Estrada, on the other hand, seemed to be edging towards a nervous breakdown. I could tell she didn't have much experience in handling a cart, or understand the temperament of beasts of burden. It wasn't long before the two horses, who were bloodyminded enough to be cousins of the mules I'd met earlier, were being regaled with some distinctly unladylike language. In between outbursts, she sat with gritted teeth, staring fixedly at the road as if she expected it to disappear at any moment.
After a particularly vehement outburst, I said, 'Let me take over.'
'I can manage.'
'You're barely conscious. If you keep on the way you're going, we'll be down long before anyone else — and in more pieces.'
From the look she gave me, I thought she was about to wrap the reins around my throat.
'Fine, I shouldn't impugn your driving skills. You're doing quite well for a woman who hasn't slept in who knows how long, and probably hasn't eaten in days either. Trust me, though, you can only keep that up for so long. I'd rather not be sitting beside you when you collapse.'
'You're welcome to walk.' Then she sighed, and in a fractionally gentler tone, continued, 'All right. Just for an hour, then wake me and we'll call a halt. There are plenty of people behind us in worse shape than me.'
She shifted to the far side and handed over the reins. I barely had time to catch them before her head was lolling, a trickle of saliva working its way from her lower lip to the tune of rattling snores.
At first, I didn't have much more luck with the intransigent horses than she'd had. I realised after a while that, left to their own devices, they'd trot along quite happily. I only needed to intervene every ten minutes or so, when they decided I'd forgotten about them and they could get away with grinding to a halt.
The way through the pass to Goya Pinenta would be relatively busy at this time of year, but Goya Mica in the north had declined as a fishing port, and this stretch of road had fallen into disrepair as a result. Still, it was safe enough if you were careful. Steep sections were rare, and a lip of rock on our right separated us from the void beyond.
The day was becoming pleasant; the watery sunlight was surprisingly warm, but a sharp breeze kept the temperature comfortable even as noon drew nearer. With little to do except try to make myself comfortable on the jolting seat, I amused myself by listening to whatever snatches of conversation I could catch. The general tone was cheerful, with swapping of jokes and snatches of song. Everyone's mood seemed to be improving. Everyone's, that is, except Mounteban's: whenever the hubbub got too loud he'd shout, 'That's right, make certain to enjoy yourselves,' or 'It's not as though we're fleeing for our very lives!'
He had a point. Without his interjections, the procession would have made even more feeble progress. Still, it was irritating, and spoiled the mood. I was glad when Estrada started awake, gazed around blurrily, and then crouched in her seat and cried, 'Everyone halt! Let's take thirty minutes rest.'
Stopping was more disastrous than starting, with horses running into the backs of carts and carts veering too close to the edge or threatening to disgorge their contents into the road. It was a good five minutes before everyone was settled and calm. Estrada got down and began arranging the distribution of food, checking on the wounded, making sure that cargo was secured and generally playing mother hen to her bedraggled brood. She did everything rapidly and ably, yet without appearing to hurry or neglecting anyone. It was hard to imagine a more militant approach keeping them together as well as her quiet but firm ministrations.
I had to remind myself she was likely shepherding them to their doom.
Since he was too bashful to ask, I spent a minute finding out where Saltlick could get some straw and a quantity of water capable of slaking his thirst. Then I settled down to my own lunch, which I was careful to take from the caravan's supplies rather than my personal stash. However things turned out, they probably wouldn't need them for much longer.
Sitting there chewing on some unidentifiable dried meat, I felt oddly detached, like a visitor in some strange city where the customs and even the language were different. Estrada had been right last night, despite my protestations. I was a petty thief. I had no place amongst men such as these. Heroics and grand gestures were all well and good for those with something to gain, but I'd be just as unwelcome whoever ended up in charge. Estrada might need me now. Would she be so glad of my presence when I resumed my trade in her freshly liberated Castoval?
We'd been stopped no more than a quarter of an hour when Mounteban rode to the middle of the train and called, 'Everyone up! Try and remember our survival depends on haste.'
A rumble of protest arose from the entire column, particularly towards the back where those least capable of hurrying had congregated. A few stumbled to their feet. Many others didn't. Seeing that, Mounteban's face reddened.
Estrada, pacing rapidly towards him from where she'd been helping the old surgeon fix bandages, said, 'A little longer won't hurt, Castilio.'
'Every moment we waste brings us closer to being slaughtered like pigs.'
'The sick and injured are exhausted. Some haven't eaten. If we keep on like this we won't need Moaradrid to finish us.' Her voice was hard, and rising.
Mounteban looked as if he was about to tell her what she could do with her sick and wounded. Instead, he made a choking sound, as though forcing down the half-formed words, and muttered, 'It's on your head, Marina.'
'Do you think I don't know that?'
Estrada let the break extend for another ten minutes before she returned to the cart and shouted, 'March on.'
This time there were no complaints. Everyone managed to get started without accident, as though to express their silent support. I wondered if Estrada and Mounteban might have worked it all out before hand, a sly take on the old 'good guard, bad guard' routine. But unless she was an extraordinarily fine and committed actress, the black cloud over Estrada's expression made that unlikely.
As the afternoon wore on, matching clouds formed to join it in the sky above. The heat became humid and oppressive, the breeze died altogether, and it was obvious another storm was on the way. That prospect, given our already precarious circumstances, did more to hurry the pace than anything Mounteban could have done or said.
I found myself becoming increasingly bored, my good humour evaporating in the clammy air. Estrada was uncommunicative, and Saltlick plodded along with his head down, as interesting and companionable as the stone behind him.
Once again, I felt the sense of having blundered into unsuitable company. This time it occurred to me that, of everyone there, it was Mounteban I had most in common with. It wasn't so long ago that we'd been… well, not friends, but acquaintances, and compatriots in the odd venture. I couldn't see much justification for his recent behaviour towards me, except a desire to show off how damned honest and sanctimonious he'd become.
Thinking about that, spurred on by the uncomfortable silence and the sultry air pressing down on me, I grew more and more irritable. Finally, I hopped down from the seat. I nearly blundered into Saltlick, cursed him loudly and meandered back through the throng of sweaty, stumbling bodies. When I reached Mounteban, where he rode amidst his gang of ruffians, I fell into step beside him. 'How goes it, Mounteban?'
'Piss off, Damasco.'
'That's no way to talk to an old friend.'
'I'll bear that in mind if I meet one.'
I resisted a powerful urge to drag him from his mount and kick him in the teeth. Given that he was surrounded by bodyguards, and given that every one of them looked as though they could kill me in a dozen interesting ways without stretching their imaginations, it was probably for the best. 'What's your problem with me, Mounteban? All right, we were never friends, but I didn't realise we'd become enemies.'
'You belong in my past. I'd sooner you'd stayed there.'
'Oh, of course. Because you're the big hero now. I heard you'd put your lifetime of misdeeds behind you, only I never quite believed it.'
'And what do you think now?'
'I think, 'once a thief, always a thief'. But perhaps that's just me.' Weariness was getting the better of my irascibility. I added, less than honestly, 'Look, I didn't come back here to argue. We'll be parting soon, and I thought we might do it on better terms than we've managed so far.'
