Only then did I point out the coincidence, that the corpse had had a withered leg.â
Chapter III
LUCIFER: What are they which dwell
So humbly in their pride, as to sojourn
With worms in clay?
CAIN: And what are thou
who dwellest
So haughtily in spirit, and canst range
Nature and immortality - and yet
Seemâst sorrowful?
LUCIFER: I seem that which I am;
And therefore do I ask of thee, if thou
Wouldst be immortal?
LORD BYRON, Cain
F or as long as we remained on the mountain track, our memories and imaginings together bred unmentionable fears. But we reached the Yanina road without mishap, and from then on progressed with such good speed that the superstitions we had pretended to mock amongst the mountains we now felt able to deride with quite genuine contempt - even I, who lacked my companionâs faith in scepticism, could discuss the vardoulacha as though we were back in London sipping tea. Yet our first glimpse of Yanina was enough to remind us that we were still far from Charing Cross, for the domes and minarets, glittering through gardens of lemon trees and groves of cypress, were as picturesque - and unlike London - as we could possibly have hoped. Not even the sight of a human trunk, hanging from a tree by its single arm, could dampen our spirits, for what might have seemed in a remote village a great horror, now appeared, as we galloped down towards the gates of an oriental city, merely a pleasing touch of barbarism, romantic fodder for Hobhouseâs notes.â
âSo you were made welcome?â
âIn Yanina? Yes.â
âThat must have been a relief.â
Lord Byron smiled faintly. âYes, it was rather. Ali Pasha - I think I told you - had a rather ferocious reputation, but though he was off slaughtering the Serbs when we arrived, he had left orders for us to be met and entertained. Rather flattering. We were welcomed at the gates, and then led through the narrow, crowded streets, with their endless swirl of colour and noise, while over everything, in almost visible clouds, hung the stench of spices and mud and piss. Crowds of children followed us, pointing and laughing, while from shopfronts, and hashish dens, and the latticed balconies where women sat behind their veils, eyes pursued us unceasingly. It was a relief, at last, to feel the sunlight against our faces again, and a cooling breeze, as we were led along a lakefront road towards the caravanserai that Ali Pasha had set aside for us. It was open and airy, in the Turkish style, with a wide courtyard that led down to the lake. Not all the rooms around the court had been given to us; two Tartar soldiers stood on guard by an opposite gateway, and there were horses tethered in the stable yard. But there was no one else to be seen, and in the quiet of our rooms, even the hum of the city behind us seemed stilled.
âWe both slept. When I woke again, it was to the distant wail of the muezzin, summoning the faithful to evening prayers. Hobhouse, like a true infidel, snored on oblivious, but I rose and crossed to the balcony. The lake outside was dyed crimson, and beyond it, the mountains that rose abruptly from its far bank seemed washed in blood. Yanina itself lay behind me all unseen, and only a small boat, crossing from an island in the lake, reminded me that such a thing as man could still exist. I turned, shoved Hobhouse, then wandered out into the court.
âThe house and lakefront were as hushed as before. I glanced around, looking for some sign of human movement, and saw the boat, which just a few minutes previously had been in the centre of the lake, now moored and rocking gently at my feet. It must have crossed the water with almost impossible speed. I could see the pilot sitting hunched in the prow, but when I called to him, he didnât look up. I called again, and reached out to shake him by the arm. He was swathed in black rags, greasy and damp to the touch, and when he looked up his face was that of a
Chapter III
LUCIFER: What are they which dwell
So humbly in their pride, as to sojourn
With worms in clay?
CAIN: And what are thou
who dwellest
So haughtily in spirit, and canst range
Nature and immortality - and yet
Seemâst sorrowful?
LUCIFER: I seem that which I am;
And therefore do I ask of thee, if thou
Wouldst be immortal?
LORD BYRON, Cain
F or as long as we remained on the mountain track, our memories and imaginings together bred unmentionable fears. But we reached the Yanina road without mishap, and from then on progressed with such good speed that the superstitions we had pretended to mock amongst the mountains we now felt able to deride with quite genuine contempt - even I, who lacked my companionâs faith in scepticism, could discuss the vardoulacha as though we were back in London sipping tea. Yet our first glimpse of Yanina was enough to remind us that we were still far from Charing Cross, for the domes and minarets, glittering through gardens of lemon trees and groves of cypress, were as picturesque - and unlike London - as we could possibly have hoped. Not even the sight of a human trunk, hanging from a tree by its single arm, could dampen our spirits, for what might have seemed in a remote village a great horror, now appeared, as we galloped down towards the gates of an oriental city, merely a pleasing touch of barbarism, romantic fodder for Hobhouseâs notes.â
âSo you were made welcome?â
âIn Yanina? Yes.â
âThat must have been a relief.â
Lord Byron smiled faintly. âYes, it was rather. Ali Pasha - I think I told you - had a rather ferocious reputation, but though he was off slaughtering the Serbs when we arrived, he had left orders for us to be met and entertained. Rather flattering. We were welcomed at the gates, and then led through the narrow, crowded streets, with their endless swirl of colour and noise, while over everything, in almost visible clouds, hung the stench of spices and mud and piss. Crowds of children followed us, pointing and laughing, while from shopfronts, and hashish dens, and the latticed balconies where women sat behind their veils, eyes pursued us unceasingly. It was a relief, at last, to feel the sunlight against our faces again, and a cooling breeze, as we were led along a lakefront road towards the caravanserai that Ali Pasha had set aside for us. It was open and airy, in the Turkish style, with a wide courtyard that led down to the lake. Not all the rooms around the court had been given to us; two Tartar soldiers stood on guard by an opposite gateway, and there were horses tethered in the stable yard. But there was no one else to be seen, and in the quiet of our rooms, even the hum of the city behind us seemed stilled.
âWe both slept. When I woke again, it was to the distant wail of the muezzin, summoning the faithful to evening prayers. Hobhouse, like a true infidel, snored on oblivious, but I rose and crossed to the balcony. The lake outside was dyed crimson, and beyond it, the mountains that rose abruptly from its far bank seemed washed in blood. Yanina itself lay behind me all unseen, and only a small boat, crossing from an island in the lake, reminded me that such a thing as man could still exist. I turned, shoved Hobhouse, then wandered out into the court.
âThe house and lakefront were as hushed as before. I glanced around, looking for some sign of human movement, and saw the boat, which just a few minutes previously had been in the centre of the lake, now moored and rocking gently at my feet. It must have crossed the water with almost impossible speed. I could see the pilot sitting hunched in the prow, but when I called to him, he didnât look up. I called again, and reached out to shake him by the arm. He was swathed in black rags, greasy and damp to the touch, and when he looked up his face was that of a
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