As I sat there
listening to this extraordinary narrative, eagerly anticipating what was to
come next, the Sire’s wife Emilda, called us to the table, complaining that the
food was getting cold. I just prevented myself from groaning aloud at this
unwelcome interruption. Suddenly I realized I was starving, not having eaten
any lunch on Lothar’s advice, he having already have had the pleasure of being
at the receiving end of Mrs Emilda’s cooking. Also, listening to the story had
worked up a ravenous appetite and I could see that some of the men were already
moving towards the dining table with their glasses in their hand and hunger
stricken eyes, waiting anxiously for the moment they could begin indulging
themselves. After having taken our places at the table, I was asked to say
grace, after which we all sat down and helped ourselves to generous helpings of
the sumptuous steak.
Several helpings
of steak and a bottle of lovely red wine later, we returned to the drawing room
to listen to the end of the story. The Sire resumed where he had left off, “ As
I was saying, I had been left out of that final mission, to sit at home with a
sprained neck and a heavy heart. As the hundred odd soldiers, a hundred and
twenty to be precise, readied themselves to leave, their backpacks on their
shoulders and courage in their hearts, I wished them luck and retired to my
house for a nap, at the continual insistence of the doctor.
Time dragged on.
With most of my contemporaries away life became dull and I couldn’t help but
wonder how soon they would arrive back. Their destination was a certain part of
Skopje. Every two days, a messenger was supposed to be sent from Skopje to
inform us of the progress of the plan. Two days passed without any news about
what was happening, then one more. On the fourth day a messenger boy from our
base in Skopje arrived. We flocked around him, hoping he was bringing good
tidings. What we heard dumbfounded us. The group had not reached Skopje. The
Inner Circle, along with me tried to work out what could have gone wrong. There
were no known enemy camps along the way. The chances of a successful ambush
were minimal, and that of such a large group of warriors, practically
impossible. The lay of the road eliminated this possibility. The road ran along
the ridge of a mountain range, so at all times a person on the brow of the hill
was at an elevated position compared to anyone below the top.
Finally it was
decided that I, along with two youngsters would follow the soldiers’ path to
try and determine what could have befallen them. We set out immediately and a
day and a half later reached Skopje. There was no sign of anybody whatsoever
having walked that road in a long time, let alone a hundred and twenty fully
grown adults. In this rainy weather, given the amount wet mud lying around, one
would have expected the marks left by a stampede of cows to be put to shame,
given the number of people who were supposed to have passed that way. Also,
there was no alternate travelable road that the group could have possibly
taken.
We returned to
the village in a state of absolute bewilderment. What earthly phenomenon could
be held responsible for the inexplicable disappearance of more than a hundred
soldiers on a single day. For the next week we waited, praying for some
miraculous return of our men. About ten days had passed by which time most of
the village had resigned themselves to the fact that some mysterious agency had
engulfed them and that they would not return. There were a few stubborn ladies
however, who refused to accept this, staunchly believing that their husbands
would return to them.
A
sense of mourning had set in and even a church service was held, praying for
the souls of the courageous soldiers of the Sceptre.”
It
was clear that this was the end of this most absorbing narrative and for a
moment I thought I detected the glint of a tear or two even in the eyes of the
giant Gallas.
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