The Highwayman (English version)

The moon is a ghostly galleon sailing the sky, the world is white of her light. Shredded clouds run pushed by the wind in front of the moon's face. In the wood, the fir tops shake in the warm summer night under gusts of wind. Emerging from the dark, forerun by the clops of shod hooves, a horseman come from the Northbound road. The road which few travel, and even less complete.

Defiant of the shadows sliding amid the tree trunks, there where moonlight doesn't arrive, the horseman travels the last stretch of the road, a white line splitting the wood up. He arrives on the open field, expanses of grass and flowers, crowned heads e spear lines which bend under the wind. The plain opens in every direction in front of him. Still far, a warm light guides him, pointing out the presence of a inn. Without haste he goes ahead, towards the light, passing the crossroad, a dusty cross edged whit stones.

A yard hemmed in picket fences is lit by oil lamps, which swing in the wind, in groups of three, hung up to high posts. He vaults down of the saddle, the face darkened by the long brim of a threadbare hat. Black leather and metal studs underneath a dark cloak, hidden blades and steel between clothe folders. A bunch of leather laces hung at the hip. He ties the horse, as black as the night, to a post close the trough. The animal eyes are crimson into the darkness.

His boots stamp on the pavement. Yellow light seeps through out of the window leaded glasses. A Watching Vampire moves towards him from the bleak of a corner, then withdraw into the darkness close the building stone wall, a hiss of anger and fear dispersed in a gust of wind. The man ignores it, he goes ahead confident to the inn entrance.

Opening wide the door he enters in a suffused lit hall. Little activity, four not human patrons, the innkeeper behind the bench and the man's daughter, who stands still on the kitchen door. The innkeeper stares in silence, a hard look, while he walks by, ignoring the man, and with slow pace reaches the farthest table. While he is sitting at the table the innkeeper daughter moves towards him, a sway of hips and long, black down hair.

Their eyes meet, the awareness to know each other even if they've never met before.

-What can I get you, stranger?- A whisper, a dread.

-You just know it.

-I dreamed of you...

-It was more than a dream.

Images of a goblet full of green liquor and of a naked body, the feeling of strong arms which wrapped her and of fire warm on her bare back. A wheeze the only manifestation of the memory, memory of the all night dream. Twirling of skirt, hasty steps and the black haired girl vanishes into the kitchen.

The man takes off his hat. A hooked nose and sun burnt skin, eyes like blazing embers deep-set in an angular face. Thin, hard lined lips, barbed teeth. Voracious and dangerous. The hall is pervaded of silence, the light hissing of the gas lamps is audible if your own heart falls silent.

The girl comes back, a tray with a bottle and a glass. -Later. Just out of the kitchen door- she whispers, turning and vanishing again.

The man pours the liquor, thick and green and fragrant. He sips it slowly. The innkeeper leaves his place behind the bench, shiny glasses and sorted bottles in rows. A determined gaze, the look of who worked whole life, who sweated for whole he owned.

-D'you need a room?- the innkeeper asks.

-The one on top the stairs, on the left side.

-Been here before?- A doubt in his voice, a vein of suspect.

-No.- A silver coin rubs on the table, pushed with two fingers. -Wake the groom up. Must be careful, my horse bites. He mustn't approach him from the back.

-'course. I'll tell him.

The silver disappears. The man leaves through the kitchen, few inaudible words, then a door which opens and slams closing.

Later, in his room, the pale light of the setting moon on his bare chest. His gaze is mobile, never still. The plain is full of signs of life. And beyond the forest too. And the mountains, lost in the darkness. Dangers and griefs, a land which doesn't belong to the Man. The death waits in ambush, ancient beings claim back their independence and fight against the Empire. The safe places are far away, this is the Frontier. Cities are few, armed troops search all the roads. And yet a traveller could not come across anyone for days. Endless distances and few certainties. None to survive. There is a lot to plunder, among a ancient war ruins, last traces of a annihilated culture. Huge riches for the strongest ones. And for who is lucky or guarded by the gods. Death for all the others.

The bottle neck closed in a hand, the arm lying down along the body. The cool air comes in through the open window. He lifts the glass up, to the green stained lips. All door are locked up, everything is silent and the Watchers are still. A dark, ancient talisman hung with a chain on his chest. A metallic latch scratches, the rustle of an ajar door, a shadow slides along the wall. He put bottle and glass down, then swing out of the window. His bare feet don't make any noise on the pavement. He stands up slowly, awesome. Just one step and he is on her. He hears the girl's heart, her desire, her fear.

-Who are you....?

-You know me. You called me.

-I dreamed of you...

-It was more than a dream.

His touch and a stream of emotions overwhelms her. His arms welcome her, nothing does matter anymore.

After he says:-Tomorrow night, wait for me out of the Eastbound road. There where it crosses the path starting behind the stable. Look at East, look for me when the moon sets down.

His words fade, and quickly he climbs up till his room window. She watches the window to close, pushing her dresses on the bosom.

Before the dawn a distant gallop announces his leaving. Nobody have noticed he had left the inn.

The soldiers arrive on the languishing afternoon, red dusty jackets, swords and muskets. A priest, a greedy gaze, a hard crease of the mouth. His horse is the highest one. Dresses as crimson as blood, hands stained of innocent blood. They take without paying, they seek the Highwayman.

-He was here-, the priest says, searching the big hall with his stare. -What did he look for?

-No idea-, the innkeeper answers, the head hardly bowed, gritting his teeth for the anger. -He paid his liquor and his room. Gone before dawn.

-He looked for something.

The evening descents, the night slides over the inn, the soldiers laugh and shout around the fires. It's easy to the innkeeper daughter to slide between their ranks, a rush from the back of the stable to the path, a path edged of dried grasses, and to disappear into the darkness.

A dead tree, a small twisted trunk. It lays recumbent on the meeting place. High juniper trees hid the clearing. Flights of birds of prey in the night, the breath of a land which doesn't know the forgiveness. Clop-a-lot, clop-a-lot. It's him who arrives, a black figure standing out in front of the moon. The crimson eyes of his horse, the wind like a shiver and his cloak writhing.

The time is a breath, the time is a heart beat. The time is dilated, the time is the howling of the wind. She doesn't know nor when nor how she has found herself in his arms. But his eyes are cold and black, no warm is on his face. Only the hard line of his thin lips. The frightened gaze like that of a wounded bird doesn't breach in him. His hand moves at the bunch of leather laces.

-Who are you...

-He who you shouldn't have never met.

-Let me be...please...

The laces run around her throat.

-You called me.- A cold voice, and hard, and distant.

She shake her head. -No...not me...

The laces tighten, her eyes open wide. Her mouth a silent O. A gasp, a whisper, a groan, now that she is dying like when she made love. The light fades, it fades till dark, then neither the pain lasts.

The Highwayman rode away, fast and hard, back to East. He vanished into the darkness. Clop-a-lot, clop-a-lot. Hooves on the hard soil of the road, no signs on its dust. They found her on the morning, when the soldiers were gone, laid on the grass, white and pale and the eyes staring at the empty sky. A bunch of laces tightened at her throat.