Ploughshares into Swords (Ukázka, strana 99)

Glancing once more at the crescent moon, Řeka recited some crazy poem and, leaving the axe to its fate, took down a rope that was usually used to strap down the restraining bolster on fully laden hay carts.

Having found the loop on one end, he threaded it and tossed it over a beam, waiting now like a frightful fisherman above the bundle of straw that was Hora’s bed.

Hora is in his place. He’s asleep, his back propped up in the manner of people with a weak heart and his head drooping.

He has not lain down in five years, waiting in a sitting position for the death that now is drawing nigh.

The murderer slipped the noose round, gave the rope a tug and hauled on it with all his might. Hora’s head rose barely a span, yet his pitiful frame just did not have the strength to rise to its feet.

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CHAPTER FIVE

Hearken to Time and mark it well that you may become wise. Hearken to the night of ages, striding along precipices until cockcrow, and all insouciance shall turn into affliction. The gales have died away and none of the sounds of the countryside is to be heard. The grange retired early and is still abed. The solid rock of the manor house is unstirred, the stables have fallen silent and the servants are still slumbering in their quarters.

Three o’clock struck and Josef looked up from his book. Having failed to find the daystar, he withdrew his head from the oriel in its embrasure and resumed his cogitations.

“Be not of faint heart, rise and make ready to go,” he said, which resolve was already the tenth.

Finally, he picked up his cane, knotted his bundle as befitted a pilgrim and, having descended as far as the main gate, came back.

Opening this door was too awkward since, at the first squeak of its hinges, the manor gatekeeper would have come hurrying along to put his weight behind it and make it budge, then, having opened it, he would have bowed to the gentleman sallying forth thus on a whim.

The Reverend Danowitz could not embark on his pilgrimage to Jerusalem without looking silly.

The old baron was asleep, but his retainer stood proud by the threshold, like a pile of broken glass that 99

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could only be jumped over with one’s cassock hitched up to the bare knees.

Shrinking before both deference and derision, Josef descended to investigate the servants’ entrances and, finding these likewise closed, he paused several moments before the doorkeeper’s quarters.

Finally, he made up his mind and knocked.

“Give me the key, I want to go out,” he told the servant, who was rather casual about his civilities.

Now the need was to return for the cane and the bundle previously made ready, and Josef proceeded like a man in a hurry, though he passed the gatekeeper’s little window on tiptoe.

That particular morning, Ouhrov was in no hurry to rise. Josef passed through the village, meeting none but one farmhand and a child. Once out among the fields he paused, no longer apprehensive. The baron slept and the manor house was locked up. Josef could reflect upon his sheer mettle. Upon his nights to come and the sheer distance to Jerusalem.

At the outskirts of the village he was already the pilgrim, having eschewed all the conveniences of the traveller except his cane. He was of course shod, but the scrappy shoes on his feet were so bad that they left him crippled on the very first day. The half-empty pack danced on the priest’s back, but there was still hope that the edges of the straps would turn up harness-like 100

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