Peter Dickinson - Shadow of a Hero

‘Tell her it’s hard for you to judge, as you’re not there.’

‘Could you tell me a bit more about your friend Miklo? She’d be thrilled to know you knew him.’

‘I imagine she is already aware of that.’

‘She’d have told me.’

‘Not necessarily. For all our excitability, we are a reticent people.’

‘You mean she might have thought it was pushy to tell me?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘But is it OK if I . . .’ Letta began, and stopped when Grandad held up a finger. He thought for a few moments.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘This is perhaps a little unwise, but I will write a note on Miklo for you to send to your friend.’

‘That would be terrific! She’d be thrilled! Why is it unwise?’

‘Because if she were to show it to the wrong people, it could be taken by them to make it seem as if I were approving the use of Miklo’s name as that of a martyr for the cause of freedom. This is exactly the sort of thing that Otto Vasa is doing when he speaks at these rallies.’

‘Oh, in that case . . . couldn’t you just tell her things that don’t matter, you know, the sort of jokes you tell about friends?’

‘Perhaps I could, but then, well . . . I owe it to Miklo not to deny what he meant to me. That is more important than being wise. But if I do this, then perhaps – who am I to complain about the use of Miklo’s name for political ends? – if I do this then perhaps it would not be out of place for you to suggest in your letter that you are not absolutely sure how far Otto Vasa is to be trusted.’

‘Not absolutely sure, hell! I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw an elephant. He’s the most absolutely world-beating utter downright untrustworthy jerk anyone could hope to meet!’

‘I respect your judgement, my darling, but if you put it in those terms your friend will close her mind. For the time being all we can do is work by hints and suggestions. We must sow the seeds of doubt and hope they grow. Vasa at some point is going to reveal his true nature. We cannot make it happen, but we can help our countrymen to be ready, when it does, to see him for what he is.’

‘What is he, anyway? I mean, a Vaxite or a Pangoist?’

‘Neither. Both Vax and Pango were patriots. They loved their country, in their different ways, worked for it, fought for it, and if need be would have died for it. Vasa is also a patriot, but of a different kind. His country is simply an extension of himself. Varina must will what Vasa wills. There is no other source of right or wrong. He is a Vasaist.’

LEGEND

Restaur’s Bride

NOW FOR SEVENTEEN years 1the Pashas left the mountains in peace. Nowhere did any Turk dare to come, no roof-tree was burnt, no children taken for slaves, no flocks seized without payment. So the chieftains dispersed, each to his own valley, and the men put their guns above the rafters, and all was well.

At the beginning of this time Lash the Golden came to Restaur Vax holding in his hand a lamb-fleece which had been dipped in blood and said, ‘This I found at my door in the morning dew. It is from the Kas Kalaz. The last Turk has been driven from the mountains and his oath is fulfilled. He seeks my death.’

Restaur Vax said, ‘Let me go to the Kas Kalaz and ask him, for all that we have done and suffered together, you and he and I, to forgo his oath and let the feud sleep.’

But Lash said, ‘Am I to see you kneel at my enemy’s feet? Never while my honour lives shall I endure that. Besides, I am no merchant or farmer. I am a bandit till I die, and now there are no Turks to rob, nor will I any longer rob my countrymen. I will go elsewhere.’

So Restaur Vax took a silver coin and laid it on a log and smote it in two with his sword, cleaving the log also. One half he kept, and one half he gave to Lash the Golden. So they wept and parted.

Then Restaur Vax mounted his horse and rode west, but he had gone only a small way when he saw a woman coming towards him, wearing the veil of mourning. 2He took a coin from his purse and cast it in the road before her, at which she blessed him. Then by her voice he knew her for his mother, but he saw that she did not know him.

He leaped from his horse, but fearing to slay her with sudden joy, he asked first who she was and why she wore the veil of mourning. She answered, ‘I do not know who I am, nor why I must wear this veil, nor why my feet are on this road. All memory has been taken from me.’

He said, ‘Your name is Parvla Vax.’

She said, ‘It is as good a name as any.’

He said, ‘You travel this road to find your son.’

She said, ‘It is as good a reason as any.’

He said, ‘I am your son, Restaur.’

She said, ‘No doubt you will be as good a son as any.’ 3

Then he took the veil from her face and kissed her and put her on his horse and led her west until they came to the bridge over the Avar. There he saw that the house that had stood beside the bridge was empty, and its roof-tree burnt and its walls black with flame, so he asked other travellers where was the woman who had kept the house, and one said, ‘She fled from the Turks and now lives in a cave in the mountains.’

So Restaur Vax turned aside and went by goat-paths and the paths of the hunter until he came in sight of the cave. The woman sat on a rock with her two daughters in her lap, and a book before her, from which she was teaching them their letters. Restaur Vax said to his mother, ‘Now it is your business to find me a wife. Go to that woman and ask if she is spoken for, for she is a widow. If she asks you what she must bring as a dowry, say to her three good fields and twenty-seven sheep.’

His mother said, ‘One woman is as good as another, and that is a fair price.’

She went to the woman and spoke as she had been told and the woman looked up and saw Restaur Vax standing in the pathway beside his horse, with his musket on his back and his sword and pistols in his belt.

‘Am I to marry a bandit?’ she said.

Then she looked again and said, ‘There was a certain priest who came by the bridge and brought my troubles upon me, though he paid a fair price.’

She looked a third time and said, ‘I have need of a husband and my daughters have need of a father.’

‘But where are your sons?’ asked Restaur’s mother, in the voice of one speaking in a dream.

‘I have no sons,’ said the woman.

Then Restaur’s mother looked at the children and said, ‘I had two sons,’ and as she spoke the bolts of her memory were drawn and she knew all that had been done to her and fell to the ground and mourned. The woman raised her up and Restaur ran to her side and now she knew him and wept again. Then the woman went into the cave and brought out wine and bread and olives, and they sat and ate.

The woman said, ‘So you would be a farmer? Can you shear a ewe? Can you prune a vine?’

Restaur said, ‘I was a priest who learned to be a warrior. Now I am a warrior who will learn to be a farmer. And your daughters will be my daughters and my mother will be your mother, and I will build your house by the bridge over the Avar, and all will be well with us, as it is with all our people.’

So the woman lit a fire at the cave mouth and baked the betrothal cake, and they ate from the same dish and drank from the same cup and kissed each other and were agreed. 4

1The full independence of Varina lasted from the battle of Tresti (1 March 1826) until Bishop Pango’s acceptance of Turkish hegemony with himself as Prince-Bishop at the Milan Conference in October 1828.

2Traditional face-covering of widows without immediate family to support them, enabling them to beg without loss of honour to their clan.

3This encounter and its sequel are probably entirely fictional, reworking a traditional tale, now lost. Restaur Vax’s own poem ‘Meeting’ (op. cit.) uses the tale up to this point, but treats both son and mother as nameless figures of mythic stature.