‘It’s all right,’ said James.
‘No. I heard the guards coming and I was a coward. I should not have run.’
‘Well, if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here now,’ said James.
‘You did a brave thing,’ said Stefano. ‘As soon as I heard that you had been captured, I started making plans to get away from the palazzo.’
‘I didn’t tell Ugo anything,’ said James.
‘I know,’ said Stefano. ‘I owe you my life.’
‘No,’ said James. ‘I think we’re probably quits now. But these other men, they don’t owe me anything.’
‘They all hate Ugo,’ said Stefano. ‘Many of them worked for him, building his palazzo. They were never paid. He was one of us, James, but no more. He kill Mauro, so now he is our enemy. Mauro had no brothers and no father, only Vendetta, so these other men will seek revenge.’
‘But what can they do?’ said James. ‘They can’t attack the palazzo. It’s too well guarded. Ugo has a small army there.’
‘Vendetta wants to sneak in and cut Ugo’s throat,’ said Stefano.
‘She wouldn’t get near him,’ said James.
‘I know,’ said Stefano, ‘but that would not stop her trying. Maybe, though, we do not need to go there to fight him. Maybe Ugo will bring the fight to us. He will look for you, James, and he will look for me, and he will look for the people who helped you escape.’
‘I should go,’ said James. ‘I don’t want to be the cause of any trouble here.’
‘No,’ said Stefano. ‘You did not start this. It was Ugo, when he kill Mauro. And he will surely come, whether you stay or go. He hates all the people of the Barbagia, because they know who he really is.’
‘I need to get back to Victor’s,’ said James, struggling to sit up. ‘He’ll know what to do.’
‘First you must rest,’ said Stefano, pushing him back on to the animal skins. ‘You have been a long time without sleep and Vendetta’s medicine will make you sick.’
Stefano was right. James soon developed a killing headache and stomach cramps. This was followed by drowsiness and a burning sensation under his skin. All he could do was lie in his bed and groan, drifting in and out of sleep and muttering crazily about Victor, Amy and Ugo.
For two days Vendetta nursed him, bringing him food and water and applying the grey paste, and gradually the bites healed. She watched for signs of fever, but mercifully none came. It seemed he had escaped the malaria. Whether it was down to luck or to Vendetta’s medicine, he would never know, but he would always be grateful to her.
At last Vendetta was able to leave him untied and he felt strong enough to go out of the cave. It was a relief to be in the sun and fresh air and away from the attentions of the strange, silent girl and the claustrophobic shell of the cavern.
His own tattered clothes had been removed and burnt and Stefano had brought him some old clothes of his own, a loose-fitting white shirt and baggy trousers. They felt cool and comfortable.
The tiredness had passed. The mountain air was clean and at this height there were few insects to bother him. He explored the area, which was covered in mastic shrubs and sharp rocks. He could feel his battered body getting back into shape, but he was anxious and on edge. He had to get away from here.
He returned to the cave to look for Stefano and found that new people had arrived. There were some women carrying bundles of food, and more men with guns, wearing flat caps and dark heavy suits.
James was reminded of Ugo’s guests at the carnival. There was a familiar air of toughness and danger about these craggy-faced men. James thought how easily, under different circumstances, they would be his enemies rather than his friends.
‘They are preparing for war,’ Stefano explained when James found him. ‘They are bandits.’
‘I must go,’ said James. ‘I have to help Amy. First thing in the morning I need to leave for Victor’s house in Capo d’Orso. Can you take me there?’
‘Sì,’ said Stefano. ‘But it will not be easy. We have no vehicles. I could find a donkey, perhaps, but the journey will take three or four days.’
As night fell, two lambs were slaughtered and set on spits to roast over the fire, and soon a rowdy celebration was in progress. There was music and singing and wrestling and a group of bandits played an incomprehensible gambling game where they yelled numbers at each other and held up their fingers.
Much wine was drunk and James was reminded of Ugo’s comment on the wrestling at his carnival.
‘Prima bevono, poi stringono.’
First they drink, then they fight.
He looked around at the assembled fighters. There were some thirty of them here now, ranging from boys of Stefano’s age to grizzled oldsters whose gnarled fingers were twisted round the butts of their rifles like the ancient roots of the local trees.
Three of them brought in a log from outside and propped it up against a wall. They painted the crude figure of a man on it and daubed the letters ‘UGO’ on the bottom. The bandits then took it in turn to throw knives into the log, seeing who could hit it most accurately. Calogero was the champion, landing his big hunting knife right in the eye of the painted figure. He laughed and waved his fists in triumph like a schoolboy scoring a goal at football.
His friends slapped him on the back and gave him more wine to drink, and then he started to dance with a very serious expression on his face. It was a strange melancholy dance and James was aware that he was witnessing a ritual that had been acted out here for thousands of years.
‘This is the Danza di Sangue,’ said Stefano.
‘The Dance of Blood?’ said James.
‘Sì.’
James looked at the ring of men around Calogero, their faces red from drink and the heat of the fire. They were shouting and clapping, their voices harsh. They seemed happy, filled with a wild spark of life. Their world was a world of hardship and poverty, fighting was their only release.
Sitting in the shadows behind the ring of drunken men were the women, their faces occasionally lit by flashes of firelight. They looked blank and resigned, like age-old stone carvings that had seen everything there was to see.
Once again their men were going off to fight; which of them would return and which would die?
It was in the hands of God now.
Deep in thought, James stood up and left the party. He wondered if he would make it back to Victor’s in time, and he thought of Amy, trapped in her cell. If these men attacked Ugo she would be in great danger.
Vendetta appeared at his side, staring at him with her shining black eyes.
She wouldn’t leave him alone. He was reminded of Mr Cooper-ffrench, and how he had followed him around like a dog after the incident at the tower. Both of them had been trying to look after him in their own way, but James felt as uncomfortable with this small girl as he had been with the grumpy Mr Cooper-ffrench.
She grabbed hold of his sleeve and said something, her voice husky and quiet.
James shook his head. Her accent was so thick, her dialect so strong and her delivery so fast that he couldn’t follow a single word of it.
‘I’m sorry, Vendetta,’ he said. ‘I can’t understand you; I wish I could.’
Again she rattled off a stream of Italian, more intently this time. James pulled his arm free and was relieved to see that Stefano had come out to join them.
‘Can you help me?’ James asked. ‘She’s trying to ask me something.’
‘She wants to know if you have a girl back in England,’ said Stefano, and he laughed.
‘Tell her no,’ said James, then quickly added. ‘And tell her I’m not looking for one either.’
Stefano spoke to Vendetta and she snapped at him.
‘What did she say?’ asked James.
‘She says that you are a liar. A handsome boy like you must have a girl.’
‘Well, I don’t.’
‘You do now,’ said Stefano.
‘No, no, no,’ said James and he hurried
back inside the cave.
He tried to settle down to sleep, but Vendetta came and sat next to his bed, watching over him.
‘Goodnight,’ he said and closed his eyes.
Vendetta tried to copy what he had said, but her pronunciation was terrible.
James struggled to think of the Italian, and at last he remembered.
‘Buona notte,’ he muttered, then added, ‘grazie…’
He opened one eye a crack. She was still sat there.
‘Go away and leave me alone,’ he said. ‘I can’t sleep with you looking at me.’ He rolled on to his other side, turning his back on her, but was still aware of her, staring at him. At last he turned round and sat up.
‘Go away,’ he said. ‘Scram. Vamoose. Hop it.’ He flapped his hands at her and tried to shoo her away and she laughed. Then she kissed him again.
‘I wish you wouldn’t keep doing that,’ said James. ‘It’s embarrassing.’
After several more minutes of shouting and gesturing Vendetta eventually retired a few paces and sat in the darkness of one of the Neolithic huts; but it was no good, the party looked like it was going to go on all night and James wasn’t really that tired. He had slept too much these last two days.
He waited, lying perfectly still until he was sure that Vendetta was asleep, then he got up, pulled on his shirt and went outside.
There was a chilly breeze from the north and the moon was bright, sending a wash of silver down through the scrubby trees. There were pools of intense darkness where the moonlight couldn’t penetrate, so he felt his way through the woods until he came to the edge of a cliff overlooking a wide valley.
The black clumps of trees below were interspersed with white rocks that seemed to glow in the dark.
Sardinia looked very beautiful. It was hard to imagine that generations of men had fought and died here in these mountains, that the soil was fed by their spilt blood. Beneath him were the bones of Carthaginians, Phoenicians, Italians, Spaniards and the countless Sardinians who had fought to keep them away.
He sat there for a long while as the sounds of the party died down and the night became wonderfully quiet. At last he began to feel drowsy.
He yawned and stood up, and as he did so he heard voices and the sound of men moving through the woods.
He crouched low and carefully made his way back towards the cave. It was probably just a patrol sent out by the bandits – but it was best to be sure.
As he neared the cave entrance he looked up and saw three men in purple uniforms creeping along the rocks.
James’s heart started thumping against his chest.
Ugo had come after all.
25
Tommy Gun
James forgot about trying to be quiet, broke cover, and ran full pelt into the cave, shouting as loudly as he could. ‘Look out! Wake up! Attenzione! Wake up!’
The slumbering men stirred drunkenly and blinked at him.
It was like a nightmare. James couldn’t make them understand what was happening. He didn’t have the language.
‘Ugo!’ James screamed. ‘Ugo is here!’
One or two of the bandits, those who had drunk less, reached drowsily for their guns; others turned over and went back to sleep, grumbling, but in an instant James’s message became clear.
There was a terrific bang and a flash. A flare had been dropped through the roof and it lit the cave with a lurid yellow light. James heard shouts, then gunfire, and threw himself to the ground as bullets spat into the earth around him.
A group of men in uniform ran down the steps at the back of the cave, firing wildly in all directions. Some of the villagers were cut down in the confusion, some never even made it up off their beds, but a few managed to take cover and were fighting back, so that soon the air was alive with bullets. James heard them crack and fizz as they tore past him.
In the confined space of the cave, the noise was appalling. The bangs of the guns so loud they stunned him, and with each shot the air was compressed so that it punched him like a physical blow. He felt as if he were trapped inside a steel drum with someone hammering on the lid.
He crawled quickly into the shelter of one of the ruined huts, a bullet smacking into the wall just above his head and showering him with dust and shards of rock. More bullets ricocheted off the hard stones and sang away into the dirt.
An officer with a pistol led a charge in through the entrance from the woods, but a volley of shots rang out. The officer fell and his men retreated. As the villagers cheered, Calogero stood up and roared a barrage of defiant insults after the fleeing guards, but his confidence was short-lived. The attack had merely been a diversion and another group had come in by the back entrance, including a man with a lethal Thompson sub-machine gun.
The gun chattered into life, spraying bullets around the cave.
Calogero fired back, standing proudly in the open, his rifle to his shoulder. He got off six rounds, one after the other, and his aim was more accurate than the machine gunner’s. His last shot found its target, and as the guard went down he dropped the tommy gun.
Another man ran to pick up the fallen weapon, but Calogero was ready for him. He aimed his rifle and pulled his trigger.
Nothing happened. He was out of ammunition. He cursed and threw the rifle aside, then pulled his knife from his belt.
He threw the knife at the exact moment that the guard took aim and fired.
A .45 calibre bullet fired by a Thompson sub-machine gun travels at roughly 920 feet per second.
A knife thrown by a strong man travels at about 80 feet per second.
Calogero didn’t stand a chance.
James was horrified. A moment ago this had been a man full of spirit and laughter, and now he was a lifeless bundle on the ground and he would never laugh again.
His knife, however, was growing from the gunner’s chest and once again the Thompson was silenced.
The flare had burnt itself out and it was now difficult to see what was going on. The only light came from the guttering fire and the muzzle flashes of the guns.
James grabbed Calogero’s fallen rifle. He knew that it was empty, but it felt good to hold something in his sweaty hands, at the very least it would stop them shaking. This was cold, gut-wrenching fear like he had never experienced before. He didn’t know where to turn. It was chaos. Everywhere was a confusion of ear-splitting bangs, blinding bursts of light, shouting and screaming. Whether you lived or died was largely down to luck.
A third guard now took up the machine gun and, as he pinned everyone down, the way was clear for the rest of the attackers to filter into the cave through the front entrance. Luckily the machine gunner was no expert and the gun leapt about unsteadily in his hands, scattering shots inaccurately. His friends were almost as scared of him as were the cowering bandits.
The man with the Thompson slowly advanced into the centre of the cave, only firing sporadic bursts now, as no one dared expose himself to the gun’s deadly gaze.
James spotted Vendetta, crouching in the remains of another hut nearby. She had her resolza knife in her hand, the blade drawn, and as he watched, she darted out towards the machine gunner.
James jumped up from his hiding place and threw himself at her, knocking her to the ground in a clumsy rugby tackle as a storm of bullets screamed past inches above their heads.
They rolled behind a wall and James lay on top of her to keep her out of harm. Vendetta’s eyes were wide and frightened. She clung on to James and he had the horrible feeling that they were both going to die here.
He felt a hand on his back and realised that they were not the only ones hiding here. Stefano was also cowering behind the wall with the squat, bow-legged shepherd who had been with Calogero when he rescued James. The shepherd smiled crazily, despite the fact that it was not going well for the villagers. He was evidently still drunk.
The shepherd suddenly sprang to his feet and ran out of hiding, firing his rifle. One, two, three of Ugo’s men went down. The sto
cky shepherd bellowed in triumph, but someone calmly stepped up behind him and pointed a Luger at his back.
It was Smiler.
The Luger spoke once and the battle was over.
There weren’t enough villagers left to put up any resistance. The few who had survived threw down their guns and crept out of hiding with their hands up.
Smiler, who seemed to be in charge of the attackers, barked a command and the purple-clad guards regrouped in the centre of the cave.
Smiler walked over to where James and the others were sheltering and beckoned them out with his pistol.
With heads bowed, they stood up and shuffled over to where Ugo’s men were waiting by the fire.
Smiler saw James and grinned, a real grin, showing his yellow teeth, his eyes happy.
‘James Bond!’ he said. ‘We meet again. Ugo will be very happy when I bring him your ears.’ He swivelled his gaze to Stefano and tutted, as if telling off a naughty child. ‘Stefano,’ he said, ‘you’ve been a very silly boy. What were you thinking of?’
Stefano said nothing.
Smiler raised his Luger at the small group. ‘Do you think you’ll be going to heaven or to hell?’ he said and chuckled. ‘I’d give you a wee blessing, but,’ he shrugged, ‘I never did finish my training to be a priest. Now. Who wants to be first? Huh? I know who’ll be last… James Bond. Always save the best till last. So, Stefano, it’s time to say goodbye, my son.’
He raised his Luger and aimed it at Stefano’s heart. James heard the boy quietly muttering a prayer.
‘Save your breath,’ said Smiler. ‘He doesn’t listen.’ He laughed again and steadied his pistol.
He never fired it, however.
Before Smiler could pull the trigger he grunted and coughed, then dropped to his knees. A large, ugly, whaling harpoon was sticking out of his chest.
His men were caught off guard and looked around in panic. Standing at the top of the steps was the giant figure of Tree-Trunk, Zoltan’s Samoan lieutenant.
Blood Fever Page 24
