Bride to a Brigand Page 2

  She walked towards them as they bowed their heads and, having greeted them with a smile, she seated herself in the high-backed carved chair, which at the head of the table looked not unlike a throne.

  It had, of course, been designed for a man.

  She therefore looked somewhat insubstantial against the Zokālan coat-of-arms emblazoned at the back of it surmounted by a gilded crown.

  “I am delighted to see you, Prime Minister,” she said, “but I am surprised that you are not accompanied by more of your colleagues.”

  “We felt, Your Royal Highness, that what we have to say should be discussed by as few people as possible until you have made a decision.”

  Ileana looked from one man to the other and then gave a little sigh.

  She was quite certain that what she was about to hear was something she had heard a dozen times already.

  “What is it?” she enquired.

  “The Lord Chamberlain and I have come to ask Your Royal Highness if you will make a decision as soon as possible as to who will be our future King.”

  “I thought perhaps that was what was in your mind,” Ileana replied, “but you know as well as I do, Prime Minister, that I have no intention of marrying anybody!”

  “That is what Your Royal Highness has said before,” the Prime Minister said quietly, “but now circumstances make it imperative that you should be married and as quickly as possible!”

  There was a note in his voice that made Ileana look at him searchingly before she asked,

  “What has happened that you have not told me? Why is there this sudden urgency that has not, apparently, been brought to the attention of the whole Council?”

  The Prime Minister glanced across the table at the Lord Chamberlain as if for support before he answered,

  “We have just learnt, Your Royal Highness, that an armed tribe led by General Vladilas is camping in the mountains on the other side of the valley.”

  Ileana looked puzzled.

  “General Vladilas?” she enquired. “I do not seem to have heard of him before.”

  “He leads a nomadic tribe of brigands and robbers who have been talked about for some years now in all neighbouring countries, but they have only just become a problem to us.”

  Ileana was interested.

  “Tell me about them.”

  As she spoke, she put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands, thinking that this was certainly something she had not expected.

  She was aware that, almost as if he was afraid of frightening her, the Prime Minister was choosing his words before he said,

  “I presume that Your Royal Highness has heard of the Pallikares?”

  “Of course, I have heard of them,” Ileana replied, “but I don’t know a great deal about them.”

  “The main body of the tribe has always been situated in. Greece – ”

  “Oh, now I know who you are talking about!” Ileana interrupted. “They are legendary, and I believe magnificent fighting men.”

  “That is true,” the Prime Minister agreed, “but while they might be serviceable to a country in wartime, they can be a menace in times of peace!”

  As he was talking, Ileana thought back to what she had heard of the Pallikares.

  Somebody had described them to her once as the most picturesque men in Northern Greece.

  “Their costumes are all embroidered with gold,” her informant had said, “they bristle with pistols and Yataghans, which they do not hesitate to use and their horses are trapped out in silver and gold.”

  “They sound entrancing!” Ileana had remarked.

  “Actually the men swagger about, wildly moustachioed, wearing shaggy fur coats and look like great bears!”

  What she had been told about them had captured Ileana’s imagination, but it had been a long time ago.

  Now she remembered clearly what had been said and how she had always hoped one day to see the Pallikares but had thought it unlikely.

  “Why have they come here?” she asked.

  The Prime Minister made a gesture with his hands.

  “I cannot give Your Royal Highness an answer to that question,” he said. “The Lord Chamberlain and I have been discussing it on our way here and my opinion is that they mean trouble.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “If there are a large number of them they could practically take over part of the country.”

  “Do you mean go to war with us?”

  The Prime Minister drew in his breath.

  “I am afraid, Your Royal Highness, that the answer to that is yes, but in a different manner from the way that we understand war. They are men of the mountains who come down to the plains, seize what they want, whether it is food, possessions or women and disappear back to where they came from before anything can be done about it.”

  “And to prevent this from happening you think that we should expel them by force?”

  There was a pause before the Prime Minister replied,

  “I believe that our Army, small though it is, could defeat and drive away the Pallikares.”

  His eyes met Ileana’s as he spoke and she faced him defiantly.

  “What you are saying, Prime Minister, is that you require me to marry so that I can give you a man at the head of our troops whom the whole country will follow.”

  “Your Royal Highness has put the words into my mouth!” the Prime Minister said with a note of satisfaction in his voice.

  “Then you really think,” Ileana asked after a moment, “that our Generals are not capable of fighting these vagabonds on their own?”

  The Prime Minister looked worried.

  “Believe me, Your Royal Highness, we don’t yet know the numbers of the tribe, but they are certain to be considerable. General Vladilas is known and feared in Bulgaria and there are rumours of his exploits in Albania.”

  “How old is he?”

  “I have no idea, Your Royal Highness. In fact, he is something of a mystery man. People talk about him and the legends of his invincibility have grown until the mere fact that he is challenging us, if that is what he means to do, will frighten our people, unless they are assured that we have somebody of his stature to face him.”

  “A King!” Ileana sighed almost beneath her breath.

  “Exactly!” the Prime Minister agreed. “We need a young King who will lead our troops and whom they will follow because they both admire and respect him.”

  It was then that the Lord Chamberlain, who had been silent up until now, spoke for the first time.

  “It is not only arms, Your Royal Highness, that win battles,” he said, “it is the spirit of the fighting men who use them, and behind the fighting men is the spirit of the people they defend.”

  “I understand what you are saying, my Lord Chamberlain,” Ileana replied, “but where are we to find such a man?”

  There was silence and she knew that the Prime Minister was thinking over the list of her numerous suitors and wondering which of them would best fill the place waiting for him.

  Before he could speak, she asked,

  “Do you really believe that a foreigner, however Royal his blood may be, could not only represent Zokāla at a moment’s notice, but capture the imagination of the people and win their confidence in the way you describe?”

  She spoke scornfully and then, before either of the Statesmen could answer her, she said,

  “His only asset would be that he was married to me. I will lead my own troops in my own way, and make sure that if these cut-throats try to injure Zokāla, we will drive them away in a manner which will ensure that they never attack us again!”

  Now the Prime Minister and the Lord Chamberlain turned to stare at her in sheer astonishment.

  The Prime Minister was the first to find his voice.

  “What you are suggesting is impossible, Your Royal Highness, absolutely impossible!”

  “Why?

  “Quite simply because you are a woman!”

  �
�Then you do not agree that I have far more determination and a far greater grasp of what is required, as well as a far greater love for my country, than any outsider could possibly have?”

  “Of course! Of course!” the Prime Minister agreed. “That is obvious! But no country could possibly be led into battle by a woman!”

  “There were women in history who did exactly that!”

  “That was many hundreds of years ago, Your Royal Highness, but not today, not with modern weapons.”

  “Do you really think it matters particularly,” Ileana asked, “whether one is killed by an arrow or a piece of lead? If one is going to die, one dies.”

  “This conversation is merely speculative, Your Royal Highness,” the Lord Chamberlain interrupted, “and we are very serious. We can only beg you now not to dismiss our petition as a jest or something of little importance.”

  “I am not doing that,” Ileana murmured.

  “What we are asking,” the Lord Chamberlain went on as if she had not spoken, “is that Your Royal Highness should accept one of the many suitors for your hand who have been travelling in and out of the country during the last six months, raising our hopes only to have them dashed as they departed.”

  The way he spoke made Ileana know that it would be a mistake to tease him or to argue any further.

  Instead in the calm, business-like manner in which she usually addressed the Council Meetings she declared,

  “I appreciate that you have brought this problem to me before it has been discussed openly with your colleagues. I would like a little time to think it over and, as soon as I have come to a decision, I will inform you of it.”

  She saw the expression of relief on both men’s faces before the Prime Minister said,

  “That is very gratifying, Your Royal Highness, and we can only thank you for understanding that the position is extremely precarious and we do not wish to frighten our people unless it is absolutely necessary.”

  “No, no, of course not!” Ileana agreed. “But I would like a report from the Generals on what troops we have at our disposal and I would also like to know, as early as possible, the numbers and, of course, the intentions of the Pallikares.”

  There was a little silence before the Prime Minister answered,

  “I regret, Your Royal Highness, that we find our espionage in this particular has not proved as effective as we might have hoped.”

  “What do you mean – not effective?” Ileana asked sharply. “I understood that the branch of the Army specialising in intelligence is considered extremely efficient!”

  The Prime Minister looked embarrassed and Ileana demanded,

  “What has happened?”

  “It is extremely regrettable,” the Prime Minister replied, “that after Colonel Bartik died, nobody was appointed in his place.”

  Ileana looked at the Prime Minister in astonishment.

  “Do you mean to tell me that we have no Army intelligence operating at this moment?”

  “Shall we say it has not been properly co-ordinated since the Colonel’s death,” the Prime Minister answered and she was aware that he was nervous.

  “It is extremely remiss, and most unfortunate at this particular moment!” Ileana said sharply. “I blame myself that I had not thought of it before.”

  “It was certainly not your duty to do so,” the Lord Chamberlain remarked, “but as Your Royal Highness is well aware, the older Generals dislike anything that seems to them modern in the way of training and prefer keeping to the traditional methods of warfare, which except in Russia do not include espionage.”

  “But why not at this moment, when we need spies? Spies who will infiltrate the Pallikares tribe, spies to tell us what their intentions are and spies to discover whether General Vladilas is as menacing as you seem to think?”

  “I can only agree with Your Royal Highness,” the Prime Minister said sheepishly, “but without Colonel Bartik we had no idea how to set about doing such things.”

  Ileana tapped her fingers on the table.

  “There must be many adventurous young men in the Army who would welcome the assignment of finding out what we want to know.”

  “I am afraid such matters are beyond my comprehension,” the Prime Minister admitted. “I imagine if the Pallikares under General Vladilas are in the mountains where we are told they are camping, they will have a bird’s-eye view over the valley.”

  “I have to admit that is a reasonable supposition,” Ileana replied.

  She was thinking as she spoke of the magnificent view she had been afforded over the whole valley when she had climbed to the top of Mount Bela and had seen the Palace below her looking like a child’s doll’s house.

  It would be impossible for any soldier to approach such a position without the Pallikares seeing him and if they wished shooting him down.

  It suddenly seemed to Ileana to be a far more complex problem than she had at first thought.

  At the same time she told herself that if she could not find a solution it was unlikely that a foreign husband, if she had one, would do any better.

  However, she was well aware that what the Prime Minister and the Lord Chamberlain were demanding of her was reasonable in the circumstances.

  Ileana knew that Zokālan women, like the women in most of the other Balkan countries, kept their place, which was behind the man, not even beside him. They might rule their homes, and undoubtedly the more spirited of them did, but they played no part in business, in politics or in any affairs concerning the nation as a whole.

  In one district Bulgarian women even waited on their husbands and were not allowed to sit at the table with him, while the average Zokālan man believed that women were meant for pleasure and for very little else.

  Because she was more perturbed by what she had heard than she liked to admit, Ileana rose to her feet.

  “As I have already said, gentlemen,” she announced, “I will think over the problem and let you have an answer as quickly as possible, but I hope you will not press me too hard.”

  She smiled, but the Prime Minister’s face was serious as he replied,

  “While we are deeply grateful to Your Royal Highness, we would like to point out that time is of great importance. The Pallikares might make up their minds to strike as early as tomorrow or the next day. We do not know, but we must be ready for them.”

  “I agree with you,” Ileana answered. “At the same time, we have an old saying which tells us that it is ‘wise to make haste slowly’!”

  She knew as she spoke that she was being hypocritical, which was something she had never been in the past.

  She had always wanted to jump every fence, sweep away every obstacle and gain her objective the moment she had thought of it.

  But she knew if she had a husband it would be something very different.

  While the Prime Minister and the Lord Chamberlain bowed her out of the room with smiles of satisfaction on their lips, Ileana was telling herself she could not and would not marry in such circumstances.

  This was the first time since she had grown up that she felt as if she was trapped, that iron bars were waiting to imprison her in an intolerable situation from which she shrank with every nerve in her body.

  She had been quite young when she first decided that marriage was something she did not wish for herself.

  She had known that her father and mother had been very happy together, but all around her were innumerable examples of men and women who were joined by what was said to be the Blessing of God, but who in fact were actively unhappy.

  She had first become aware of what a woman could suffer, when she found one of her mother’s Ladies-in Waiting, the Baroness Spryidon weeping bitterly in the garden where she had not expected to be discovered.

  Ileana supposed she must have injured herself and she ran towards her saying,

  “What has happened? Did you fall down? Can I help you?”

  The Baroness, who was an extremely pretty woman and one whom Ileana ha
d always admired, raised her face from her hands.

  She saw the tears running down her cheeks and her dark eyes swimming with them.

  “What is wrong?” she asked again. “Oh, please, don’t cry like that.”

  The Baroness had drawn out a small handkerchief to dab her eyes with.

  “It is nothing, Your Royal Highness,” she had replied, “and please, do not tell anybody what you have seen.”

  She rose from the stone seat on which she was sitting as she spoke and walked away, leaving Ileana staring after her in surprise.

  She had gone back into the Palace to find her old Nanny who looked after her now that she was older in the role of a lady’s-maid.

  Without giving away any secrets she asked,

  “I don’t think the Baroness looks at all happy, Nanny, and she is very pale. Do you think she is ill?”

  The old Nanny, who was an inveterate gossip, gave a little snort of indignation before she replied,

  “It’s her heart what’s ill, and there’s no cure for that!”

  “Her heart?” Ileana had asked in some surprise.

  “That man ought to be ashamed of himself, that he ought!” Nanny declared. “Your father should have a sharp word with him. But there, His Majesty never sees what’s going on under his very nose!”

  Ileana knew that the Baron was one of her father’s trusted Lords-in-Waiting.

  He was a very handsome man and she had once heard somebody saying that he had a ‘roving eye’, without really understanding the meaning.

  Now suddenly she understood what it meant.

  That night before going to bed, she had seen the Baron in close conversation with another Lady-in-Waiting who had only recently taken up her duties and was young and attractive.

  She was married, but her husband was serving with the Army and she had for the first week or two seemed to be somewhat at a loose end, Ileana had thought.

  Now as she watched them, it was very obvious that the Baron’s advances were welcome and she responded with sparkling eyes and smiling lips.

  ‘How can he be so unkind to his wife as to make her cry?’ Ileana asked herself.

  Then for the first time she began to look around the Court and found that it was very different from what it had seemed to her when a child.