Flight From the Eagle

by Dinah Dean

  When he opened them again, it was daylight and the carts and the boles of the trees were wreathed in white mist which swirled about the moving figures of men going about their early morning chores. He scrambled out of his bedding and ducked through the opening of the tent, shivering and yawning as he looked up at the sky, already bright with sunlight.

  By the time breakfast was ready, the mist was melting away from the trees, leaving the bracken and leaves and the awnings of the carts dripping with dew. There was no wind and already the long ribbon of the road was baking and shimmering in the growing strength of the sun.

  Orlov stood by the improvised dining table, talking to Kolniev and cautiously stretched himself, spreading his arms above his head until the muscles cracked. It hurt his arm but it was nothing compared with the pleasure of feeling his muscles move and flex. 'Big cat,' commented Kusminsky, coming up behind him. 'You look like a great panther. Don't do that again for another week.'

  ' Orlov turned to say something rude but saw the Countess coming and went forward to greet her instead, putting his hands on her shoulders and kissing her cheek in a very proprietary manner. She smiled happily at him and the others and they sat down to eat.

  The morning was very hot after the last of the mist had cleared but the men talked, sang and whistled cheerfully as they jolted on their way, greeting the shade of the next band of forest with a cheer. There was a slightly festive air about them. They felt safe and nearly at the end of their journey after the meeting with the Cossacks.

  The woodland was again the open, broad-leaved variety and the sun dappled the road with patches of black shadow and dazzling brightness which was trying to the eyes and gave Orlov a headache. It was a relief to stop at midday and bathe his head with cool water and then lie in the shade with his eyes shut, particularly as Countess Irina sympathized with him, stroking his hair in a very soothing manner.

  His little idyll was shattered by Kolniev remarking in a gloomy voice that the weak wheel on the cart they had found at the inn was about to collapse at any moment. Orlov opened his eyes, refrained from cursing with commendable self-restraint, and went to have a look at it. There was nothing to be done. It was quite beyond repair by now, the iron tyre quite worn through and the wood shredded away all round the rim. 'Pity it couldn't have lasted one more day,' he commented and called together the men who rode in that particular cart.

  There were six, including the driver, and Orlov asked how many of them could ride a horse. 'I mean, how many of you are capable of staying on a horse now, not how many have ever actually ridden.' Fortunately, they were all prepared to try and with the two horses belonging to the cart and the spares normally tied on behind some of the others, there were plenty of mounts.

  Orlov told them to improvise saddles and left them in a huddle with various pieces of blanket, rope, canvas and anything else which occurred to them. Kolniev was already sorting out the essentials from the useless cart and fitting them into the remaining twelve.

  'God knows how they'll manage!' Orlov commented to Kusminsky while they were eating. 'They all claim they can ride but they've no saddles, apart from the two Josef and Kolniev used when we started out.'

  'Oh, you're not prepared to ride bareback and let one of them have yours?' Kusminsky asked and Orlov scowled thoughtfully. 'Well, I suppose I could,' he replied seriously. 'But I'm not sure that I could manage on that grey. He's a bit tricky.'

  'You won't try!' Kusminsky told him. 'I was joking, you great idiot!' Orlov was secretly relieved. He had come to the conclusion that he was not as good a rider as he had thought —not with one arm out of action, at any rate.

  During the afternoon they passed through a village which was still inhabited and quite a crowd of peasants turned out to see them pass. It was a poor little place, just a huddle of wooden shacks dominated by the well-sweep, dirty and decrepit with a few scrawny hens squawking under the horses' feet. The inhabitants shouted a few comments and questions which the soldiers answered, but they were not particularly friendly.

  The country became more broken with occasional streams meandering across the line of the road in little gorges only ten or so feet deep, but they would have been formidable barriers for the carts if the bridges had gone. Fortunately, they were all still there and so too was the one over a much larger river which they reached at the end of the afternoon.

  There was an open area at the far side, big enough for a camp, and Orlov led the way across the bridge and off the road to it with relief. He made it his first job to enquire how the new riders had fared. He had checked on them several times during the afternoon and had been amused by the curious postures some of them had adopted. He found now that they were only complaining of stiffness, nothing worse.

  'We should get to Kaluga tomorrow,' he told them encouragingly and was surprised at his own reaction to the words, it was such a mixture of relief and regret. Relief at the thought of getting the party to safety, to a place where they could be properly looked after and he could shed responsibility for them, and regret at the ending of a strange, dream-like interlude in his life. Even more regret that it would mean parting with Sparrow—Irina—the nickname came more easily than her real name. Extraordinary to think that he had reached the point of becoming betrothed to her before he found out her name!

  His next duty was to see Adraksin and he found Kusminsky there before him, kneeling beside the corporal's stretcher which was still firmly lashed down inside the cart. Kusmin-sky's face was expressionless and Orlov said tentatively, 'I expect you'll be glad to get him into hospital?'

  The surgeon looked at Adraksin to make sure he was still unconscious before replying curtly, 'It depends. I don't know Kaluga hospital. Do you?'

  Orlov said he had seen it, but only from the outside and knew nothing about its reputation.

  'Hm. Could be a good sign. Some of them are notorious,' Kusminsky commented. He drew Orlov aside, well out of earshot of anyone else and enlarged, 'Some hospitals are breeding grounds for fevers of all kinds. Dirt and disease go together, you know. Even the best have the fault of bringing together all kinds of sick and disabled and infections spread. It would be a great pity if the corporal had survived the loss of his foot and the rigours of the journey, only to die of typhus. Granted, he should be somewhere settled, not banging about on the roads, but a hospital isn't necessarily the best place.'

  There was something of a scramble going on among the men to get their duties done so that they could bathe in the river before the sun went below the level of the trees. It rapidly grew chilly after that and midges appeared with the coming of evening. Orlov could see nothing requiring his immediate attention so he took a towel and clean linen and went to find himself a private pool. The men were going downstream so he went up, above the bridge.

  He found a pleasantly secluded place, well-screened with bushes, but at the bottom of a steep bank which required a climb to get down to the water. He was not much worried about privacy for himself but wanted a place to bring Irina afterwards, so he hurried, simply throwing off his clothes, plunging into the water and getting out again as soon as he had rinsed away the dust and sweat of the day. The water was cold and even though his teeth chattered as he towelled himself dry and pulled his clothes on again, he felt better for it.

  Scrambling up the bank was difficult with one arm and he found himself using the left one to steady himself without much pain. Once at the top, he hurried back to the camp to fetch Irina who had no trouble climbing down, despite her long skirts. Orlov was pleased to see how agile and neat-footed she was—she would probably be a good dancer, he thought.

  He sat down on the top of the bank, gazing steadfastly downstream, feeling quite proud of himself for managing not to look down towards the screening bushes at the water's edge until Irina was climbing up towards him again, clutching her damp towel with her hair streaming down her back. He stretched out a hand and pulled her up to sit beside him, laughing and gasping.

  'Oh, it was so cold!' sh
e exclaimed. He twisted round to watch her comb and plait her hair and after a few minutes she sighed and said, 'I wonder if I'll ever be able to bathe in a river again.'

  'Of course,' he replied. 'The river at home is actually in the garden. There's a fine pool there. We'll often bathe and I'll teach you to swim.'

  'I can't believe you really want to marry me,' she said soberly. 'I keep wondering if I'll wake up and find it's all a dream.'

  Orlov put his arm round her and squeezed her until she gasped. 'Shall I pinch you as well? No, I've a better idea.' He undid the back fastening of the high collar of her dress, turned back one corner and gently bit her neck. 'There—are you awake?'

  'Yes!' she said. 'Oh, Lev—I'm more awake than I've ever been in my life!' She turned towards him and he gathered her into his arms.

  'Of course I want to marry you, Sparrow,' he said. 'If it weren't for this damned war, I'd go find a priest the minute we arrive in Kaluga. Don't have any doubts about me. I love you and if I come back in a fit state, I'll carry you off to the church before you know where you arc!'

  'But it might seem different then, when you see me again and realize how dull and ordinary I am.' She sounded so forlorn that Orlov suddenly realized how much her aunt must have undermined her self-confidence.

  'I'm not a boy,' he said. 'I've been in and out of love enough times to know the difference between a passing attraction and a permanent commitment, so stop filling your mind with doubts and kiss me—it's time we went back for supper.'

  As he said the words, he wondered what she would do. Would she be too shy or would she give him a sisterly kiss on the brow, a semi-comical one on the end of his nose or a chaste peck on the cheek? To his surprise and delight, she put her arms round his neck and kissed him full on the mouth, warmly, and with her lips parted in a way which he knew she must have learned from him. It was a very creditable kiss for a beginner and he returned it with enthusiasm.

  They walked back to the camp with their arms entwined, only separating when they reached the bridge and came within sight of the others. The daylight was fading and the site was lit by the fire in a trench and the glow-worm light of a couple of dozen candle-lanterns hanging on carts or convenient branches. Kolniev had obviously decided to use all the lanterns as they no longer needed to be careful to conserve their candles.

  Supper was in line with this policy too, with most of their remaining bacon in the vegetable stew, and a duff richly filled with currants and raisins. The cooks seemed to have put in just about everything that would not be needed tomorrow.

  Conversation turned naturally to two topics, the past fortnight and their future plans. It was clear that for all four of them, this journey would be a source of memories for many years to come and most of them would be pleasant, despite the hardships. Kolniev was the first to talk about the future and he appeared to be worried that he might be thought of only as a captain who had lost his company. 'What gives you that idea?' Orlov asked.

  'Well, half my men were killed in that attack and almost all the rest wounded. As far as the War Ministry returns go, that wipes out my company. I shouldn't think it will look very good on my record.'

  'On the other hand,' Orlov pointed out, 'you saved the surviving half of your company from capture by the enemy, transported them two hundred miles and lost only two in the process—and one of those wasn't yours, anyway. That should look pretty good on your record.' Kolniev looked more cheerful and began to speculate about the possibility of getting leave and going to see his wife.

  Kusminsky sighed. 'I'd like to go home for good, but I don't see how I can while the war's still on. There are never enough surgeons, unfortunately, not like majors and captains. Ten a penny!' Orlov and Kolniev both leaned over and pushed him at the same time and he fell over backwards.

  'There, you see,' he said, getting up and sitting on his box again. 'I'm in bad company with these rude, rough soldiers. This is no place for a gentleman!'

  While they were laughing, one of the men came running from the bridge gasping, 'Sir! Sir!'

  'What is it?' asked Orlov getting up, still with his cup of coffee in his hand.

  'Grigor Pavlovitch has fallen down the bank by the bridge! He's hurt and can't move!'

  Orlov swore briefly, set down his cup and walked towards the bridge, his long legs carrying him very quickly, but without any appearance of haste. Kusminsky went after him, trotting to keep up and Kolniev also got up, hesitated for a moment and then said to Countess Irina, 'Will you be all right?'

  'Yes,' she replied. 'I'll sit here and sew on some more buttons, unless I can help in any way?'

  Kolniev smiled, shook his head, and ran after the others.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  He caught up with them before they reached the bridge where there were already a dozen men staring down the bank at two more men with a lantern who were bending over a third, lying half in the water. Orlov went down the steep bank with something between a stride and a slide, pushed the two helpers out of the way and knelt by the injured man. Kusminsky saw Josef coming with his bag of instruments and another lantern and took them from him with a quick 'Good man!'

  'The Countess sent me with them,' Josef replied but Kusminsky was already scrambling down the bank. He arrived beside Orlov with a splash and examined Grigor swiftly.

  'Stunned and broken leg,' was his verdict. 'Fetch some wood for splints,' he called to the men at the top. 'Josef, you know the sort—two good pieces, about eighteen inches long.' With Orlov's help, he straightened the man and got the fracture lined up. It was in the lower leg and a clean spiral break across both bones. By the time Josef returned with suitable splints, it was ready to be strapped.

  While he was working on the leg, Kusminsky said to Orlov, 'Get out of the water before you take a chill and put your mind to work on the problem of getting him up the bank.'

  Orlov did as he was told, despite the fact that the water barely reached the tops of his boots, took one of the lanterns and shone it on the slope above them. After careful scrutiny, he found a place by the bridge which was worn smooth by rain draining off the road above and he called to the men at the top to bring a stretcher and ropes.

  Returning to Kusminsky he said, 'If we strap him onto a stretcher, we can just pull him up head first. I'll climb beside him to stop the stretcher jarring or catching on anything and it should be fairly easy—it's only about twelve feet.'

  Kusminsky gave a grunt of agreement and Orlov scrambled up the bank to tell Kolniev what he proposed to do. Then he went down again, keeping well to one side to avoid kicking loose stones down on the surgeon or his patient. The stretcher was carefully lowered after him and the two men already at the bottom helped Orlov and Kusminsky to put Grigor on it and fasten him securely.

  It was a tricky business as there was no level surface and the stretcher had to be balanced on some rocks projecting above the water. The injured man was heavy and too much stunned and shaken to help. Orlov found himself floundering about in the water, using both arms to haul and steady the inert form and hurting himself considerably in the final stages of lifting.

  Eventually, the man was strapped onto the stretcher and carried along a few feet to the bridge. A shout from Orlov brought ropes snaking down in the dim light and the stretcher was held braced against the structure of the bridge while he tied the ropes tightly to the handles at the head end. The unwieldy burden was carefully turned and tilted until it lay almost upright on the slope, Kolniev leaning over the edge at a perilous angle to direct the men holding the ropes as they took the weight. Then began the slow, tedious business of hauling it up.

  It was not the weight which caused the trouble so much as the ground the stretcher had to travel over. The slope looked smooth enough but there were dozens of small projecting stones and in the darkness it was difficult to see where in particular one was snagging the stretcher. Orlov climbed with it, calling instructions to Kolniev and dodged from side to side, feeling underneath to ease it past a snag or to
remove an offending stone, catching and bruising his hands and trying to spare his left arm which was aching a great deal by now.

  When it reached the top, it was quite a simple matter to ease the stretcher over the edge onto level ground. Orlov was at the foot, giving it the necessary lift to change its direction. He felt the weight go from his hands as the job was completed, just at the moment when his precarious foothold gave way and he slid face-down to the bottom of the slope, clutching at the earth with his hands and failing to find anything to grasp.

  He landed in the river with a splash which soaked him up to his chest, scrambled to his feet and floundered out of thé water swearing lustily. When he reached the top of the bank, he found Kolniev roaring with laughter, Kusminsky choking and the men trying to maintain respectfully straight faces and failing lamentably.

  'I told you to get out of the water,' Kusminsky gasped, 'not plunge in up to your neck! Have you hurt yourself?' He suddenly sobered, held up a lantern and peered at Orlov's face.

  'Not much,' he replied. 'I didn't knock my arm, anyway. I think I'm just wet and a bit scraped.' He held out his hands but Kusminsky gave them only a cursory glance. 'Only grazes,' he said. 'You've cut your face, but it's nothing much. Wash it well and leave it. You'll heal.'

  He turned away to see to the injured Grigor Pavlovitch and Orlov went off to his tent, shivering in his wet clothes in the chill night air. Dealing with Grigor had taken longer than he realized and Countess Irina had already gone to bed.

  She sat up as Orlov entered the tent, started to ask about the accident and then saw the trickle of blood on his face.

  'Oh, Lev! You're hurt! ' She got up and went to him, her eyes huge with concern and then realized that he was soaking wet. 'And you're dripping too! Do take your wet things off and then I'll see to your face.'

  Orlov stripped off his boots, coat and shirt and modestly retired outside to change the rest of his garments for the dry ones he pulled out of his trunk. Then he returned and sat on the ground while Irina cleaned his face and inspected the cut, telling her briefly what had happened.