Flight From the Eagle

by Dinah Dean

  'Yes,' she replied quietly. 'I'll wait, if that's Avhat you wish.'

  'Good, that's exactly what I wish,' he said briskly. 'Now, tomorrow, I think Adraksin had better go in one of the other carts. Kolniev's, probably.'

  'He's a much better driver than I am,' she commented.

  'I wasn't implying any criticism of your driving. I just don't want you to have to spend the day listening to the raving of a man in delirium or even to the sounds of him dying,' Orlov said harshly. 'God knows, there's little enough I can do for your comfort but I'm not an insensible brute!'

  To his surprise, she replied in a voice which was clearly between tears and laughter, 'I didn't imagine that you were!' He lay awake for some time, Avatching the shadoAvs leaping on the wall and wondering what she really thought of him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The morning was bright and sunny, with a cloudless sky and a slight breeze. It was still fairly fresh after the rain, and the dust had solidified into a sort of damp sand through which the wheels of the carts cut Avith little difficulty. The awnings flapped in the breeze and the men sang cheerfully as 1 hey lurched down the drive and back onto the road.

  Corporal Adraksin and Sergeant Platov had transferred to Kolniev's cart and four men had changed over with them, sitting perched on the sacks and bundles behind the Countess. She was driving in her usual place, second in the line, her head swathed in her scarf which framed a face turning brown and freckled by the sun.

  Orlov thought that she looked much healthier and somehow better than when he first saw her and he puzzled over the difference as he swung along on the big grey through the thick forest. Obviously, her experiences during the past fortnight might be expected to make some change in her, but it was rather unexpected that she should look—what? more alive? happier? Certainly less thin-cheeked and wretched.

  He searched for the right word and eventually decided that he meant more beautiful. He could distinctly remember thinking she was plain when he saw her outside the inn that day and he gave a wry grin as he recognized that a good many things had changed since then!

  The grey ambled along reasonably sedately, giving only an occasional kick and Orlov had little difficulty in controlling him. He felt much better himself and looked about him, whistling tunefully as he rode along. It was pleasantly shady under the trees, but the sky was already assuming that hard, brassy look which threatened a return of the suffocating heat which had plagued them before the storm.

  By mid-morning, they had passed through the forest and were crossing rolling grassland again. It stretched away for several miles ahead and the next patch of forest was only visible as a dark shadow in the distance. The road was running through a long, shallow valley, limiting the view to right or left to a bare mile.

  One of the drivers gave a sudden cry of alarm. Orlov turned sharply in the saddle and saw the man pointing to the north and as he followed the line of his outnung arm, he saw a bunch of horsemen on the skyline, galloping rapidly towards them. He shouted 'Halt!' superfluously as the carts were already stopping and the men were staring apprehensively at the approaching riders. Orlov screwed up his eyes and stood in his stirrups, taking in as much detail as his reasonably keen vision allowed. There were about a hundred of them, riding in no sort of order.

  Kolniev came running and stood looking up at him anxiously. He kept his voice low and controlled, but failed to conceal his excitement.

  'French? There are a hundred at least.'

  Orlov walked his horse unobtrusively alongside the line of carts with his back to them so that he could watch the newcomers and talk to Kolniev, but he was mainly intent on put-ing himself near to Countess Barova, just in case. 'Why do you think they're French?' he asked, sounding cool and interested.

  'Blue uniforms.'

  'Look at their hats and their scraggy little horses. No formation. French cavalry never ride like that. They're Cossacks.' He rode forward a few paces from the road and flung up his right arm in greeting. The Cossacks came thundering down the slope and drew up sharply when they were almost among the carts, making the draught horses plunge about. Kolniev ran to help the Countess who was having trouble controlling her pair.

  The Hetman brought his pony level with Orlov and saluted him with a flourish before introducing himself. 'Major Orlov?' he enquired. 'I was informed at Headquarters that I might come across you on this road.'

  Orlov introduced Kusminsky, who had ridden up from his place at the back and Kolniev, who had returned to stand with one hand on the neck of the grey, his red face upturned to the mounted men around him. The Hetman's eyes suddenly lighted on the Countess, who was directly behind Orlov, and he made a comment of such coarseness that Orlov was filled with cold fury, the more so as the fellow also ran his eyes over her body far too appreciatively for decency.

  'The lady is betrothed to me,' he said, in a loud, clear, ice-cold voice which carried the whole length of the line of carts. He felt the stir of interest which ran through the men behind him and wished desperately that he could see Countess Barova's face.

  The Hetman apologized very handsomely, both to Orlov and to the Countess, making her a pretty speech and kissing her hand. She appeared perfectly composed and accepted his apology with a gracious inclination of her head worthy of a Czarina.

  With the social niceties disposed of, the Hetman asked a variety of questions about their journey, the state of the men, their supplies, the carts, the horses and whether they had seen anything of the enemy anywhere.

  Orlov gave a brief account of their journey which sounded downright dull when recounted to anyone who hadn't taken part in it. He reported that the last bridge was still standing and the last village unburned. The Hetman nodded. 'Plenty of time,' he said. 'We're warning the people to leave, but not firing anything about here yet. The French left Smolensk three days ago. They won't be in this locality for a while yet.'

  This was good news to Orlov as it removed his greatest worry—that they might have to fight the French with men who were already wounded. He enquired what other news there was and the Hetman replied gaily that Kutuzov was said to be on his way from Petersburg to take over as commander-in-chief, and the army had withdrawn beyond Viazma to wait for him.

  There was no news of any intent to give battle yet, 'But Papa Kutuzov will arrange things,' the Hetman concluded with a wink. He asked if he could do anything for them and Orlov remembered his letter. He pulled it out and asked the Hetman to have it sent by the army post from Headquarters. 'Who told you to look out for us?' he asked. 'Was it Major Danilov?'

  'No, it was General Barclay de Tolly himself!' replied the Hetman. 'Most concerned, he was. Oh, he said I should tell you that he's sent instructions to Kaluga for your men to be looked after.'

  Orlov was surprised and impressed by Barclay's immense capacity for dealing with details and his concern for the men under his command. This was typical of the General—a pity more of his critics were not aware of it.

  The Cossacks left soon after with shouted good wishes for success on both sides, and Orlov's little company plodded on its way. The freshness left by the rain was disappearing rapidly as the sun blazed out of a cloudless sky, and the midday break was more than welcome. They found a large clump of trees by the roadside, with a tiny stream rising from a spring among them and trickling along by the road. The carts lurched over to form a line in the shade.

  Orlov dismounted and stood giving the necessary orders for a few minutes. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the Countess had gone to wash her face and hands at the spring, and then sat down on a fallen tree trunk a little distance from the main centre of activity. As soon as he could, he walked over to her, tugging at the gold ring on the little finger of his left hand. He sat down beside her on the log.

  He held out the ring to her on the palm of his hand. She looked at it, gave a quick, searching glance at his face and then held out her right hand. He slid the ring onto the third finger, which it fitted quite well, and then lifted t
he hand to his lips, watching her face as he did so. Her expression was unreadable.

  'Thank you,' she said in a small, quiet voice. There was a great deal Orlov wanted to say but already a dozen things were clamouring for his attention. 'May I talk to you later?' he asked anxiously.

  She nodded and smiled up at him, a small nervous smile. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'I know how much you have to do now.' She dropped her eyes and sat still, the fingers of her left hand touching the ring caressingly. He turned away reluctantly and joined Kusminsky at Adraksin's side.

  Kusminsky seemed quite satisfied with the man's state but he was obviously in a fever and Orlov thought he looked dreadful. The surgeon was busy with him and Orlov didn't linger as Kolniev was calling for him to look at the axle on one of the carts.

  It was showing signs of giving way and Orlov agreed that it should be replaced when they camped for the night. As they straightened up from inspecting it, Kolniev looked round at the men resting under the trees and said in a hesitant voice, quite unlike his usual hearty tones, 'I'm very glad about you and the Countess.'

  Orlov looked at him doubtfully, but the Captain's cheerful red face was full of frank goodwill. 'Thank you,' he replied rather stiffly.

  'Mind you,' went on Kolniev. 'It wasn't exactly a surprise. It's been pretty obvious right from the start that you hit it off very well. Anyway, my congratulations.' Orlov shook his proffered hand, too surprised by Kolniev's assumptions and their implications to make any reply.

  The meal was the usual one of hard bread (fairly fresh as the cooks had baked it during the two days they had stayed in the house), cheese and a thick bortsch made from cabbages cut in the garden before they left. Conversation centred round the news gathered from the Cossacks and soon died as they settled down to rest for an hour in the noonday heat.

  During the afternoon march, Kusminsky rode up alongside Orlov and stayed with him for a while, commenting crossly on the heat, 'Nearly as bad as ever.' After a little desultory conversation, the surgeon said, 'That was an interesting announcement you made this morning.'

  Orlov felt his colour rising. 'After what the Hetman called her, what else could I do?' he demanded.

  'Only after what the Hetman said?' Kusminsky asked slyly.

  'What the devil do you mean by that?' Orlov's voice was cold and edgy.

  'Clearly your irritability is due to physical frustration,' Kusminsky said, grinning. 'I didn't mean what you thought I meant—I'm sure you've been a perfect gentleman, in the best tradition of the Chevalier Guard. What I actually meant was that I don't think the protection of her reputation is the only reason you can find for marrying the girl.'

  'I didn't realize that my feelings were so clearly apparent to the world.' Orlov tried to pass it off lightly. 'Will you tell me something seriously? Could you sec how she looked when I said it?'

  Kusminsky thought, looking back in his mind. 'When the Hetman looked at her and made his classic remark, she turned her face away and I think she blushed,' he replied. 'But when you said that she was betrothed to you, she turned to look at you, went quite pale and then looked as proud as a queen.'

  'Surprised?'

  'For a second, no more. It was news to her too, then? You mean you hadn't actually asked her to marry you?'

  'I still haven't, blast it!' Orlov replied ruefully, and Kusminsky laughed.

  'You know,' he said reflectively, 'for one ghastly moment, I thought you were going to challenge the Hetman!'

  'Do you think I should have done?' Orlov asked anxiously. 'I thought, under the circumstances, that he made a pardonable mistake, and he apologized very handsomely.'

  'I'm damned glad you didn't!' said Kusminsky.

  'It would have been all right,' Orlov's voice was a little frosty. 'I shoot right-handed, and I'm as good a shot as any damned Cossack!'

  'I'm sure you are,' Kusminsky assured him. 'The trouble is, as the only surgeon available. I couldn't offer to second you. I don't approve of duelling, anyway.'

  'As a matter of fact, neither do I,' Orlov admitted. 'Stupid way to settle an argument.'

  Soon after this, Orlov made his tour of inspection, dropping out to let the carts pass him, and then riding up the line, talking to the men. He admitted to himself that it was as much for an opportunity to talk to the Countess as to encourage the men. He curbed his impatience and moved slowly up the line until he reached the second cart.

  There was no chance for more than the most general observations about the weather, as one of the soldiers was driving while the Countess took a rest. The other three men were wide awake and Orlov had to be content with looking at her face and exchanging smiles with her, while he remarked that it was as hot as ever and she replied that at least the dust had not yet started to blow about very much.

  Towards the end of the afternoon they stopped at the edge of the next area of forest which was much more open than most they had passed through. The trees were quite widely spaced with patches of grass between them and a few stands of bracken, which the men cut for bedding.

  There was still no opportunity to talk privately to the Countess as Orlov felt obliged to help Kolniev and a couple of the men unload the cart with the weak axle and replace it with one of the spares they had brought from the inn. 'I knew we'd want them,' said Kolniev in tones of satisfaction at being proved right. Orlov wished he had been wrong, as the cart was heavy and it hurt his arm helping to lift the end of it.

  After that, there was barely time to wash before supper. The light was failing by this time and the water Josef threw over his body was icy cold. Orlov danced about shivering and towelling himself briskly before putting on his clothes and Josef chose this inconvenient moment to remark in his most impersonal manner, 'May one offer felicitations, Your Excellency?'

  Orlov replied, 'Thank you,' without succeeding in keeping the surprise out of his voice and was even more surprised when Josef added, 'Most gratifying! An excellent outcome in every way!'

  After supper, Kusminsky wanted him to help in changing the bandages on three particularly bad wounds—a messy, unpleasant business, in which Orlov's part was mainly to keep up a flow of conversation to distract the men's attention from what the surgeon was doing. He was touched and embarrassed when a number of the men approached him as an official delegation to offer their respectful congratulations on his betrothal.

  By the time he went to the tent, the camp was quiet and the Countess had retired some time before. He stripped off his coat and shirt in the dim light of the lantern, glancing occasionally towards the dark shape on the far side of the tent in the hope that she was not yet asleep.

  It was, of course, just as he was engaged in the usual struggle with his boots, that she spoke. ('Why do we always have our most important conversations while I'm taking my boots off?' he wondered.) 'Major Orlov?' she said quietly.

  'Yes?'

  'Why did you say we are betrothed?'

  'You know why,' he replied. 'You heard what the Hetman said.'

  'Yes, but it wasn't true. There's no reason for you to pretend to be betrothed to me.'

  'I'm not pretending and there's a very good reason,' he replied gently. 'There has been ever since the night of the thunderstorm.'

  'But you didn't ... you couldn't ... not without me knowing...!'

  'No, I didn't,' he assured her. 'That wasn't the reason. I meant that I've known since that night that I want to marry you. As far as I'm concerned, we're really betrothed. I hold myself bound to marry you. This isn't the way I would have wished to go about it, but my hand was forced by the Hetman. I suggest we regard ourselves as betrothed for the present ... it gives me the right to assume responsibility for your safety and welfare and to make some sort of provision for you as soon as I can contact my lawyers. It means that I can send you to stay with Tatia with perfect respectability and you can stay with her until all this business is over without anyone thinking it odd. Then, when I can come home and sort everything out, if you decide that you don't want to marry me, we ca
n simply break the engagement.'

  'But I couldn't...' she began.

  'But you could,' he said, still gently but very firmly. 'I tried to tell you last night that I might be badly wounded and that would automatically release you as far as I'm concerned. In any case, I've no intention of letting you marry me unless you really want to, for love, not gratitude or anything like that.' He was sitting on the ground with one boot in his hand and he put it down beside the other and lined them up neatly side by side before he asked the question which was vitally important to him.

  'Is the idea of marrying me distasteful to you?' It came out in a raw, nervous voice, not at all as he would have liked.

  'No.' There was something convincing in the sincerity of the one word of her answer.

  He got up, crossed the tent and knelt beside her. 'Is the arrangement all right, then?'

  'Yes. Thank you.' She was sitting up and he put his arms round her and kissed her mouth very gently. She returned the kiss and leaned against him, touching his face with the tips of her fingers.

  'What shall I call you?' she asked.

  'Lev. It tends not to have a diminutive.'

  She laughed. 'No, it wouldn't. My name is Irina.'

  'Peace!' he exclaimed. 'How extraordinary! I was longing for peace the day I met you!' He kissed her again, keeping a curb on himself for fear of losing his self-control and abruptly told her so in case she should think him half-hearted about the betrothal.

  'Yes, I understand,' she said softly. He gave her a last kiss and then returned to his own side of the tent, bidding her 'goodnight'. With sudden realization, he amended it to 'Goodnight, Irina' and then added 'Darling'.

  'Goodnight, Lev,' she replied.

  He blew out the candle and pulled his blankets round him, looking out across the camp, which was dappled with patches of silvery moonlight and areas of black shadow, the fire glowing red in the middle. The nearby stream chattered over the stones and the horses moved gently, snorting and pulling at their hay over in the picket lines. He gave a sigh of contentment and closed his eyes.