The Magus - John Fowles [162]
of their passing, I could hardly hear them. One stone was loudly kicked, then silence; then another, very faintly. I gave them another thirty seconds, then I pushed myself up and began to climb the path as fast as I could. At the top of the cleft where the ridge flattened out, I had to cross fifty yards or so of open space before the ground dipped down to the northern side. It was a windswept area littered with stones, a few lone bushes. On the far side lay a large patch, an acre or so, of high tamarisk. I could see the black opening in the feathery branches where my path went in. I stood and listened. Silence. I began to lope across the open space. I had got about halfway across when I heard a bang. A second later a Very flare burst open some two hundred yards to the right. It flooded the ridge with light. I dropped, my face averted. The light died down. The moment it hissed into darkness I was on my feet and racing, careless of noise, for the tamarisks. I got into them safely, stopped a moment, trying to work out what insane new trick Conchis was playing. Then I heard footsteps running along the ridge, from the direction in which the flare had come. I began to sprint down the path between the seven-foot bushes. I came to a flat, wider curve in the path, where I could run faster. Meteorically, without any warning, my foot was caught and I was plunging headlong forward. A searing jab as my flung-out hand hit the sharp edge of a stone. An agonising bang in the ribs. I heard my breath blasted out of my lungs with the impact and my shocked voice saying "Oh Christ." I was too dazed for a moment to realise what had happened. Then came a sharp low command from behind the tamarisks to the right. I spoke only a word or two of the language. But the voice sounded authentically German. There were sounds all around me, on both sides of the path. I was surrounded by men dressed as German soldiers. There were seven of them. "What the bloody hell's the game?" I scrambled onto my knees, rubbing the grit off the palms of my hands. I could feel blood on one. Two men came behind me and seized me by the arms, jerked me up. Another man stood in the centre of the path. He was apparently in charge. He had no rifle or submachine gun, like the others, but only a revolver. I looked sideways at the rifie the man to my left had slung over his shoulder. It looked real; not a stage property. He looked really German; not Greek. The man with the revolver, evidently some kind of NCO, spoke again in German. Two men bent, one on either side of the path, and fiddled by tamarisk stems: a tripwire. The man with the revolver blew a whistle. I looked at the two men beside me. "You speak English? _Sprechen Sie Englisch?_" They took not the slightest notice, except to jerk my arms for silence. I thought, Christ, wait till I see Conchis again. The NCO stood in the path with his back to me, and the other four men gathered beyond him. Two of them sat down. One evidently asked if they could smoke. The NCO gave permission. They lit up, helmeted faces in matchflares, and began to talk in a low murmur of voices. They seemed all German. Not just Greeks who knew a few words of German; but Germans. I spoke to the sergeant. "When you've finished the clowning perhaps you'll tell me what we're waiting for." The man pivoted round and came up to me. He was a man of about forty-five, long checked. He stood with his face about two feet from mine. He did not look particularly brutal but he looked his part. I expected another spit routine, but he simply said quietly, "_Was sagen Sie?_" "Oh go to hell." He remained staring at me, as if he did not understand, but was interested to see me at last; then expressionlessly turned away. The grip of the soldiers relaxed a little. If I had felt less battered, I might have run for it. But then I heard footsteps from the ridge above. A few seconds later the six men I had first seen came marching down the path in a loose single file. But before they came to us, they fell out by the group of smoking men. The boy who was holding me on the right