The Iron Tiger - Jack Higgins [59]
Janet was sitting by the fire, Kerim nursed in her arms, while Father Kerrigan sat on a bench by a large wooden table, engaged in animated conversation in English with a much older monk in a yellow, conical hat with ear flaps.
Father Kerrigan got to his feet and the monk rose with him. 'Major Hamid and Mr. Drummond.' He made the introductions in English. 'This is the Abbot of Ladong Gompa. I've been giving him a brief account of our misfortunes. Apparently they still get a few pilgrims across during the summer. Lucky for us, eh?'
'I suppose we're pilgrims in a sense,' Drummond said. 'Pilgrims of hope.'
The Abbot smiled. 'I've been explaining to Father Kerrigan that the other members of our order here are under a strict vow of silence. Please accept that they mean no discourtesy.'
His English was slightly stilted and technically excellent, but was delivered in the grave, expressionless tone of a man who did not use his voice often.
'Can we stay here for a while?' Drummond said.
'As long as you wish.'
'Has Father Kerrigan told you that we are being followed by Communist troops?'
The Abbot nodded. 'Sound travels great distances at this height. We could hear your party coming when you were still crossing the main plateau. There will be ample warning. I will have food sent to you and then blankets. I suggest you all try to get some sleep.'
'And that's the most sensible thing I've heard in a long time,' Drummond said.
'I shall pray for your continuing good fortune.'
The Abbot left the room. Hot food was brought to them, steaming in a great copper bowl, and afterwards blankets.
Drummond draped one over his shoulders and Hamid spread the map out on the table. 'Where do we go from here?'
Hamid ran his finger along another valley, following the track over the top and down the other side of the mountain. 'About fifteen miles to the Indian border from here, that's all.'
Drummond looked across to where Father Kerrigan and Janet were already asleep in front of the fire wrapped in their blankets, Kerim between them.
'Do you think they can make it?'
'They'll have to. We don't have any choice.'
He lay down on the floor beside the others, pulling his blanket over his head, and Drummond stayed at the table. It was peaceful, quiet after the storm, the regular breathing of the sleepers rising and falling gently and after a while he rested his head in his arms and slept.
He awakened suddenly, yawned and stretched his arms so that the blanket fell from him. As he bent down to retrieve it he became aware that the Abbot was standing just inside the door watching him.
'How long have I been asleep?'
The Abbot came forward and sat on the bench on the other side of the table. 'About three hours. It is almost night.'
Drummond glanced across at the others sleeping quietly beside the fire. 'They're very tired. They've been through a great deal.'
The Abbot nodded and brooded quietly, face expressionless and calm as the firelight played across it. Drummond felt completely rested and wide awake, but his feet pained him and the toes on his right foot were numb and lifeless.
He fumbled half-heartedly with the laces of his combat boots, but the knots were swollen and tightened by the constant damp of the past two days and he finally gave up trying.
'It would interest me to know what you think of my country,' the Abbot said.
'Frankly, I can't get out fast enough. I've seen enough of places like this, smoke rising from burning cities, refugees on the move.'
'But you came by choice in the first place, did you not?'
'I once read somewhere that life is action and passion,' Drummond said. 'That if a man failed to take part in it, he wasn't really living.'
He absentmindedly banged his right foot against the floor in an endeavour to restore the circulation and the Abbot said, 'A mistake to take that too literally. It was said by a man who, having experienced the horrors of war, devoted himself to the rule of law for the