After about an hour’s traveling at a brisk trot the travelers arrived at the point where the road, unfinished, became irregular and narrower and the surface less compact. Here they were greeted by a crowd of workmen who had built a rough triumphal arch of planks, decorated with branches and lengths of red cloth.
The horses were forced to move very slowly and the carriages, despite their solid structure, began to bounce and creak. It was very warm, the air was still and heavy with humidity. The countryside became increasingly depressing, an expanse of reddish earth stretching away as far as the horizon on all sides and with little or no vegetation.
Conversation in the carriages began to languish as their occupants became unbearably sleepy. Only Count Mortimer seemed anxious and kept his eyes fixed on the road, which became less practicable foot by foot.
Finally, the third carriage skidded to a standstill; one wheel had sunk into a hole and was thoroughly shattered by repeated attempts to free it. The Master of Ceremonies and his wife and secretary, and the doctor, had to find room in the other coaches.
After two more hours of difficult progress (so that San Piero could not have been more than six miles off) the first coach came to a halt after a series of jolts. The coachman had been half-asleep and hadn’t noticed in time that the metaling stopped suddenly, giving way to rough stony ground; one of the horses had fallen heavily and the vehicle had almost been pulled right over.
They all got out and saw with astonishment that all signs of a road vanished beyond that point. Further ahead there were no signs of any work in progress. Count Mortimer, hoarse with fury, called for Mazzaroli, who was in charge of the proceedings. But Mazzaroli did not appear. He had mysteriously disappeared.
For a moment they stood paralyzed by an indefinable feeling of apprehension. Then, when it became apparent that Mazzaroli wasn’t going to appear and since it was obviously pointless standing there vituperating him for his brazen impudence, Mortimer sent one of the escorts along to a hut more or less built into the base of a wall of rock about a hundred yards off. It was inhabited by an old man who was brought along to speak to Mortimer.
The old man said he knew nothing about the road and that he hadn’t been to San Piero for about twenty years, but that it was a good two hours’ journey away, over a sort of low rocky terrace which could just be seen in the distance, and around a marsh. The region, he added, was almost entirely uninhabited and that therefore there were not even any paths.
This was so monstrous that everyone, including Mortimer, was momentarily completely crushed. There seemed to be no plausible explanation, however far-fetched, for the fact that the roadworks stopped suddenly and that beyond a certain point not a single stone had been moved. Nonetheless, after a few moments they faced the most obvious solution: they must return, hush up the absurd scandal as far as possible and punish those responsible.
But to everyone’s surprise Count Mortimer announced that he intended to continue on foot, since he did not know how to ride a horse. The inhabitants of San Piero were waiting for him; poor people who had spent wildly in order to be able to give him a fitting welcome. The others could go back if they wished. He personally had a definite duty to carry out.
In vain they attempted to dissuade him. It was about midday when the other members of the expedition, feeling morally obliged to follow the Minister, continued their journey on foot, preceded by their mounted escort with what remained of the stack of provisions. The two ladies went back to the capital in the carriage alone.
Over the expanse of heathland, gnawed by centuries and centuries of sun, the heat was tremendous. The progress of the little group was agonizingly slow; their smart but flimsy shoes were not designed for such rough ground and no one had the courage to take off their stifling padded uniforms, heavy with medals, since Mortimer was going ahead without the slightest sign of discomfort.
They had been walking for a little less than half an hour when the leader of the escort reported to the Minister that the horses, without any apparent reason, refused to go any farther; they were allowing themselves to be martyred by the spurs rather than take a single step forward.
This time Mortimer lost his temper and, to save further argument, ordered the escort to turn back, except for four who were to accompany the authorities.
At about two in the afternoon they came to a wretched-looking farm. By some miracle, a peasant had managed to cultivate a small patch of ground and to raise a few goats, so that the exhausted and thirsty travelers were able to refresh themselves a little with drafts of milk. But the relief was short-lived, since the peasant was emphatic that San Piero was no less than four hours’ steady walk away.
The road inexplicably interrupted, the lack of any kind of path, the utter desolation of the region, the fact that San Piero seemed to get farther away the farther they walked: these things all conspired to alarm Mortimer’s companions. They gathered around him and begged him to give up the idea of going on. It was time to escape from the nightmare. It was only too easy to lose one’s way in that wilderness and they obviously couldn’t hope for any help from anybody once they were lost in those infernal regions. It seemed
