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Suddenly they rounded a bend and found themselves on a small flat terrace, roughly paved with flat stones. A trickle of water ran down the rock face into a rough trough and then spilled out across the terrace in a muddy puddle, eventually falling over the edge. At the back of the space was a large hut, huddled into the craggy rock of the slope.
Hebe slipped off the mule and stalked round to confront Alex, anxiety sharpening her voice. ‘Is this where we are going? Because whether it is or not, this is where we stop.’
He looked down at her, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘Shh, not so loud. Yes, this is the hut I use: stay here until I check it out, and do not walk in the mud.’
He cocked the musket and walked cautiously to the doorway. Hebe led the weary mule over to the water trough and let it drink. It showed no sign of wanting to wander off so she dropped a stone on to the end of the lead rope and followed Alex into the hut, jumping over the muddy patch.
It was surprisingly roomy inside, although of a very odd shape, for the back wall was made out of the bare rock. There was a large, open, earthen-floored space with a stone fireplace and chimney, a rough wooden bench and table and a pile of old straw on the ground. Furthest away from the door the space narrowed abruptly, ending in a planked wall that was hung with old mule harness and empty sacks.
Alex was standing with one hand on the wall, quite still, apparently lost in thought. Hebe walked up quietly and, before he realised what she was about, put her hand on his forehead.
‘You are burning up! Alex, will you lie down and rest now!’
He pushed himself away from the wall, catching her hand in his and bringing it down close to his chest. Hebe twisted in his grasp and fastened her fingers over his wrist. ‘And your pulse is racing.’ He was pale under his tan, his eyes were dark and Hebe could feel that he was shivering.
‘Managing woman,’ he said, apparently with an effort. ‘There are things to do before we can rest, let me get on with it.’
‘No, I will not.’ Hebe kept hold of his wrist, realising with a frisson of fear just how ill he must be, and amazed that his strength and sheer will-power had kept him going for so long. ‘Tell me what to do, I have been sitting on that dratted mule all day, I need the exercise.’
That provoked another smile. ‘Language, Hebe!’
‘What, “dratted”? I am sure by the time we get home I will be using far worse, given the example you have been setting me.’ She pulled him towards the bench. ‘Now, sit down and tell me what to do.’
To her surprise he yielded. ‘Very well. Unsaddle the mule and bring the saddle in here. Lead it up the path and when you have passed the roof of the hut you will see another track to your left. Go up there and it opens into a tiny patch of meadow where the stream runs. You can tether it up there where it can drink and graze out of sight.’
Hebe ran to do as she was told, casting him a suspicious glance when she lugged in the heavy wooden saddle and dumped it against the plank wall under the old harness, but he made no move to get up, so she felt reassured enough to leave him.
The mule followed willingly enough and stood quietly while she tethered it to a wind-bent sapling near the runnel of water. When she got back to the hut, though, Alex was no longer sitting on the bench but was pulling planks from the wall at the narrow end of the hut. Behind them Hebe could see a dark space which, when she ran to help him, she saw was like a large cupboard containing a bed.
Alex removed four of the vertical planks, then stopped. ‘You see, they slot in like this. They can be held in place from the inside if necessary. If anyone comes, get in here with anything which could give away our presence and pull them back.’ He stacked the planks in order against the wall and reached inside, bringing out a small lantern. ‘Do not light this unless the door is closed, and, if someone comes, blow it out or the light will show through the cracks in this false wall.’ Every word seemed to be an effort.
Hebe peered round the edge. ‘Did you build this?’
‘When I found the hut this was just a typical cupboard bed, built into the alcove to keep the draughts down. I made the wall and fitted shelves inside.’
Hebe eyed him: he was becoming sicker by the minute, now having to grip the edge of the planks so tightly that his knuckles showed white. ‘What is in here?’ she asked, scrambling into the space. ‘Let me see, then come and lie down. Please, Alex—if you collapse, I will never be able to lift you.’
There were shelves with clothing stacked on them: rough shirts and culotte trousers, a pair of buckled shoes, woollen socks, a heavy cloak. There was a small wheel of cheese with a knife sticking in it and a thick rind that would deter most mice, an evil-looking sausage and a water container. The bed itself was a vast hay-filled sack lying over boards and covered with country-weave blankets.
Hebe lifted out the food and wriggled back into the room. ‘Go on, lie down, Alex.’
To her intense relief he did as she asked, falling back on to the mattress with a sigh, but he still would not relax and let go. ‘Hebe, listen to me…’
‘No, stop talking, Alex. I understand what I need to do. I must be careful not to do anything that will give away the fact we are here, and leave no footprints in the mud. I must keep a look out and if anyone comes I must put up the planks and hide in here. Now lie still and I will get you something to eat.’
But when she returned a few moments later with a little cheese, bread and the water flask, he was heavily asleep, perhaps unconscious. Hebe forced herself to leave him while she checked outside. Darkness was falling and a faint powdering of lights showed from the villages in the foothills. She lit the lantern, left it on the table, then went outside and shut the door. Even in the darkness out there she could see no chink of light escaping, so she hurried back inside and, after an anxious glance at Alex, ate and drank.
Now there was nothing else to distract her she found it difficult to keep her mind calm. To see such a strong man collapse so utterly filled her with dread. Was he dying? No, she told herself firmly, he says he has had this before. No, he will be all right if you only look after him.
Hebe picked up the light and went and looked down at the long figure stretched out on the bed, fully clothed. She had never done any sick nursing and she had certainly never had to look after a helpless man.
‘Do not be feeble, Hebe,’ she said out loud. The sound of her own voice was strangely comforting. ‘Just imagine he is Mama in the same circumstances. Now, what do I do?’ It seemed an unlikely comparison, but it did at least help her think.
To get him comfortable and warm seemed the first thing, and he certainly seemed to be neither, dressed like that. Hebe clambered up on to the bed and set about undressing him. At first it seemed daunting to touch a man like this, let alone one she loved. Then the practical difficulties turned the whole enterprise from embarrassing to infuriating and she stopped worrying about the impropriety of it.
Alex was a dead weight to move. She started with the easiest things and took his shoes off. She unbuckled the heavy leather belt and pulled it from under him, then unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it open. His chest was hot and dry and under her hand his heartbeat was rapid. The bandage around the knife cut was badly stained but the skin around it felt no worse than the rest of him so she decided to leave it until the morning and better light.
The shirt felt rough to the touch and was soaked in sweat. Hebe looked at the others on the shelf and found some which were softer linen: one would do as a nightshirt if she could only get this off. She tried rolling him and slipping off one side and then the other. That did not work. She tried pulling it up, but it would not shift. Finally Hebe simply hitched up her skirts, straddled his prone form and, linking her hands behind his neck, heaved. It worked and she found herself with her arms full of unconscious man.
