The Year is Almost Over

The Guests of the Duke

"I think that sometimes you see things that others cannot. Am I right? Think about it, Mister Butler."

In 1934 I travelled to Eastern Europe, drawn to the stories of innumerable wars, of arrogant and petty princedoms, of crumbling castles, and of peoples and cultures that seemed both passionate and erratic.

Looking back, I wonder if some of my memories of that time were affected, by lack of sleep, worry, or perhaps inebriation from Heaven knows what food or drink I may have had to ingest. I had been travelling for over three years since the death of my wife, without significant pause, and while I had grown accustomed to the habit of never staying in one place too long before moving on again, I was still at heart a lover of hearth and home. Perhaps I was finally coming to the end of my tether.

After my safari in Kenya, I had spent more time in Istanbul, and then decided to visit the Crimean Peninsula, with a view to seeing for myself some of the disastrous battlefields of the Russian War that I had seen in the rough photographs of that time. I had taken passage on the Hikmat, a small steamer moving up the coast of the Black Sea, making a supply run into the ports of Bulgaria and Romania, and on the ship I made the acquaintance of another Englishman named Ronald Howarth, who was travelling as an agent for a Glasgow export firm. He had a schedule that was so relaxed he was virtually a tourist. He had been to many of the Eastern European cities and towns, particularly on the coast, but always found more interesting things to experience, and he seemed keen to share them with me. We had been steaming for over a week, and had visited numerous places in Bulgaria, when he said to me,

"Now listen up, old chap. We're reaching Romania tomorrow. There's a little village that I've only passed through, and I'm quite keen to see it close up. It's rather backward, even for a Slavic village, and it doesn't seem to appear in much travel literature, for some unknown reason. That might make it all the more interesting! I've met the officials, and I'll introduce you. That way we should be able to get a better look at the town."

I had a rather cumbersome map of Romania that I had purchased in Varna, and I began to wrestle with it to see what I could learn. As I struggled with the map, Howarth looked on. Eventually he said,

"Look, you won't have to use that, old boy. One finds one's way around there without any trouble - the locals always seem to be at your elbow, ready to point the way. I find it rather spooky, to be honest."

I folded the map back into a crumpled rectangle. It only occurred to me much later that he had never told me the name of the village, and I had never thought to ask.

We docked at one of the smaller fishing ports, and then made our way inland by train for an hour or so, through hills and valleys covered with dense forest. The village was quite beautiful - the cottages and churches seemed as if they had been put together hundreds of years ago, and the people also, in their dress and behaviour, seemed to have sprung from some mediaeval age, as if any moment a band of marauding invaders would thunder into the square to rape and plunder. The square was empty except for a few rickety tables and chairs beside the inn. Two large oak trees towered over the cottages, and a handful of the townsfolk moved past on their daily chores.

On the side of a steep, forest covered ridge overlooking the town was a castle. This came as no surprise, as castles are to be found on every second hill in Europe. But this one was rather singular - it seemed as if it had been constructed to lean to one side, like a huge rock fractured in some dark primaeval time. It was only upon closer scrutiny that one could make out windows, balconies and parapets.

"That's the residence of the Voivode," said Howarth. "His title of 'Duke' is mostly honorary, although he's descended from the line of rulers of this part of the country from hundreds of years ago. He doesn't rule as a Voivode, but he's the equivalent of Mayor, and he's the man I've dealt with in my capacity as an agent. When I was last here, he invited me to stay overnight in the castle. I didn't have time, unfortunately. But if he invites us again, we may be in for quite a remarkable experience!"