Flight From the Eagle Page 5

  'Yes, she dealt with a lawyer in Smolensk,' the Countess replied.

  'Well, that's all right then,' said Orlov cheerfully, wondering what chance there was of ever sorting out the aunt's affairs, even if her lawyer, let alone his papers, had survived what had happened to Smolensk. 'Meanwhile, there's nothing to be done except get ourselves safely to Kaluga, so we'll worry about the future when we get there.'

  'Yes, but—' She was still looking very distressed and anxious and Orlov suddenly found himself leaning across the table to cover her nervously clasped hands with his own sinewy, tanned one in a comforting squeeze. He heard his own voice say in tones of complete conviction, 'Don't worry! I'll look after you.'

  He looked straight into her wide brown eyes, shaken by the look of trust in them. It gave him a jolt like a kick in the stomach and he asked inconsequentially, 'Can you drive a cart?' as he moved away from her.

  She looked surprised. 'Like the carts out there?' she asked. 'Yes. At least, I've driven a farm cart at harvest time.'

  'Good,' he said. 'We're short of men fit enough to drive. It's a strain on a damaged arm to hold the reins for hours at a time, and most of the men were wounded about the arms and trunk—cavalry attack on infantry.'

  She nodded and he wondered if she really understood. He also began to wonder how she would react to the ordeal ahead of her. Obviously, she must have led a pretty dull sort of life, living in the country with an old woman. How would she stand up to the rough conditions of the long journey? She seemed to have courage but was she likely to turn hysterical at the sight of blood, he wondered. He had a sudden impulse to test her.

  'Would you change the dressing on my arm?' he asked abruptly. It was certainly very uncomfortable, he told himself, and needed changing.

  'I thought the surgeon ...' she began.

  'He has enough to do,' said Orlov curtly.

  'Yes, of course. Are there any bandages?' She stood up, looking quite prepared to tackle the job.

  'We were hoping to find some sheets here,' Orlov replied. 'We're very short of that sort of thing.'

  'There are plenty of sheets, but they're very coarse. I know----' She hurried out of the room and Orlov heard her go up the stairs. In a few minutes she returned, looking pale but composed, with an armful of white garments which Orlov saw were lawn petticoats.

  'My aunt's,' she said. 'They're soft and clean. She wouldn't have them starched.' She began ripping one of them into strips, which she rolled into bandages. Orlov sat back in his chair and let himself relax. He felt utterly weary.

  Presently there was a little pile of rolled bandages on the table. The Countess went out of the room, returning presently with a tray of things, including a jug, a bowl and a small stoneware jar. She put them on the table and turned to Orlov.

  'Are you ready?' she asked.

  Orlov unbuttoned his coat, removed his scarf-sling and unbuckled his sword-belt and his stock. The Countess helped him to take off his coat, which was difficult as he had put his injured arm in the sleeve and the bandages made it a tight fit. She took it off the right arm first and then coaxed it off the left arm very gently, hardly hurting him at all. His shirt came off in the same way.

  He sat down, supporting his arm on the table. The Countess looked at the faded scar on his chest and said conversationally, 'You've been wounded before?'

  'At Austerlitz,' he replied. 'A musket ball. This time it's only a sabre cut—much less of a problem.'

  She began to unwind the bandages, which were filthy with the dust that had seeped into everything, sweat-stained and, after a couple of layers, blood-soaked. She made no comment, but unwound them gently and skillfully.

  Eventually she reached the pad of dressing, which was firmly stuck to the wound. She dipped a piece of cloth in the jug and began to soak the dressing with warm water until the congealed blood softened and she could gently peel it away from his arm. He happened to be looking at her face as she did so and saw her turn very pale, her eyes widening and her lips parting in a gasp. He looked down at his arm quickly and saw the wound for the first time.

  It was quite seven inches long, a great slash down the length of his upper arm, the edges roughly drawn together with a dozen sutures with the raw flesh gaping between. It was smeared with streaks and gobbets of blood, black and revolting and it made him feel sick.

  'I'm sorry!' he said. 'Oh, God, I'm sorry. I didn't know it looked like that! Leave it. Put the towel over it and leave it until Kusminsky comes in.'

  She gave a faint smile. 'No, it's all right. It was just a shock to see how bad it is. You should be in hospital. I didn't realize you were so seriously hurt. It must be terribly painful.'

  Orlov averted his face as she began to sponge away some of the sticky mess. She was very careful, but the whole arm had turned into a great mass of agony through being disturbed and he was bitterly regretting having asked her to see to it.

  Still, he supposed it had to be done and it was hardly likely that Kusminsky would have hurt him less.

  She turned away to the table and Orlov glanced to see what she was doing. She had folded a piece of lawn into a pad to make a dressing and was smearing it with something from the stoneware pot.

  'That looks like honey,' he remarked.

  'It is honey,' she replied.

  'Are you thinking of using me to bait a bear trap?' He was amused by the thought.

  She smiled. 'No, it will stop the cloth sticking to the wound and help it to heal,' she said.

  Orlov's eyebrows quirked up in their idiosyncratic way— he had never heard of that before. 'Mind you cover it well, then. I've no wish to be pursued to Kaluga by every bee in Smolensk province!'

  When she laid the dressing on his arm, it felt cool and soothing on the torn, inflamed flesh. He closed his eyes and tensed himself as she rebandaged his arm. She did it firmly but not too tight.

  'You've bandaged someone before,' he commented.

  'My aunt had ulcerated legs. I've had quite a lot of practice.'

  He looked at her, frowning at the thought of the life she must have had, tending an old, sick, probably bad-tempered woman. Her face was calm and compassionate, absorbed in her task. She finished putting on the bandage and picked up his waist-sash.

  'This is no good for a sling,' she said. 'It's rough and too long. I've something better upstairs.' She went out, taking the tray and the soiled bandages. Orlov put on his shirt. The new bandage was far less bulky and uncomfortable than the old one. He picked up his coat, but decided that he couldn't face the struggle to put it on and he was quite warm enough without it or the stiff, buckled stock. He dropped them and his sword and belt on a bench under the window.

  The Countess came back with a dark red, silk scarf which she made into a sling. It was soft against his neck and he smiled as he thanked her, his grim, pale face with its strong features relaxing into a much more pleasant expression.

  There was a clatter in the hallway and Kolniev came in, his hat pushed back on his bandaged head at a rakish angle and his healthy face red and freshly shaved—he had obviously had a good wash.

  'There's plenty of hot water in the kitchen,' he said. 'Supper's nearly ready and everything's sorted out. We'll have a much more comfortable time tonight than we did last night.'

  Kusminsky came in close behind him, reporting all the men in reasonably good shape, except two. "The lad is in a fever and Grushchev, the Guard sergeant; physically, he's in pretty good condition, but I don't like it.' He shook his head and was then diverted by the sight of Orlov's new sling.

  'That's better!' He pulled Orlov's shirt open and saw that the bandage had been changed. He made a quick examination of it and said, 'That's well done! Did you do it?' to the Countess.

  'Yes.' She looked pleased at his commendation.

  'How was the wound? Did it smell at all?'

  'No. I noticed particularly. It's quite clean. No sign of suppuration.'

  Kusminsky nodded approvingly. 'Go and wash your dirty face!' he said to O
rlov. Orlov went.

  He found Josef in the kitchen. The servant helped him to wash himself thoroughly in the plentiful hot water and provided him with a clean shirt, washing the dirty one through. Orlov marvelled at the man's unperturbed efficiency and thought what a colorless, unnoticeable figure he was, a hovering shadow who seemed only to exist to anticipate his master's wishes.

  When he returned to the parlor, he found the table set for a meal and two soldiers waiting to serve it. They produced a couple of bottles of wine with something of a flourish of pride, and the three officers and the Countess had a good, satisfying supper of beef stew with plenty of vegetables, and a sort of plum pudding. Orlov sent his compliments to the cook as if they were in a fashionable restaurant and the two orderlies went off grinning with pleasure.

  As they sat round the table, pleasantly relaxed, finishing the wine, Kusminsky said hesitantly, ‘I’ve had a grave dug under the trees. I think the old lady should be buried tonight…' His voice was gentle, unlike his normal sharp tones.

  The Countess thanked him quietly. ‘I’d like a few minutes with her first, if I may,' she said, and slipped out of the room.

  As the men resumed their seats, Kusminsky said in his normal voice, 'While she's gone ...we'd better settle a few things concerning her. I assume you mean to take her with us?'

  Orlov nodded. 'We can hardly leave her.'

  'Then we'd better decide how to keep her safe,' the surgeon said.

  'If we're attacked...' Orlov began.

  .'No. I mean safe from our own men,' interrupted Kusminsky.

  'He's right,' Kolniev put in. 'My men are a pretty rough lot and none of them has had a woman for weeks. She's going to be a temptation to them.'

  Orlov was silent.

  'The practical solution,' Kusminsky went on in businesslike manner, 'is for one of us to take charge of her at night-that's when there's likely to be trouble. We've two tents. One of us share one, the other man shares with the girl. That way, there'll be someone with her all night to protect her from the rest, without the need for anyone to stand sentry duty.'

  'Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?' asked Orlov with a crooked smile.

  'That's between the man concerned and his conscience,' the surgeon replied. 'That's why I propose you for the job. Kolniev and I are both married. You're not. If your self-control proves insufficient, at least you can marry her afterwards.'

  Orlov experienced an extraordinary sensation which felt like relief when surely it should have been apprehension or distaste or something. He opened his mouth to protest and 1 hen shut it again and shrugged. Once again the pain reminded him, too late, that he should have avoided the movement and he swore, briefly and fluently.

  Kusminsky laughed. 'You'll have to cure yourself of that Gallic habit,' he said. 'Another problem. Who's going to conduct the funeral?'

  Orlov looked at the other two in turn, and said in a resigned lone, 'All right! I suppose I'm elected for that too.'

  ‘I'm sorry.' Kolniev sounded worried. 'I seem to be loading all the responsibility for everything on your shoulders.'

  'His shoulders are broad enough,' cut in Kusminsky. 'You're doing your share, lad. It's common sense to leave a particular job to the man best able to carry it out. Have you ever taken a burial service?'

  'No,' replied Kolniev nervously.

  'Well, then!' Kusminsky had the air of a man who has proved his point. 'Best leave it to the Major. Who organized the transport and the supplies? I bet the Major wouldn't have done as well as you on that little effort.'

  Orlov gave him a sour look but refrained from pointing out that he had never taken a burial service either. He was quite well aware what the surgeon was doing.

  The Countess re-entered the room and looked nervously from one to the other of them. Orlov smiled faintly at her, said, 'Ready then?' and she nodded.

  Kolniev went out to organize a burial party and Kusminsky to attend to the body. Orlov began to put on his uniform, feeling as if he could die on his feet from sheer weariness. He couldn't buckle his stock with one hand and turned to the Countess with a helpless gesture. She fastened it for him, standing on tip-toe to reach. She helped him on with his coat, sliding the sleeve- carefully up his bandaged arm and doing up the double-breasted fastening for him, helped him with the sword-belt and finally tied his sash round his waist. 'You make an excellent batman,' he said gravely, and she gave him a faint, fleeting smile. He stood still for a few minutes. The sounds outside the door of an awkward burden being brought down the stairs warned him that it would be best not to let the Countess go out there for a while.

  'I suppose your aunt was Orthodox?' he asked, with a sudden doubt.

  'Yes,' said the Countess. Her eyes seemed drawn towards the door and she made an effort not to look that way. The tramp of feet passed the door and went down the front steps of the house into the forecourt. Orlov picked up his helmet, opened the door, offering her his arm. She had been holding a length of black lace and she now threw this over her head and face, took his arm, and went with him outside in the wake of her aunt's body. Orlov could feel her bracing herself, keeping her head up and looking straight before her but her hand trembled on his arm. He put himself to a great deal of pain to move his left hand across to touch hers reassuringly.

  Kolniev had drawn up a dozen men in a kind of guard of honor, their muskets at the present. Two led the way carrying lanterns, for dusk was now falling, and another half-dozen carried the blanket-wrapped body on their shoulders. The little procession marched round to the back of the house, passing between it and the stables to where a grave had been dug under the trees. The body was lowered slowly into it on slings and Orlov stepped forward to stand at the graveside, wondering what to do with his helmet. Normally he would have held it in the curve of his left arm but after a second's hesitation he took it off and handed it to Josef behind him.

  With his head bowed, he recited as much of the burial service as he could remember in his deepest, most sonorous voice, following, it with the Twenty-third Psalm, which he was as confident that he knew by heart, and then with the Lord's Prayer. As he spoke, he looked down at the blanket-wrapped body below him and wondered what the woman had been like. 11 seemed odd that he had not actually seen her. He noticed that the grave was very shallow and checked a grim speculation about the likelihood of wolves coming here in the winter.

  Most of the men had gathered in the background and joined in the Psalm and the Lord's Prayer in a fine, rich bass recitation. After the final 'Amen', Orlov bent and picked up a handful of sandy soil which he scattered in the grave. The Countess followed suit and Kolniev and Kusminsky after her. For a moment they all stood still, then Kolniev called the guard to attention and gave the order to move off. Orlov gave the Countess his arm and took her back towards the house.

  At the corner, they were met by Platov, the sergeant who had been spokesman back in the hospital in Smolensk. He was carrying a newly-made grave-marker, a wooden post with 1 triangle at the top. He saluted and said to Orlov, 'With permission, Your Excellency, we've made this. If the lady is agreeable, we'd like to put it up.'

  'How kind you are!' the Countess said in an unsteady voice. 'Thank you very much.'

  The sergeant saluted again and Orlov led the Countess round to the front of the house. Going up the steps, he stumbled and she turned to him in alarm.

  'Are you ill?' she asked, almost holding him up.

  He pulled himself together with an effort. 'No. I'm just tired, and a bit short of blood. I'm sorry if I alarmed you.' He made himself walk steadily into the parlor and subsided into a chair with a sigh of relief. He felt better sitting down.

  Kusminsky and Kolniev followed them in and Kusminsky said to the Countess, 'I expect you'll be wanting to retire soon but I think we should talk for a few minutes first, if you'll bear with us.'

  'Of course,' replied the Countess. She took off her veil and sat down at the table. There was a large candelabrum in the middle of it, made of well-polished bras
s, and Kolniev brought the tinder-box from its place on a shelf above the stove and lit the candles. Kusminsky felt Orlov's forehead, produced his flask and tipped some brandy down his throat with his easy, practised movement. Orlov's eyes were closed and the sudden mouthful of spirits took him by surprise and made him splutter.

  'Hey, don't waste good brandy!' said Kusminsky sharply. 'Hold on for another half-hour and then you can go to bed.'

  'Thank you,' replied Orlov drily. 'I wasn't thinking of going anywhere else.'

  Kusminsky sat down and Kolniev once more put himself astride a back-to-front chair, giving Orlov the idea that the lad might cherish a secret ambition to transfer to the cavalry. He jerked his mind back to more serious matters as he realized what Kusminsky was saying to the Countess in the voice he obviously reserved for patients, so much softer and more kindly than his normal tones.

  'I'm sorry you're having such a distressing time,' he was saying. 'And I'm afraid what I have to tell you now will not be easy for you either but it's best to get it said and done with. Clearly, you will have to travel with us because you can't be left here all alone with the French possibly arriving any day. Unfortunately, our own men are just as likely to rape you as the French would.'

  Orlov took a quick look at the girl's face. She was staring at Kusminsky with her eyes wide with shock but she seemed to jerk herself out of it. She looked down at her hands which were again clasped together on the table. '

  'Consequently,' continued the surgeon, 'we've decided that you will have to share a tent with one of us at night. Not tonight as we'll be staying here in the house and the men will be out in the barn but most of the other nights on the journey. We've only two small tents, you see, neither big enough for more than two and in any case you will have to be closely guarded at night. I know it's a pretty dreadful prospect for a well-brought-up young lady to have to spend a couple of weeks sharing a small tent with a strange man but I assure you it will be a lot less of a hardship than what might— probably would—happen to you otherwise.'