The Pop’s Rhinoceros Read Free Page B

lasted a hundred years,” said Bernardo.
    “Yes,” said Salvestro. “A hundred years, a thousand battles, and it ended here, on the island. When Henry the Lion reached Vineta.”
    Sometimes his mother had paused there. Sometimes she had gone on directly to what had followed.
    “They camped on the mainland—near the place where we crossed, Bernardo.”
    Bernardo nodded quickly, eager for him to get on with it. But he was reluctant now. This part of the story was stranger than that which preceded it.
    “They could see the smoke from Vineta’s fires, and the water was frozen to ice. They could have crossed that night, but they stopped. I don’t know why. They pitched camp on the mainland, and that night there was a storm.”
    He thought of the women, the children, the priests, the last of their beaten armies all cowering behind the walls of the city amongst their jewels and their silver, great chests of treasure consecrated to the gods who could not save them.
    “There was a storm,” he repeated.
    “The storm which lasted a single night,” prompted Bernardo.
    “It came from the north,” Salvestro continued, gathering his thoughts. “A terrible storm, the worst they had ever seen. Waves broke through the ice and the winds flung boats into the air. The ice itself was broken into huge slabs. … It was the most fearsome storm that any man had lived through, and Henry and his army could do nothing except pray for it to end—”
    “And God answered their prayers,” Bernardo interrupted then.
    Salvestro glared at him. “Yes, Bernardo, he did. The storm died away as suddenly as it came. When dawn rose, the sky was clear. They crossed the broken ice. They marched across the island. Vineta was built on an arm of land that stuck out into the sea. They climbed up to the point—”
    “And what did they find then?” Bernardo burst out.
    Salvestro regarded the big man across the fire. He was agog, his thumbs twiddling with excitement, though he knew the answer as well as himself.
    “Nothing,” said Salvestro. “Vineta had disappeared. Where it had stood there was only water. The storm had torn it loose with the land on which it rested and cast them both to the bottom of the sea.”
    His mother had usually stopped then. He would be left suspended, rooted to the top of the point and staring down into the water as though he were actually amongst the conquerors and prey to the same bafflement. He looked across at Bernardo, who was rocking back and forth on his haunches.
    “And Vineta is still there,” he murmured, “with all its temples and their treasure. …”
    And its people, too, his mother had said. Our people. When the water was clear, she told him, you might see them walking in the watery streets. Svantovit was down there with them. He could not save them, but neither could he desert them. Salvestro’s thoughts drifted.
    “So what was that ruin?” Bernardo broke in, and for once Salvestro was grateful for the interruption. He did not want to think about Svantovit. He did not want to think about his mother.
    “Ruin?”
    “On that cliff, where you said they were all looking down at the water. There’s a ruin there.”
    For a moment he did not understand. The previous day they had stood on the beach and Salvestro had pointed down the coast to where the land rose and extended out for a little way into the sea. The point ended abruptly, as though the storm had cut it off with a sword. “There—” He had indicated the patch of water in front of it. “Vineta lies there.” Bernardo had stared and nodded, then looked inland again, to the top of the point.
    Salvestro’s puzzlement disappeared. “It’s not a ruin,” he told Bernardo. “That’s the church. They built it after Vineta sank. To stand guard, so the islanders say. Monks live there.”
    A suspicious look that Salvestro knew only too well spread slowly over Bernardo’s face.
    “If it’s a church,” the giant replied, “how come half of it is