This was the first comment Anton had made and Faro realised he meant well although his remark clearly indicated that Faro need not expect to be so fortunate.
As for hostages, they might well be valuable to the brigands but not quite as Anton believed.
For one thing, they would have no idea of the importance of the two boys, that one was heir to the kingdom of Luxoria. Brigands did not move in the circles of diplomacy, or have knowledge of subtle bargaining with royal households.
Faro shook his head. He would die fighting, but no one could have any doubt of the fate of two well-grown boys if they were captured, or of the naivety of Anton's words. They would not be killed, since two strong healthy boys were useful to boost the brigands' numbers and fighting strength, which was frequently depleted by running battles. Rifles would be thrust into their hands and they would be told how to use them and made to fight alongside the brigands. There were other unpleasant things likely to happen to Anton and George among such men that Faro preferred not to think about.
The shouts, din of horses and rifle shots indicated that they were now close at hand.
'What do we do, sir?' asked George, biting his lip but trying to sound brave.
'We fight them off, of course.’ said Faro.
'But there are only three of us,' said Anton.
'And one with a gun,' said Faro grimly, producing the revolver he had never expected to use.
The porter who saw his action grinned and gave a crow of delight. From under his voluminous cape he produced a rifle and waved it vigorously.
Saluting Faro, he said to George, ‘I had the honour to serve in the Imperial Army of the Kaiser fighting the French when I was a lad.'
George translated and said, 'If anything happens to either of you, I can use a rifle. I learned how when I was at Balmoral with the shooting party last year,' he added in casual tones. And with an apologetic smile at Anton, 'Sorry that you didn't get the chance as well, but you were just with the beaters.'
Normally Faro's eyes would have widened at the idea of an eleven-year-old using a rifle on the grouse moors. How soon did the royals begin teaching their young the art of slaying wild animals!
But there was not a moment to lose. The shots and yells were outside. The platform vibrated and the little hut shook to its foundations with the sound of horses' hooves.
Faro's last thought before he went into action was of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
Was this what it was like to die?
Chapter 18
Telling the boys to lie down on the floor well out of range of window and door, Faro broke the window with his revolver, took careful aim and cheered as one of the brigands gave a groan of pain and slumped in the saddle.
The platform cleared instantly. But surely one wounded man was not enough to scare them off.
Cautiously, Faro looked out of the window again. Gathered at a little distance a group of twelve horsemen were drawn up together. They were not quite as he had pictured a band of villainous desperados. There was a military precision about the group despite the red bandanas tied around their foreheads. Their horses, no motley collection of stolen animals, had the sleek well-groomed look of regimental steeds.
As he watched, the men were gathered around one man, conferring or awaiting instructions. The leader suddenly emerged and rode forward swiftly towards the hut, alone and carrying on his rifle a white flag.
'A flag of truce!' yelled George. 'We are saved!'
He ran forward but Faro stopped him. 'Wait. I'll go first. You translate for me, George.'
As he opened the door, the horseman with his white flag rode on to the platform. He did not dismount.
He looked at George, his expression puzzled for a moment, then at Anton who was standing close behind him.
'You - ' he pointed. 'You boy - '
Anton stepped forward.
'Come here!'
Anton went over to the man, head up, and Faro marvelled at his bravery. The man leaned over, said something inaudible and, seizing Anton around the waist, lifted him bodily on to the horse.
Anton stared back at them, bewildered, and Faro guessed too terrified even to protest, to cry out.
'Anton! Anton I' George screamed as he watched his friend being carried back to the group. Then to Faro and the porter who was watching open-mouthed, he shouted: 'Don't you see, they're taking him hostage. Why didn't either of you kill that man? You could have at least taken a shot at him,' he sobbed.
Faro did not reply. He was watching the group, already riding fast, disappearing across the hill. Then he said gently to George: 'You know we couldn't do that. We have to honour the white flag and if we had fired, we might have hit Anton, or they might have killed him in revenge.' He put his arm around the still-sobbing George and said:
'Dieter will be back shortly. He will know what to do.'
It was little consolation and he didn't believe his own words. Neither did George.
'He isn't coming back,' George said shortly. 'I think Dieter is dead.'
There was nothing more Faro could say. At that moment, he too was certain that they had seen the last of Dieter.
Still with an arm about George's shoulders, he led him back into the hut. The boy was trembling, his face white with fear, but trying to keep his voice calm, he asked: 'What will we do now, Mr Faro? What is to become of us?'
Faro had no answer to that. But there were a lot of questions that required answers. There were things in this particular puzzle, this dire and dreadful adversary, the
