A Revolution Of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  The waiter brought the wine and, when he had poured it into their glasses, Drogo lifted his to say,

  “Your health, Thekla, and may the world always be as exciting and beautiful as it seems to you at this moment!”

  She gave a little cry.

  “That is a lovely toast and now I will think of one for you!”

  She hesitated and then, lifting her glass, she said,

  “May you find what you are seeking and may the stars bring you your heart’s desire.”

  Drogo looked at her in surprise.

  “Your toast is delightful!” he said. “But what makes you think that I am seeking anything?”

  “I am sure you are,” she said. “I have guessed that you are a traveller, which is easy because you would not be a stranger in Kozan, if you were not travelling.”

  She paused to smile at him before continuing,

  “I am using my instinct when I say you are looking for something that you have not yet found.”

  “Now you are making me feel that I must ask the gypsy by the fountain what would be her prediction for me.”

  Thekla laughed.

  “The maids say the gypsies always foretell that they will meet a ‘dark handsome stranger’, who will capture their hearts!”

  She spoke without thinking.

  Then, as if she thought that it applied to herself, the colour came into her cheeks and she looked away from him.

  He leaned across the table to say,

  “Listen to me, Thekla, for what I have to say to you is important.”

  She looked at him again and he asked quietly,

  “Is this really the first time you have escaped as you have tonight and come into the City alone?”

  “Yes, of course. I have never been brave enough to do it before, although I have often wanted to.”

  “Then I want you to promise me,” Drogo said, “that it is something you will never do again.”

  “Why should I promise that?”

  “Because you must realise it is dangerous and something you might bitterly regret.”

  “Now you are being gloomy,” she said accusingly, “and trying to frighten me!”

  She faced him defiantly as she went on,

  “People always tell me that I must not do anything I want to do and that it would be wrong, dangerous or would cause a scandal!”

  Quite unexpectedly she laughed before she finished,

  “And look what happens! I climb over the wall – and find – you!”

  “How do you know I am not criminal or an ogre who may frighten you?” Drogo enquired.

  Thekla laughed again.

  “I don’t need the gypsies to tell me that I can trust you and that you are what Mama would have called – ‘a gentleman’.”

  “Thank you,” Drogo smiled, “but you might have been rescued by a very different type of man.”

  “But I was not,” Thekla asserted, “and do let us talk about something more interesting than me! Where have you come from and why are you in Ampula?”

  Drogo thought that she should have an explanation that she could accept and so he said,

  “I am an explorer and I have been exploring certain mountains in Afghanistan and Russia.”

  “Why?” Thekla enquired.

  It took him a second to think of a plausible explanation and said,

  “There are reports of gold, precious stones and many different minerals, but I think it would be almost impossible to excavate them commercially owing to the cold and the impossibility of reaching them except on foot.”

  “I can understand that,” Thekla said. “At the same time your trip must have been very interesting for you.”

  “It was,” Drogo replied.

  He thought that ‘interesting’ was definitely an understatement of what he had endured.

  “When you are exploring, do you always go alone?” Thekla asked.

  “I cannot think of any woman who would not find intolerable the discomfort, the long distances and, in the case of Afghanistan, the cold.”

  “It would be better than sitting on soft cushions and being – preached at all day!” Thekla remarked almost beneath her breath.

  “Is that what happens to you?” Drogo asked. “Frankly, I don’t believe it!”

  “It happens a great deal of the time,” Thekla said, “and I can tell you it is very – very boring.”

  “So that is the reason for this mad escapade!”

  “Now you are back to finding fault and –frightening me!” she pointed out.

  She put down her glass of wine and said,

  “Let’s go to see the dancing. Please – call the waiter and I will ask where it is.”

  Because it was impossible to resist the elation in her voice, Drogo signalled to the waiter and paid the bill, which he was relieved to find was very little.

  Then Thekla questioned the man as to where the dancing would take place.

  He pointed over his shoulder and Drogo understood that it was only a short distance from where they were at the moment.

  He left a tip, which made the man bow subserviently and, putting his hand under Thekla’s elbow, he steered her through the crowds on the pavement.

  “It’s quite near to where we are now,” she said, “and it is where they have a parade of the Army from time to time. ”

  As they walked on, Thekla was interested in everything she saw.

  She left it to Drogo to guide her through the pedestrians, quite a number of whom seemed to be going in the same direction as themselves.

  They turned off the square into a narrow street where there were shops, most of which, although it was late, were still open.

  There were beggars pleading for money, women with sleeping babies who held out their hands pathetically.

  Children ran along beside them crying noisily for what in the East was called baksheesh.

  Drogo was aware that Thekla in her white gown attracted quite a lot of attention from the men lounging against the walls or seated on the steps of the shops.

  He was relieved when they reached what he realised was a large parade ground in what he thought must be the centre of the shopping area.

  There were in fact shops, cafés and buildings of every sort surrounding the area, besides a number of booths and stalls piled with merchandise.

  The parade ground was empty except for the band, which, as they appeared, had begun to tune their instruments.

  It was the type of band to be found in every Balkan country.

  The players were in native dress, looking very attractive in the lights they had provided for themselves.

  These would be added to later, Drogo knew, by the stars, which were coming out in the sky above.

  All the booths had their own lights and so did the shops behind them, so that the whole place seemed en fête.

  When the band struck up, it was not a dance tune but a march and at the far end of the parade ground there appeared a procession.

  It was exactly like the religious processions that took place at any festival of a Saint in every country in Europe.

  First there came choirboys dressed in lace-trimmed surplices. Then Priests in glittering vestments and monks in their severe dark robes with rosaries in their hands.

  Then on a cart drawn by two white oxen came the statue of St. Vitus.

  Behind that a choir of boys and men were singing the hymn that was especially dedicated to the Saint.

  Their voices were almost drowned, however, by the cheers of the spectators who seemed to appear from nowhere.

  They rushed across the parade ground to walk beside the statue as it moved slowly down one side of the ground and up the other.

  Instead of watching the procession, Drogo watched Thekla.

  Because he wanted her to see better than she could standing on the ground, he found an empty packing case that belonged to one of the booths and lifted her onto it.

  She was obviously entranced by everything in the procession.


  The candles carried by the choirboys, which were always in imminent danger of being blown out.

  The scent of the incense, which was swung in elaborate burners by four young Priests in front of the oxen, carried through the air.

  A number of nuns brought up the rear of the procession.

  Those forming the procession were still singing and so were many of the spectators, as finally reaching the end of the parade ground, it moved off down a side street.

  Thekla told Drogo that they were on their way back to the Cathedral.

  As the last of the nuns disappeared, the band started to play a very different tune.

  Now there were shouts of delight from the crowd and they surged onto the parade ground, forming themselves into groups for country dancing.

  It was what Drogo had seen in Athens, in Bucharest and in half-a-dozen other Balkan Capitals and which varied very little from country to country.

  The men placed their hands across each other’s shoulders, moved backwards and forwards, formed a ring and then were back in line again.

  There were few women dancing and those who were, Drogo saw, were tourists or young girls who were little more than children.

  “I want to dance!” Thekla cried, as he lifted her down from the packing case.

  “I think that would be a mistake,” he replied.

  “But I know this dance and I can show you how to do it with me!”

  Drogo looked at the dancers.

  He saw that most of the men had obviously imbibed the local wine before they started dancing and one or two of them already had an arm around a young woman’s shoulders.

  He was quite certain that, if he started to dance with Thekla, there was every chance of her being taken away from him.

  To distract her attention he suggested,

  “Come and look at the booths and let me see if I can find you a present.”

  “I think that is just an excuse to prevent me from dancing!” she commented shrewdly.

  He laughed.

  “Even if it is, you must accept a souvenir of your adventure tonight.”

  “I would rather dance,” Thekla persisted.

  As she spoke, a man swinging by with a number of other men put out his hand to take hold of her arm.

  “Come and join me, pretty one!” he called out in Kozanian.

  He was a coarse creature with a heavy moustache and his clothing was none too clean.

  Instinctively Thekla moved a step nearer to Drogo and he put an arm protectively around her and glared at the dancer.

  As the man said something lewd and swung away with the other dancers, Thekla proposed quickly,

  “Let’s go and look at the – booths.”

  It took them a little time to find one that had unusual souvenirs, which attracted the tourists and some of the local women.

  There were little dolls in native costume, small fans, pieces of china and wood with the Kozanian arms on them. Also a motley collection of rather badly made leather purses and belts.

  “What would you like?” Drogo asked her.

  As he spoke, he heard a sound and looked across the booth onto the parade ground.

  It seemed to be packed with dancers and the noise of the band combined with the shouts and cheers of the crowd was almost deafening.

  Yet it was another sound that had attracted his attention.

  Then, as he looked, he saw at the far end a number of men running onto the ground, pushing the dancers to one side and shouting loudly.

  For a moment he could not think what was happening.

  Then he realised that the intruders were literally pouring in and he thought he could understand what they were shouting.

  “Freedom! Freedom! Down with the King! Freedom for Kozan!”

  Even as he understood what was being shouted out, the man in charge of the booth understood it too.

  With an exclamation of horror he started to collect up his goods, bundling them frantically into sacks and boxes.

  Those in charge of the booths on the other side began to do the same.

  It was then that Thekla said in a frightened voice,

  “It’s – the Red Marchers!”

  There was no need for her to add that they were revolutionaries because Drogo was already certain of it.

  Taking her by the hand, he started to move her through the crowd behind him to the nearest exit from the parade ground.

  They had almost reached it when he heard a shot followed by several others.

  He looked back to see what he was sure were soldiers entering the ground from another direction and driving the revolutionary protestors back in front of them.

  He knew it would be dangerous to linger or to appear curious.

  Holding tightly onto Thekla’s hand, he forced his way forward.

  Although the people around him had begun to panic, he managed by keeping to the side of the road to reach a small square that was less crowded.

  It was impossible to speak because the people near them were either shouting at each other or else exclaiming with horror at what was happening behind them.

  It was only when there were not so many bodies pressing against them that Drogo was able to say,

  “You will have to guide me as I have no idea where I am!”

  Drogo knew that that was where he was staying himself.

  Taking Thekla by the hand he led her as close to the houses as they could get and out of the square in the direction she had suggested.

  He was relieved when he looked back to find that the crowds were not following them.

  They were now with the exception of two or three people, who were running because they were frightened, alone in what appeared to be a respectable street.

  “Now you must tell me what all this is about,” Drogo said.

  “The Red Marchers,” Thekla replied, “are trying to incite the people into – rebelling against the – Monarchy.”

  “I should have thought that Kozan was a very secure country, although it is small,” Drogo remarked.

  “It’s the Russians who are at the bottom of all the trouble,” Thekla answered. “It is they who have sent agents to persuade the people that they are badly treated and would be far better off if they were free.”

  This was something that Drogo had heard of before and it was not particularly surprising.

  Russia was a past master at stirring up trouble as they were doing in Afghanistan and on the North-West Frontier of India.

  He might have guessed that they would resent the independence of a country as small as Kozan and so do their very best to annex it.

  It was an old trick, he thought as they walked on, to stir up people against the Crown and then step in ostensibly to restore order.

  He did not, however, say this to Thekla, thinking that she would not understand.

  They walked for a little way until suddenly he was aware that at the end of the almost empty street there was the sound of marching feet.

  He could see in the dim light what he was certain were soldiers approaching.

  Instinctively he stopped and pulled Thekla up two steps.

  ‘Why – ?” she began and he said sharply,

  “Be quiet! We don’t want to be seen!”

  Fortunately the front door of the house was set back and there was a portico with solid sides.

  Drogo pushed Thekla into the darkness of it and then stood in front of her, his back to the road.

  He had only just got into position when he heard the men who were approaching begin to run.

  Shouting what sounded like a war cry they tore down the street passing the place where Drogo and Thekla were hiding.

  There was a sudden cry of fear as they either knocked somebody over or else bayonetted them as they ran past.

  Drogo knew only too well that a white face in the darkness could attract attention.

  He resolutely covered Thekla with his body, keeping his back to everything that was happening behind him.

  Bec
ause the scream was from a woman, Thekla moved closer to him and he felt her trembling against him.

  When she would have spoken, he put his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face against his shoulder.

  From the sounds he could hear he reckoned that the soldiers were assaulting or perhaps killing anyone they met.

  Gradually the noise of their shouting faded as they continued rushing down the street.

  There were still shots, but whether the bullets were fired into the air or at anyone, Drogo had no idea.

  Then at last there was silence except that somewhere back the way they had come there was a woman screaming and crying hysterically and a man shouting obscenities.

  Very cautiously and without taking his arms from Thekla, Drogo looked back.

  In the darkness it was impossible to see very much, but he was sure that the street ahead, at any rate, was empty.

  He waited for a few minutes to be certain.

  Then, taking his arms from Thekla, he took her hand and said,

  “Come on now and I will take you back to where you came from.”

  “No,” she cried. “No – please no! Those men – the Red Marchers – might be there!”

  The fear in her voice was very obvious and Drogo did not stop to argue.

  Instead he hurried to the end of the street.

  When he got there, he was almost certain that he recognised the crossroad as the one he had ridden up yesterday when he had entered the City.

  If that was so, he knew that his cousin’s house was not far away.

  He found it without too much difficulty.

  When he reached it, he realised that, while she had not spoken, Thekla’s fingers had been trembling in his as they walked so quickly that it had been almost a run.

  “This is where I am staying,” Drogo said to her in a low voice. “Do you want to come in with me or shall I take you home?”

  “I-I cannot go home – at the moment – you don’t – understand,” she whispered.

  Because he thought that it was dangerous to go on discussing it in the street, he took out his key and opened the door.

  Inside he saw that the oil lamp he had lit in the hall before he left was still burning.

  Picking it up he carried it up the stairs and, when they reached the sitting room, he said to Thekla,

  “If you are quite certain that it would be dangerous for you to go out again tonight, you can stay here if you wish.”