Mounteban spat into the dirt. His tone was only a touch less aggressive as he replied, 'Probably you can't understand a man wanting to put his past behind him.'
'My past is nothing to write home about. I'd be the first to admit I'd be better off without it.'
While this was probably true, my saying it had more to do with a sudden realisation. I was actually curious about Mounteban. What could have happened to make him hook up with this doomed bunch? In his heyday, he'd have been more likely to slaughter them for gold fillings.
'But you,' I went on, 'it takes courage to step out from the shadow of your own notoriety.'
I was pleased with that, even if I wasn't entirely sure what it meant.
Mounteban also seemed caught between suspicion and accepting it as an honest compliment. His voice low, he said, 'Marina approached me some weeks ago now, when Moaradrid's invasion wasn't much more than tavern gossip. She saw it coming though. She said she was talking to figures of standing in the community, whatever their trade — because a threat to the Castoval was a threat to all of us.'
'She was very astute. From what I heard, Moaradrid had marched the length of the Castoval before most of the town leaders noticed anything was amiss.'
'She was astute. It took me a while to see it though. Fortunately, she was insistent as well. Still, most of those she talked to are probably cowering beneath their tables in Muena Palaiya right now.'
'You did a brave thing joining up with her, Mounteban,' I said. I offered him my hand.
'Well, perhaps you're not entirely a coward yourself, Damasco.' He didn't sound convinced, but he shook anyway.
As I hurried back towards my place at the head of the column, I congratulated myself on a job well done. Mounteban's enmity had been making life difficult, and if I'd done anything to rid myself of it then that was worth a little false praise. Having him on side could only make life easier until I found a means to slip away. I'd also gleaned some valuable insights into what had occurred over the last few days. Perhaps best of all, I'd confirmed a suspicion I'd been harbouring for some time.
Castilio Mounteban was helplessly in love with his good lady mayor.
I hopped back up to the driver's board and grinned at Estrada, who responded with a scowl of baffled irritation. I felt like a child with a secret, and had an appropriately infantile urge to drop hints. Estrada's expression soured my brief pleasure.
In fairness, she had a right to be on edge: heavy drops were beginning to fall, and the clouds above had congealed into a single ominous mass. The road might not be too bad when it was dry; if it became slippery then casualties would be all but unavoidable.
I breathed a sigh of relief as we edged around the next corner, and heard Estrada do the same. Close ahead was the point where our road met the eastwest pass. I could see the gap in the mountainside where the trail to Goya Pinenta began. Both ways joined at a wide intersection, and beyond that, the main road twisted back on itself, continuing beneath us to the floor of the Castoval. The road would be in better repair after the junction, even fenced in places. We should be relatively safe there, storm or no storm.
Given the pace at which we were crawling along, it still took us a while to reach the junction. There was some traffic there, as I'd predicted, mostly irate fish merchants from the coast hurrying to get their produce into Muena Palaiya while it was still fresh. Our pace slackened even further as we struggled to join the flow. No one was very pleased to see two hundred bedraggled armed men descending upon them. Some cursed us; others, assuming we were bandits, tried to appease us with offerings from their reeking cargo. Estrada asked me to take the reins again and passed a few minutes on foot, trying to retain order while propitiating our new travelling companions.
I found myself in the uncharacteristic position of leader. It crossed my mind to lash the horses and try to make my escape, but if I hadn't driven straight over the edge then Mounteban would have caught up with me in no time. I concentrated instead on setting a steady pace as we drew closer to the horseshoe bend that led into the last long decline. It was disconcertingly tight. The volume of swearing behind me increased tenfold as I crept into the turn.
Once the curve began to level out I could see the floor of the Castoval spread before me. Muena Palaiya lay ahead, chalk-white roofs tumbling leisurely down the slope, looking too small to be a town at this distance despite its high walls. The hillside descended gradually towards us on the town's south side, cut into terraces of vineyards and small farms. Beyond the road that hugged its western edge the decline dipped more steeply to the woodland below and on toward the Casto Mara, which flowed grey and frothy in the pounding rain.
I looked up and to the right. The road we'd taken was partially visible, a darker vein hanging tenaciously from the mountainside. Stood out on that vein, some distance behind, a file of miniscule black forms stole towards us. I couldn't make out details. I didn't need to. I was about to cry out when some urge made me look back down the other leg of the highway, towards Muena Palaiya. The shout strangled off in my throat. A matching procession was creeping along the road that threaded down to meet our own.
Estrada picked that moment to clamber up beside me. She looked at me bemusedly — the cart had ground almost to a standstill — and followed my line of sight.
'They've found us!'
The way those three words galvanised her tiny army was something to behold. It was hard to believe they were the same men who'd been singing, joking and tripping over each other's feet a few minutes before. The fish- merchants seemed even more alarmed by the transformation, as the rabble around them struck up a marching pace, as riders and carters stopped to scoop up those slowed down by injuries.
The cloud-piled sky chose that moment to shatter, with a cruel gash of lightning and a rumble that shook the earth beneath our feet. A liquid wall fell with the abruptness of a stage curtain. Immediately, the world was reduced to nothing but the road scudding by beneath us and rain so drenching that we might have been standing in a river.
Estrada lashed our horses, and they surged into motion. It was impossible to see ahead. Moaradrid's two approaching forces were utterly veiled from view, as was the tail of our own column. Though it was nowhere near evening it seemed like the most starless night, except when lightning lit the world blue-white.
When the thunder was silent, all I could hear was the rattle of the cart, the horses, and Saltlick pounding the road beside us. Though we couldn't have been travelling that quickly, I was convinced we'd hurtle over the edge at any moment. I gripped my seat and stared into the blackness, flinching at every slight turn and every flash or rumble.
It seemed miraculous that we reached the valley floor in one piece. It was stranger still to look back and see our party congealing out of the rain behind us, a battalion of sodden ghosts. Everyone had made it in one piece, as far as I could tell. It wasn't long before they'd surrounded us on every side, blocking the crossroads that joined the mountain road with Muena Palaiya and the rest of the Castoval. Mounteban loomed beside us, shaking water from his beard with fierce jerks of the head.
'Moaradrid's brigands are close,' he roared.
'I know. It's now or never.'
'They're not ready. It won't work.'
'We have no choice.'
Mounteban just nodded.
Estrada stood on the driver's board, rain-lashed, silhouetted against the pitchy sky. At the top of her lungs she called, 'If we wait, they'll take us. So we separate. You have your instructions. We'll meet again four days hence at the designated place — or the Castoval is lost. Every man is on his own now. Good luck!'
The cheer that met her words seemed oddly wild amidst the storm. The crowd fell apart immediately, as though cleaved by some outside force. Estrada dropped back into her seat and drove the horses forward. Mounteban, his riders, and the greater part of the throng fell in around us.
Distant, hardly distinguishable from the drumming rain, I heard the pound of hooves.
Moaradrid's forces were closing — and here we were, as helpless as we'd ever been.
CHAPTER 11
