Katya - part 4

To read Katya Part 1
                        Part 2
                        Part 3

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             I was up so early that the crofter and his wife weren’t awake yet, so I placed a few coins on the table, helped myself to a piece of bread, and left.  I didn’t leave a note, knowing that it would be dangerous to let them know I could write, and besides, I reasoned, they probably couldn’t read anyway.

            Then I turned towards Rome, just in case the crofter was watching, and hung around the gates until the first surge of crowds left.  I blended myself in with the travelers and was truly on my way towards the Holy Land.

            As the day wore on, the crowd I was traveling with grew smaller and smaller, as people reached their destinations.  Soon, it was just me, trudging along in what I hoped was the right direction.

            As night fell, and it grew dark, I found myself alone in an area that had no houses or towns nearby at all.  Again, that same panic and fear clutched at me.  I knew not what to do, but decided I had better keep going as long as I could.

            I kept walking, not really able to see where I was headed.  Afraid to stop and afraid to keep going, I could barely take a step without a quiver of fear.  It was the longest night I had ever experienced, and for the first time, I began to wonder if a life with Marx in a beautiful home would be better than nights of the indescribable terror which I was experiencing now.

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            But in the morning, everything cleared, and my spirits rose.  I could do this, I could make my own choices, live my own life, and be free to seek my own God.

            Nothing happened that day at all.  I merely trudged along, hitching a ride a cart that was going the same ways as me for a spell, and bribed the driver into giving me a ride.

            Being able to ride for five hours and covering more distance than if I was walking was a great benefit and a huge relief to my sore and aching legs.  I stopped at a little roadside inn for the night.

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            The bed was lumpy and the food cold, but it was the sense of security which made me sleep soundly and awaken refreshed in the morning.  I awoke with a deeper sense of conviction and self-assurance.  I could actually take care of myself!  So far I was making solid progress, and there had been no hindrances to slow me down.  I had also seen no hair or hide of my Uncle or his men, and for that I was extremely grateful.  I was glad to have thrown off my trail, presumably by the account of my story at the crofter’s hut.

            Then, as I prepared to go downstairs, I saw the news page, plastered to the wall, copied from a newspaper brought from Rome.  Of course, it was a few days late, it taking time to travel and then to be copied onto the small inn’s plaster.   With interest, I noticed that it had been issued the day after my escape. 

            I quickly glanced over it, not wanting to draw attention the the fact I could read.  It appeared to be general gossip and politics, the unimportant news that usually filled the columns.  Then one article caught my eye that made me heart stop in terror.  It read thus:

Missing, Katya, niece to 2^nd house senator, and wife to Marx, first seat senator.  It is alleged that she ran away on the night of her wedding, immediately after the ceremony.  Due to law, a runaway wife can be executed for her disloyalty, but Marx and the girl’s Uncle has not yet come forth with their plans when she is returned.  It is assumed that Katya has run towards Jerusalem, as her late mother was a Jew.  Search parties are now out in every direction.  A generous award is promised if Katya is returned alive.

            My hands froze and I went white with terror.  My Uncle had lied about me already being wedded to Marx, insuring that I would be returned and forced to pay greatly for my deed.  If I was returned, I would be either killed, or subject to such humiliations and disgrace that death would be more desirable.  And how did they know where I was headed?  Had they figured it out, or had they just assumed?  I hoped it was an educated guess, and that my dealings with the Jew in the market square had not been found out. 

            I no longer felt safe anywhere, and hurried away, eager to create as many miles as possible between me and Rome.  I was desperate not to be caught.  If I could make it to Jerusalem, I was confident no one could track me there.  I could use my mother’s name; maybe even find some relatives who would shelter me.  If I could only just get to Jerusalem, I would be safe. 

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            Now I move like a hunted rabbit, being tracked down by the dogs.  And since, like the rabbit, I cannot move faster than my pursuers, I must try to outwit them.  Hopefully I’ll make it through alright, unlike my furry friend, who more often than not ends up as a rug or even supper after the hunt.

            I left the inn very quietly after that, and hardly said a word.  I couldn’t remember if I had given them my name or not, but if I had, I really wanted, nay, needed, to get out of there as soon as I could.  I wished to make such a slight impression, or not at all, that if questioned, the landlady would say, “Katya? Was there a Katya here?  I wasn’t aware that there was.”

            Of course, they weren't as dumb as all that, but it was the general effect I was trying for.

            Once I was back on the road, I hitched a ride with a wagoner, and while he drove on, half asleep, I sat, nervously looking for somewhere where soldiers could be lying in wait,.  I thought up a pseudonym, one that would protect me while on the road to Jerusalem.  I finally settled on Mary.  No last name was needed, only important people had last names.  If I wanted to be a nobody, then one name would keep me safer.  I liked the sound of Mary, and I hoped it was Jewish enough.  I hoped that it would be enough to get me safely away.

            The wagoner pulled his team to a stop and gestured for me to get out, “Here is where you go on by yourself.  I turn off here.”  And he pointed to a side road, which soon was lost by the hills.

            “Thank you kind sir,” I replied, clambering down, tearing my skirt in the process.

            “No worries….” He left his phrase handing, and I quickly filled in,

            “…Mary.  Much obliged to you.”

            “No worries, Mary.” And he drove away.

            I continued on the road he had pointed out.  That was the part of my journey that scared me most. I had no experience traveling, and now I had to rely on other people’s directions to try and find my way through.

            I tried to eliminate the possibility people could direct me the wrong way, by asking a wide number of other travelers, nearly every one that I met.  I figured they couldn’t all say the same thing, and all be wrong.  But I was still concerned I could end up in Egypt, or worse, Rome again, without ever reaching my Jerusalem destination.

            I turned into a small crofter’s cottage, intending to ask again if I was on the right path, and beg a drink.  I knocked, but no one answered.  I cautiously opened the door.  The cottage was empty.

            They could be anywhere, I knew.  They could be out in the field, or in town.  But then I looked closer and decided that the cottage must be deserted.  The thick layer of dust and the stale air in the room confirmed my theory.

            I wondered what had caused them to desert their cottage.  From my time on the road, I had learnt crofters would never leave their cottages; they were far too precious.  Without a roof and walls, one was subject to the weather, thieves and more.  And I wondered since the occupants had left, why no one had moved in?

            The thought chilled me.  Sudden thoughts of disease, curses or other disasters flashed through my mind.  I hurriedly closed the door, and turned quickly away, the shivers running up and down my spine. 

                                                                                                      ...to be continued.....