The Star of Kazan

24 Zed Rides

When he left Spittal, close on midnight, Zed had taken two saddlebags and nothing else. One was packed with a change of clothes, a loaf of bread, such money as he had, a map, and the compass given him by the Freiherr. The other contained a halter and rope for Rocco, a supply of oats, a brush and a hoof-pick. The horse had been shod recently, but with a journey of more than 700 kilometres ahead of him, he would need to be alert.

He had ridden without stopping; all he wanted was to put as much distance between himself and Frau Edeltraut as possible. Her accusations and the threats of her brother-in-law had at first only angered him, but the anger was quickly followed by fear. He knew the power of the von Tannenbergs. They could have him imprisoned or deported and they would not hesitate to do so. No one would believe his word against theirs.

Ye t at Bad Haxenfeld he had halted. His road south led past the station, it skirted the town. He was in a desperate hurry; he had certainly not stolen Annika’s trunk, but he had taken Rocco. He felt no guilt about this. He could not have left the horse at Spittal at the mercy of Frau Edeltraut’s whims, but in the eyes of the law he was a thief.

All the same, he had turned off into the town and ridden Rocco into the stable yard of the Majestic and now, as he left the spa behind, he was glad because he knew the truth.

He leaned forward in the saddle and urged Rocco on and the horse broke into a canter on the grassy verge. There was a thin moon in the sky and the air was still. He was free — free of the von Tannenbergs with their snobbish grandeur, free of the endless jobs on the farm… free to join his mother’s people on the great Hungarian plain with its poplar trees and its wind-powered wells and its herds of wide-horned cattle.

And he was free of Annika and her troubles.

There was nothing he could do for her. Annika worshipped her mother. Even if he could bring himself to tell her the truth she would never believe him.

So why did he keep remembering silly and unimportant things? Annika the first day he had met her, asking if there was more mangel-wurzel… Annika running her fingers through Rocco’s mane… and barrowing feed for the sheep in the rain, her pigtails turning to sodden ropes of moisture… He could see her trotting down the lane to the farm, pulling down a branch of witch hazel and sniffing it… and her streaming eyes as she chopped onions for soup.

He pushed the memories away. She was a gallant girl and he liked her, but that had nothing to do with it. He was bound for his mother’s people and a new life if he escaped, and it would not be easy. Zed knew enough about the gypsies to realize that the dream of freedom and companionship had its dark side. There were thieves among them as well as people with big hearts; and women who let their children go filthy, with lice and matted hair. Old Izidor was honourable and so were his immediate kinsman, but others were not.

But they were his people now. He would throw in his lot with them, at least till he was old enough to manage on his own, and they would be good to Rocco. That was what mattered. A place where no questions were asked and the horse was safe.

Just before dawn he came to the river he would follow south towards its source. He dismounted and walked Rocco up and down before he let him drink.

There was grass by the bank and an oak tree, its branches hanging over the water. He tethered Rocco so that he could crop the turf. Then, using the saddlebag as a pillow, he lay down and slept.

Next morning the map showed him the route he had to take, across the wheat fields and orchards of central Germany and into Moravia — part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire — which he would have to cross to reach the Danube.

The distance was awe-inspiring; he only had enough money to buy oats for Rocco and a little food for himself and the horse was too young to be ridden hard.

But gradually he found himself enjoying the journey. Rocco’s alert ears, his steady high-stepping gait affected Zed. He rode him through woods, scattering herds of wild boar, and along streams where herons stood, one-legged, waiting for prey. Sometimes they had to take busy roads, jostled by donkey carts and drays, but mostly Zed found bridle paths and quiet lanes. There were bad days when the rain came down steadily and other days where there was nowhere to buy food and Zed watched Rocco graze with envy in his heart. Once a man in a loden cape stopped to question him, suspicious of a shabbily dressed boy on such a fine horse. Once they were followed by two infuriated dogs, great shaggy Komondors guarding a flock of sheep, but Rocco broke into a gallop and the dogs turned back.

But it was not the mishaps or dangers that troubled Zed; it was his thoughts. He still found it difficult to dismiss Annika from his mind. Memories of the silly Viennese song she had hummed when she polished the floors at Spittal, the look in her eyes when she first saw Hector, wouldn’t leave him.

There was nothing he could do for her, he told himself again and again. He had only known her a few weeks. She would be all right; she would manage.

It was just that she had been — a friend.

The last week of the journey was desperately hard; both he and Rocco were getting very tired. As they stumbled over the steep hills and through the rocky gorges of Moravia there were times when Zed thought he could not let the horse go on.

Then one morning he rode down from the hills between fields and orchards coming into blossom, and saw before him the wide, slow-moving Danube, with its barges and pleasure steamers and tugs. This was the most important waterway in Europe. The towpath east led to Hungary and the plain where his gypsies were camped.

The towpath west followed the river to Vienna, where the Danube flowed through the city’s heart.

Zed dismounted and stood looking at the water. He stood there so long that Rocco became impatient, gently butting Zed with his head.

‘All right,’ said Zed to his horse, and got back into the saddle. ‘Let’s go.’