At first light, Flora stretched out her frozen limbs with relief. They had survived the night, huddled together for warmth and comfort. Even Ruth had settled but Flora’s stomach was rumbling and she felt sick with hunger. Not a crumb of provisions was left, so they must make the most of the light and head along the path. Nobody wanted to leave the shelter of the stone shack.
It was time to keep the little ones in a line, walking between Flora and Juliette for their safety. Francine slept, oblivious, but once awake, her howling might attract unwelcome attention. Maurice had warned them of mountain troops with dogs, but so far their luck had held. In the distance was a snow-topped mountain that heralded the Spanish border, but the trail was rough and unclear. Flora trusted it would lead them to safety.
‘How far is it now?’ Juliette asked. ‘My legs ache from the long hike yesterday.’
‘I reckon it can’t be too far now,’ Flora replied, more in hope than conviction. If ever she needed faith and trust in her instincts, it was now. To get them all lost in these cruel mountains, with no guide, was terrifying. She must show confidence and pretend, when in fact she felt only fear and foreboding.
‘I’m hungry,’ Joseph cried. ‘Is there nothing left?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Flora answered. ‘We can drink at the next stream.’
It had been raining in the night and the shrubs smelt fresh, as on they walked towards the summit. It rose in the sky to the south. There was a sullen silence from the children, but then the baby began to whimper again.
‘We have to stop,’ Juliette cried. ‘I can’t go any further.’
Ruth was always quick to pick up on an atmosphere and sat down, refusing to budge.
‘Just a little further. I’m sure we’re close to Spain,’ Flora lied.
‘How do you know?’ Juliette snapped. ‘With no proper map, no guide, no food. It’s all been for nothing…’ She was at breaking point.
Flora sensed rebellion on her hands, lost for words, until she heard movement by the rocks. ‘Take cover!’ She gathered the girls to her side. Her heart was thumping. To be so near and yet so far, she thought. They hid as best they could but Francine began to howl. Their cover was blown, but instead of soldiers in field grey, it was an old man and woman, picking something from the ground, who now looked at them. Flora froze, not knowing what to say. To her surprise they beckoned and smiled.
Flora hesitated, recalling a few phrases she had learned at Elne. ‘La Francia o España? France or Spain?’ she whispered. The old woman nodded, beckoning them forward with a smile.
Were they really in Spain? Had they crossed the border so easily? What if this was a trap? She looked at Juliette, knowing they had all had enough. There was no other choice but to follow. After about half an hour, they came to a little house with a stone barn hewn out of the rock. ‘Come, come, come.’ The old woman beckoned, pointing to the barn. She did not seem surprised to be welcoming visitors. The children saw chickens running about and goats tethered. This was something they recognised. They sat down, loosening their makeshift capes and hats.
‘Are we safe?’ Juliette looked towards Flora.
‘I hope so,’ was all Flora could say. It was not long before the woman brought out a large pan of polenta, soaked in goats’ milk. The children pounced on it with relish, each taking their turn with the spoon, until the pan was scraped dry.
‘Thank you,’ Flora said to the woman, who smiled back with a toothless grin. She brought out rough blankets. They lay down to rest their weary limbs. Had they made it to safety? If not, a night’s rest would give them strength to carry on. If only Kit was there, too, her joy would be complete, but it was enough that the first part of her duty was done. Flora’s eyelids drooped with tiredness and she snuggled down to sleep.
A dog barked, waking her. Suddenly alert to the fading light, she could hear voices outside the barn. Oh, surely not – were they betrayed? The barn door opened and a man in a strange uniform and funny hat was staring at them. Flora shot up, expecting the worst and promptly bent over to be sick. Juliette took the children to the far end of the barn.
‘Papers,’ he demanded. This was the moment she had dreaded. Had they fallen into a trap, by following and trusting the couple?
Juliette started to weep. She pulled out her papers and Flora took her old passport out from its hiding place, alongside the children’s real identities. It was all over, then. Time to be sent back over the border, or worse. Her hands trembled as she held them out. ‘Por favor.’
The guard examined them carefully, looking them up and down. ‘You come with me,’ he replied, in halting French.
Flora clung on to Juliette, as the children clung to them. She wanted to curse the cunning of the couple who had tricked them. At least they had a good meal inside them. To be sent back over that cruel rocky trail once more was unbearable. How would they survive? And how could she have been so naive?
*
In the middle of the night, Kit was bundled into a cart and covered up with straw.
‘Don’t move,’ Jean-Baptiste ordered, as he supervised this hurried departure. There was hardly time to make his farewells. Every second mattered, if they were to creep out of Montze without attracting the guards billeted down the street. The decision to remove the plaster cast was not ideal but with his ankle strapped tightly and a stave for support, he was now at the mercy of a stranger with a mule, whose hooves were wrapped in cloth, to silence any sound. Kit crouched low, wanting to sneeze as straw tickled his nostrils. He hugged a bundle of clothes in a sack which also contained bread, cheese and his papers. It was an ignominious leave-taking, at the mercy of whoever was spiriting him away to safety, somewhere up in the hills, no doubt.
It was a slow, painful drive in the darkness, but then he saw streaks of lemony light as the dawn broke. The jagged mountain peaks emerged and they climbed towards a forest of holm oaks and pine trees. What a relief to hear the driver calling him, and pulling away the straw, to reveal the beauty of this new terrain. ‘Where are we now?’ he shouted, but the driver ignored him. Every muscle in Kit’s body ached with stiffness, his ankle throbbed.
So far there were no checkpoints or barricades. They must be far into the hills, miles away from Montze and far from any connections to Flora and the children. He could see wisps of smoke rising out of a clearing ahead. Was this his destination? The mule was slowing down and the old man turned to him. ‘You stay here… someone will come.’
‘How can I thank you?’ Kit replied, trying to ease himself out of the cart with difficulty.
‘They say you are an English soldier. You clear the Boche from my land, that will be your payment.’ The guard guided him down and gave him his sack. He left Kit waving, as he hunched over his reins and disappeared. The smoke, Kit noticed, was just wisps. There were the fading embers of a fire surrounded by stones. The ground was pressed down by bootmarks and cigarette butts but there were no signs of the men who had camped here. He could hear buzzards circling high above him, the rustle of wind in the new leaves. He felt a strange, eerie emptiness to be alone in the middle of nowhere and hardly able to move without wincing.
If someone was expecting a fit soldier, ready to take up arms against a mutual enemy, they were in for a big disappointment. Here was only a middle-aged cripple, who had never carried a gun in his life. Kit stoked the fire with what was left of the dry brushwood, laid down his jacket and stretched out his legs to eat his breakfast. Was he being watched? Had somebody noticed his arrival? He put his arms above his head, knowing he was going nowhere, sensing that when they were sure of him, someone would emerge to check him over. Until then, he would siesta, stretch out and rest his weary body. It gave him time to pray that Flora and her little troupe were safely across the border. When she was ready, she would return and wait for him. He felt the dappled shade and sun on his face and knew no more.