Front Matter

The Baron’s Pledge

By Dragi Trajkov

(Translated from Macedonian to English and edited by Risto Stefov)

The Baron’s Pledge

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February 22, 2021

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Chapter I

Morning broke over the slope of a village near the southwestern corner of Macedonia. Beams of radiant light poured over the houses on the east side above those on the lower west side. Fog still covered the nearby valley. Whitened by the limestone it carries, the waters of Belitsa (from 1926 to 1941, with a series of laws, the Kingdom of Greece changed thousands of Macedonian toponyms in Aegean Macedonia; the river Belitsa became, Aliakmonas Potamos) bubble in the middle of the valley. Belitsa flows down the great mountain “Gramushcha” (Kostur dialect for Gramos) rushing to spill its water into the White Sea (Mediterranean) at the flat shores on the opposite side of Solun.

The first hours of the morning passed with some commotion disturbing the troubled peace. The surrounding hills, covered with trees, cracked rocks and bare ground carved by the creator when the world was formed, were all silent. The crooked valley seemed to be mute. The old men in the village were the first to be worried. All tense, they glanced around with their experienced eyes implanted in their wrinkled and tormented faces. It seemed like something was crawling in the south, along the ridge of “Skala”. And in the west, with a mountain verse, something was waiting for a signal from “Veterniko”. Everything was over in an instant when the dogs began to bark when a cry came from down the valley calling: “Run people, run! …The Arnauts (Albanians), the Arnauts are coming, the Arnauts!”

An eerie pale look instantly covered their faces as they found themselves on the anvil of life and death. A battle with time had begun. Even from a distance they could hear the thunder of fast moving horses approaching. The robbers were coming. A short time under that rush, Belitsa growled like a wounded lion while protecting its pack. It frothed under the roar of rage and evil that shouted, drew swords and fired rifles. Silhouettes of turbans, arms

and protruding weapons flowed by... No sooner had they invaded “Dolno Maalo” than they started to persecute and slaughter the Christians. The screams and cries were mixed with gunfire, whip thrashing and the groans of livestock. A tragic shadow of Hades (mythological god of the underworld) haunted the village.

Dimitri’s house was at the fringe on the top side. He was tormented by a bad dream during the night so at dawn he got up and went out into the yard in hopes of working out his unrest. It was still dark and only his light hair betrayed him in the dim light. Like his father Giorgia who lived in the old house in “Dolno Maalo” with his brother Jovan, Dimitri also had a light complexion. His hair was more white than blond, so to distinguish him from others, everyone called him “Belio” (not Beliot. In the Kostur dialect of the Macedonian language the “t” is lost as it is in the Prespa and Prilep-Bitola dialects.) The census takers registered him with this alias as his surname. Dimitri didn’t mind because his name connected him with the river Belitsa with whose waters he had been since he was a child. The river too got its name from its white water. But, at the moment, he was bothered by the bad dream he’d had which pointed to signs of malice.

“Prepare the children and some necessities; we’re going to my uncle’s at Blatsa!” yelled Dimitri at his wife the moment she was up. (Blatsa now called “Vlatsi” located near Oksia in Greece. It should not be confused with “Vlasti” (Vlashka Blatsa which is far to the south) like some Greek and Bulgarian sources call it).

“What’s come over you?” asked Despina. But seeing how determined her husband was, by the sound of his voice, she began to prepare.

“I don’t know, I’m disturbed... by a bad dream!”

“Bad dream?”

“Yes, bad dream in which St. George appeared to me without his armour, tunic, cloak, or spear. He stood there in front of our yard as a dragon slithered down the road... Whichever house the dragon passed, the house became covered in fog. The dragon brought

desolation and when it slithered behind the saint, I felt great fear in my heart and soul!”

“God forbid!” said Despina and set off to prepare for the road to Vicho Mountain. Eleven-year-old Maria, who in the past had a good time with her cousins in Blatsa, was happy to help her mother prepare. Ten-year-old Giorgi and eight-year-old Stefan were with their father and the cargo. Three-year-old Konstantin was in his crib.

Dimitri was not at peace. He trembled at the thought of this vivid dream. For a while he suppressed his fear but as the morning progressed the fear kept growing. His high forehead, under his hair combed backwards, was all wrinkled. His swollen eyelids and eyebrows over his light brown eyes simply kept drooping from insomnia. He constantly bit his lip nervously. Only his straight, long nose and wide jaw, under his short blond beard growing over them on his wrinkled face, seemed to be without consequences. Despina too became restless. Puttering in the backyard she too felt they should be going away for a day or so. Unlike Dimitri, Despina had a long face with a slightly dark complexion, a short nose, full lips and a small chin. Her dark green eyes shone under her eyebrows and her black hair could only be seen from the sides of her wrinkled kerchief.

“Giorgi, go to your grandfather’s place and tell him we are going to Blatsa for three or four days and ask him to look after the livestock... And don’t let him keep you there. Be sure to be back immediately and wait for us up the hill at the intersection of the road!” said Dimitri to his son who then left immediately. Sometime later Dimitri inspected the load; he hung the bag of oats, loaded the saddle-bags, tightened the ropes and placed his youngest son on top for a comfortable ride. Then, with a slight thud he closed the wooden gate behind him and proceeded to go up the path that led to the grove. He walked over the hill and reached the intersection at Omotsko just before the grove. Here one branch of the road led to the lower part of the village. This is where Giorgi was supposed to wait for him but he wasn’t there. Dimitri became worried and had a bad feeling about this. And exactly at that moment he was confronted by screams from the village. Infested by Arnauts, the village was in the grips of

malice and cries. Stunned by this cruelty, Dimitri and Despina turned for a moment and looked down.

“Continue on this road, I’m going back to get Giorgi!” yelled Dimitri to his wife, choking from the pain he was feeling in his throat. She, in turn, froze in shock.

“Move woman!” shouted Dimitri pointing to the children. Startled, Despina whipped the livestock to get moving.

“Oh father, father did you keep him there?” Dimitri asked himself as he ran down the road in a frenzy thinking of his father and the fondness he had for his grandson who bore his name. He must have kept him there unaware of the attack. As he continued running it occurred to him that he might not find Giorgi. He wasn’t in sight anywhere. The robbers had already invaded “Dolno Malo” and were now in front of it. With irritated nostrils and eyes, gritting his teeth Dimitri held his cry from spilling out. Helpless and fearing being caught by the robbers, Dimitri hesitantly stopped. It was clear to him that he had to turn back and set off on a new battle with time to save his family. He hadn’t run like this since he was a child. He ran through the grove loudly crushing and scattering leaves, brushing twigs and hopping over stones that were in his way. Looking for his loved ones, he panted and ran at a slow pace with his face drenched in sweat. Dimitri listened and was certain his family was nearby. “There they are!” he said and with his heavy and burning legs that could barely hold him, tired from running, he went towards them. Despina heard a noise and turned back to look. Her eyes became filled with horror when she searched but couldn’t see Giorgi with him.

“Perhaps he escaped with the others, before the dogs arrived!” said Dimitri throwing a spark of hope. But that’s not what Despina heard. As a mother she heard something evil. She bitterly wept as she walked in silence, weaving and layering great pains of sorrow inside her, whose thick thorny fringes irritated her womb and tore at her soul. Dimitri sped up the livestock. In the rush a distant cry was heard. The livestock heard it too and perked up their ears.

“Did any of them survive?” Dimitri asked himself while trying to guess where the echo came from. Unfortunately his wish lasted only for a short time, as he was overpowered by the thought that the yelling could have come from the robbers. He stopped and listened and looked intensely. Dimitri knew every path through the mountains. He turned off and took the road to Omotsko, ending up on an impassable path thinking that the pursuers would take a safer path. By doing so he put his cargo at risk. His livestock carrying the load now had to travel over rocks and roots sticking out of the ground and then pass through a rocky slope over an abyss. After emerging from this difficult path they ended up on the slope of a long hill. After they climbed in front of the ridge they could see their village in the distance. A group of robbers was sitting in a small meadow on the side of the village. Many of the houses in the village were engulfed in flames. Very few villagers would have survived. With clarity and sharpness Dimitri was struck by his worst cold fears which he had suppressed until now. Heavy thoughts began to invade all the corners of his mind which irritated his nerves, veins and muscles.

“Giorgi is now a captive or a victim, only because of me; I damned him by sending him over there! ...My relatives were at the bottom of the village and they too are probably all gone; no one was safe!” stammered Dimitri with self-inflicted pain in his voice. A silent cry rose from his chest to his throat. His lips toughened and he couldn’t control the hardened muscles on his face. Despina started pulling the hair from her skull. Maria curled up next to her. Unaware of how long the agony had lasted, Dimitri instantly wiped his wet eyes with his hands. Dimitri’s look frightened Stefan who now was crying. Konstantin, on the other hand, kept stirring with his eyes, under which were his reddened cheeks tormented by his swaying between the loads. Dimitri didn’t want to be discovered by the dogs, so they left.

“What’s happening to us?” Dimitri asked himself as he thought of his world changing before his eyes. His thoughts turned to his closest family, neighbours and fellow villagers who now were no longer there. As he continued to walk, his mind suddenly turned to the dream he’d had during the night and the events that followed: “Here is the dream! Like St. George without armour, a tunic, cloak

and spear, my two Giorgis; my father and my son, also appeared defenseless... And the dragon which circled around from house to house leaving the houses covered in fog… well; there it was down there still furious.” They walked for more than an hour and were tired. Their horses, drenched in sweat, trembled for a moment. They could again see the village from the crest before crossing the ridge.

“Those who fled didn’t get far from those who were grabbed. The savages caught them… Linotopi is a wealthy village,” concluded Dimitri straining his eyes to see more. (Linotopi was destroyed at the end of the 18th century, now the locality Agios Zaharias (St. Zaharia) or Zagari, repopulated in the beginning of the 20th century.)

Lawlessness and oppression had gripped the Ottoman Empire in the six-year war against the Russian Empire in which the Ottomans were badly beaten. The villages located north of Epirus near to where the Arnaut gangs lived were devastated during the second summer of the war. The Arnauts killed the wealthy and razed the city Moscopole to the ground. These furious hordes then struck deeper into the east making their way into Kostur Region in Macedonia. The last summer after the war ended the people naively thought that the evil was gone. They thought the sultan would have more free soldiers to restore order. Their hopes unfortunately were dashed as the oppressors not only didn’t cease their activities but intensified them. Linotopi, which for centuries guarded the gates of Gramuscha, fell and only a few today find salvation there.

“The church too?” Dimitri said to himself while still looking down at the village. Thick black smoke rose from below and looked grayish from above. It was different from the huge cloud of smoke that rose from the burning houses. Linotopi was not the same any more, even the church which bore the voice of its glory wasn’t immune. Not too long ago this was where the most skillful painting guilds in the country started out. Generations of artists painted church and monastery walls and arches. From the old people Dimitri had heard names like Mihail and his sons Konstantin and Nikola, then Nikola and his son Dimitri. He had heard of Teodor who created fancy ornamentations in icons, Jovan, Dimo, Marko, Martin, Kostadin... They painted in Macedonia for nearly two centuries from Kostur to Seres, Lerin and Prespa, then to Pelagonia and from there

along Vardar to Shtip and Bregalnitsa. They said they also painted temples of God in other distant places. They gave souls to the frescoes and spread support and admiration for the Christian faith. They even broke the whip of Istanbul. The church below was one of those churches. Now it’s in the midst of flames and embers. Will this place die? A village without a church is like a man without a soul. This is its Judgment Day. This 1775th summer of the Lord has been one of the worst summers of all time, so far.

The sorrow, the despair, the insanity of the misfortune that befell them, broke the family; they simply stood there with irritated eyes looking at what was becoming of their village. And then Dimitri, Despina and the children just fell silent. Their tears dried up and their thoughts and disbelief took them over. The silence was so great that they could hear their own hearts beating, turning their blood through their veins without stopping. Aside from that, the only other sounds they heard was the hoarseness of their livestock plucking and chewing grass, and the occasional whistling of the mountain wind that whirled their hair. The nausea they felt grew with their awareness that the “here and now” was over. This would be the last picture of their homeland they’d see. And after they crossed the ridge they would move on to a different life. Quietly, with barely contained mental anguish, Dimitri began to say goodbye:

“I will now take you to Blatsa and tomorrow morning I will quickly return and go down there. I want to find my dead relatives and take their bodies to the cemetery, dig a place for them to rest and make their eternal bed for them, for their bones to rest. And then, as it should be, I will place a cross on top of the soil covering them; so that God can see them from heaven, gather their gentle souls into his kingdom and let them walk along the path of the most fragrant fruit, the meadow with gentle horses and rams; and in the forest full of nests of doves, swallows and various other birds... I know I shouldn’t be taking them from the village alone, without a priest to read from the Gospel and to wave a lamp with burning incense. It doesn’t seem right to be taking them alone, without a procession of people with hats off to follow them out of the village and with church bells not ringing... It doesn’t seem right but there is no priest to find, no people and no church with a bell. There is no rooster left to crow or dog to bark to warn of a stranger approaching. Tomorrow

I will be there alone, the Lord spared me to be exasperated every day and every summer until my turn comes to face his judgment, when I again will be with my relatives so that we can again be like we were yesterday when we were sitting in harmony and with God... Well, that’s all that remains now, to carry out that order and then do something else afterwards. Only God knows where we will go and what will happen to us.”

Silently facing Linotopi they all said goodbye to those remaining behind. They dragged themselves across the ridge looking back as if wanting to see their village one last time. Down in the distance, where their eyes caught a glimpse, they saw a century of life come to an end. Houses were burning and crumbling into piles of charred logs and stones. Once built firm from solid stone and covered by a roof made of long-lasting wood, they now crumpled and rolled over the blackened earth down the slope. Look at them. They look like burned candles that have come to their end. Linotopi is melting in lines and flowing down towards the valley. It has reached its final hour, releasing its final smoke. It’s releasing its suffering soul. For there, not a single house is left whole and no one can build it again; neither a threshing floor nor an earthen vessel remained unbroken. There are no livestock on the threshing floor or roaring with a distant echo. There is no space where life exists. There is only grey smoke that still rises into the grey sky. The final embers have not yet burned and the fire has not taken its last breath. After that weather and time will do their thing. They will chew this place like other deserted places that have been chewed. Armies, rulers and events will pass. They will come and go just like they came and went this time. The ice, rain, and sun will finish what is left of the once thick walls and smoky cupboards. Moss and weeds will appear and grass will grow everywhere. Trees will also rise and the grassy bareness will remain all around them. Everything will remain silent except for Belitsa’s murmur. It will be so quiet it will seem like people never lived there... That’s the way it will be until some distant and poignant times when generations from the outcasts will raise it again, settle it and revive it.