was allowed half an hour of much-needed rest in a shadowy ravine which made an excellent hiding-place. The moon had long since gone, though the sky was soft and lit with bright stars. Black Peter came and sat for a moment by Methuen, wiping his streaming face and asking: “How is it going?” Methuen’s good humour had returned with his increased freedom. He had spent his time well, by turning pickpocket and stealing back his compass from Branko. This enabled him to keep an eye on the general direction of the party and he noted with satisfaction that they were walking roughly parallel (though of course at a great distance from) the main road down which Porson must drive on his way from Skoplje to Belgrade.

He still had hopes of being able to escape and reach the road in time for the next rendezvous. But for the moment he was enjoying himself, watching the extraordinary skill with which these mountaineers piloted their mule-team through enemy territory. Once or twice they passed settlement of straw shacks such as shepherds build in the uplands for summer use and at one of these he noticed a fire burning and the vague outlines of figures sitting round it. In the clear night air, too, he heard the monotonous jigging music of stringed instruments. The column halted in a ravine by a pool and while a scout crept forward to the settlement the mules were watered and washed down with as little noise as possible. Presently low voices sounded in the darkness and they started off once more at the slow plodding pace of somnambulists.

From here their road began to ascend very steeply and the going became much more difficult. The soft path turned rudely to flint under the hooves of their mules and after some time vanished altogether, leaving them on the wooded side of a mountain. They toiled their way upward through a jungle of fern and dwarf-elder, slipping and sliding, and hoisting themselves wherever they could by the help of projecting shrubs. Progress was slowed up a good deal, and it was with some relief that they at last reached the beech-glades of the mountain-top where movement was freer and the surface soft once more.

Through the avenues of great trees they caught an occasional glimpse of the vistas of mountains which stretched out on every side of them, but there were no signs of human habitation anywhere along their path. Dawn was already showing some signs of breaking behind the backcloth of peaks when they reached the final peak of the range, and here they were halted in a fir forest, carpeted with wonderful rich heather already burnt brown by the summer sun. The order to bivouac was given and no sooner were the mules safely tethered than each man lay down and fell asleep in his tracks. Methuen freed himself from his bandoliers and his coin-coat and followed suit, falling almost at once into a deep and dreamless sleep.

He woke to find Black Peter shaking him by the shoulder and saying: “Wake up now. Get under cover.” Everyone was ordered into the shadow of the trees and elaborate precautions were taken that none of the animals should stray outside the radius of the wood. As the light grew Methuen understood why for they were camped on the crown of a hill which overlooked one of the main roads into Serbia. In this corner of the picture there was also a good deal of activity; frequent cars and lorries rolled along in the dawn light sending up their plumes of dust. They heard, too, a few desultory bangs in the east which might have been the noise of guns, but for the most part the landscape around them seemed as peaceful as a charm.

They lay up here for the whole of that day, eating what food they could lay hands on; those lucky enough to have some bread of their own shared it, and the supply of water was strictly rationed. Black Peter and his little band of sharpshooters lay at the edge of the wood carefully watching the road for signs of military movement. Methuen for his part spent the day dozing. The constant marching and countermarching of the last forty-eight hours was beginning to tell on him, and moreover he had been troubled by a nail projecting from the sole of his left boot. He took ample advantage of the long wait to massage his feet and to get what rest he could. Despite the relative freedom of movement he enjoyed the rope on his arm had begun to annoy him, chiefly because it meant being tethered to Branko and Branko smelt very strongly. He swore that that night he would untie his end of the rope and lash his jailor to some more appropriate bondsman — a mule.

Twice they were visited by aircraft that day, and the second time a reconnaissance plane circled the hill most carefully before flying away to the east. Discipline was perfect and not a soul moved; indeed the cover itself was magnificent and one could lie at ease in the bracken without fear of being detected. Nevertheless these visitations put everyone on the qui vive, and Methuen could detect an increase of nervous tension among the men when dusk began to fall. Once more before they set out Black Peter made a short speech reminding them all of the pledge they had taken to win through with the treasure, and Methuen could not help reflecting that this alone betrayed the one weakness of a Balkan soldier — forgetfulness. He must each day be reminded what he is fighting for and exhorted to do his duty.

They set off in the grey dusk and after traversing several shallow ranges all of a sudden reached the foot of a mountain which dominated the whole landscape with its jagged white slopes. The surface had changed again and the noise of the mules’ hooves on the loose stones sounded tremendous in the silence. Away to the west they could see a line of bivouac fires — though whether they were troops or shepherds it was impossible to tell. A thin refreshing drizzle fell for an hour and then a wind sprang up and cleared the sky. The young moon looked in on them and they could see the groins and limestone precipices of the mountain they must scale glimmering in the dusky light. They had started on a barren flinty shoulder which climbers would call a glacis; thousands of feet below they could see the tossing woods of Spanish chestnut and wild vine.