“It would be boring for you, I know, but for me it would be an enchantment out of time. It would make life so much easier – if we could escape from time!”
She saw Lord Athelstan was listening and continued,
“Have you realised how it rules our lives? It is always time to go to bed, time to get up, time to leave something exciting one is doing because it is time to go somewhere else, time to grow old – and time to die.”
“I think it’s true that there is not enough time for the things one wants to do,” Lord Athelstan agreed, “and too much time is demanded for things that are boring or part of one’s duty.”
“That is true,” Natasha agreed.
“And now,” he said rising to his feet with a smile, “it is time to go! We have quite a long way to travel and tonight I want to camp near Batoum because I feel it would be safer there.”
Natasha did not answer. She was disappointed that they could not go on talking together.
Once again she thought how fascinating it was to be able to be alone with a man who was clever and intelligent – to talk to him as she had never been able to talk to anyone she had met in St. Petersburg.
She had the feeling that her father would have liked Lord Athelstan. They would have understood each other, for they had many ideas in common.
She could imagine Lord Athelstan at home on his country estate. There was something about him that told her he was a good landlord, generous and understanding to the people who worked for him.
It hurt her to think of what the serfs suffered in Russia, the cruelties inflicted on many of them by their Masters, the manner in which they were of no account as individuals, only a possession, bound to serve and obey without being allowed to have any personality of their own.
They rode on again and now the sun was hot and the dust rose to settle as a grey film on their clothes, on the horses and even on their skin.
But Lord Athelstan had no intention of slackening the pace and there was no respite or stop until they came within sight of Batoum.
The last part of their journey was hard going. They had to climb the coastal mountains, find the pass and then descend on the other side.
The Black Sea looked blue and tranquil, but its name was derived from the storms that could prove very dangerous to voyagers and were as unpredictable as any woman.
The winds in the pass blew away most of the dust they had collected on the plains, but even so Natasha was glad when they finally camped at the foot of the mountains on a fertile green plateau bestrewn with wild flowers.
Here it was warm and protected from the wind and there was a stream flowing down the mountainside providing water for the horses and themselves.
Natasha’s tent, which was part of the equipment she had brought from Shamyl, was small, comfortable and weatherproof, but nothing like the size or splendour of Lord Athelstan’s.
However, it was adequate for her needs and, when one of the servants brought her a bucket of water and a basin, she washed herself completely before taking fresh clothes from a roll that had been carried on a horse’s back.
She let down her hair and brushed it, then bound it again in a turquoise-blue turban that was the same colour as the turquoises in her dagger.
As she did so, she wondered if the colour would be lucky for her.
‘At least tonight I can talk with Lord Athelstan and forget what lies ahead,’ she told herself.
And yet, like a dark cloud overshadowing everything she thought and did, there was always the horror of the seraglio ahead.
Once she reached Constantinople, she would leave behind everything that was familiar to become the bride of the Sultan.
Because such thoughts were terrifying, Natasha deliberately shook herself free of them.
‘I will not think of anything but today – just today!’ she told herself.
Finally, when she was ready, she went from her own tent and into Lord Athelstan’s.
He rose to greet her. As he did so, there was the sound of a horse outside and a man dressed in a Cossack’s uniform came hurrying through the camp, a letter in his hand.
Natasha knew that it was one of the messengers who, Lord Athelstan had told her, would be bringing him information all the way to Constantinople as to what was happening about the exchange of hostages.
He opened the envelope the Cossack handed him and drew out a piece of paper.
He read it, then, turning to the messenger, thanked him and told Hawkins to pay him.
It was a sum obviously considerably more than he had expected and the Cossack’s eyes glittered as he expressed his thanks before Hawkins took him away.
“What does it say?” Natasha asked.
Lord Athelstan’s face was set and his voice unemotional as he replied,
“The terms have been agreed. The only hold-up is that Shamyl insists on having the roubles in silver and it is quite a large sum for the Prince to find and will take time.”
“But otherwise the exchange will take place?” Natasha said.
“There appears to be no other difficulty,” Lord Athelstan answered, “except that the Murids will count out the roubles one by one. This alone will take twenty-four hours!”
“They do not trust the Russians?” Natasha asked.
“I imagine they are suspicious that they might receive less than the agreed sum. This could cause a dispute during the exchange and provide an excuse for the opposing sides to start fighting.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Natasha said in a low voice.
She knew that she should be elated at the news that Princess Anna and her family would be free.
Yet deep within herself she felt that a wild improbable hope which she could not control was disappearing like a tiny glimmer of light being extinguished in the darkness.
As if he knew her thoughts, Lord Athelstan held out a chair for her at the table and when she had seated herself ordered a servant to bring them wine.
“Let’s be happy tonight,” he said in a tone that many women had found beguiling. “There is still time for us to learn much more about each other.”
“I am afraid that you will only disapprove of what you learn about me,” Natasha replied and wondered why her tone sounded so despondent.
“On the contrary,” Lord Athelstan said, “what I learn about you interests and intrigues me. It is only what you do that evokes my disapproval!”
Natasha, sipping the wine, felt as if it lifted a little of the fog that seemed to be closing in around her.
“What shall we talk about?” she asked.
“There has been no difficulty in finding a subject up to now,” Lord Athelstan smiled.
It was true!
It had been so easy to talk to him. There was so much she wanted to know – so much only he could tell her.
As dinner progressed, which was even more delicious than that of the night before, she found he was opening new horizons for her, expanding ideas that had lain dormant inside her.
She felt as if he was stimulating her imagination until everything they said to one another had a strange enchantment.
“You are so wise – so clever!” she exclaimed impulsively. “Do you not ever feel lonely when you are travelling and find you long for someone to be with you?”
“Of course I feel lonely,” Lord Athelstan replied in his deep voice, “but I have never yet found anyone whom I wished to have permanently at my side. Perhaps that is why I enjoy travelling so much. There are always new discoveries either in people or places. One never has time to become bored.”
He paused to add,
“Perhaps the saddest thing is to find that what amused one yesterday has become stale and dull today.”
As he spoke, he thought of the Baroness.
It seemed incredible now that she had once meant so much to him. Yet, if he was frank with himself, he knew that one of his reasons for wishing to leave the Viceroy’s Palace was to avoid having to see her any more.
No woman could
bear to lose a man who had once loved her and he was sure that sooner or later she would reproach him once she realised he was no longer interested in her and she had lost the power to excite him.
He had wanted to run away from a scene that would have been unpleasant and in a way humiliating.
That he could attribute to Natasha his anxiety to leave had not really been a salve to his conscience.
He had known there were other reasons as well and he thought that he must face them frankly and not try and deceive himself.
Aloud he said,
“One of the joys of life is that we can always go on learning, always go on making discoveries not only about other people but also about ourselves!”
“I think I understand,” Natasha said.
“Prince David told me,” Lord Athelstan went on, “that Djemmal Eddin’s baggage consisted largely of books, atlases, paints and drawing materials.”
“Poor Djemmal Eddin!” Natasha exclaimed. “I doubt if he will be allowed to keep them.”
“What do you mean?” Lord Athelstan asked.
“The Imam is very autocratic with his family. His youngest wife, Aminette, was upset that she was not allowed to wear rich clothing. I am sure the Imam will allow his son no reminders of the West, except for those that he carries in his mind.”
It seemed impossible, but Lord Athelstan suspected that it was the truth.
“That is all I shall have,” Natasha said in a low voice, “only what remains in my mind – memories of what you have told me and of our journey together.”
She rose to her feet as she spoke as if she could not bear to talk about it any further.
It was already late and, having said goodnight to Lord Athelstan, she went to her own tent.
When she left him, Lord Athelstan sat down at the table to pour himself another drink.
He thought of how they had conversed together and wondered if any other man had ever undertaken such a strange journey knowing that at the end of it he was to watch his companion condemn herself to a prison and to death.
He felt as if he must shake some sense into Natasha and yet he knew that her will was as strong as his and that she was determined, whatever the cost to herself, to save her brother.
It was incredible that there should be so strong a sense of purpose in a girl so young, who had lived until now a quiet and sheltered existence.
‘How can I make her understand what she faces at the hands of the Sultan?’ Lord Athelstan asked himself despairingly.
Then he knew that whatever he might say, however black he might paint the picture, he would not be able to divert Natasha from her decision.
He picked up from the floor where it had fallen the message that had been brought to him about the exchange of hostages.
He could see so clearly the excitement that must be taking place at Hassif Yourt.
The terms had been agreed at last after all the arguments and all the prevarications.
Prince David would be thinking only of the day when he would see his wife and children again and Djemmal Eddin would be knowing, like Natasha, that he had reached the end of his journey.
All that was familiar, all that he loved, would be lost to him and there would be only the cold austerity of the mountains and a father he was secretly somewhat ashamed of.
It seemed to Lord Athelstan as if all this was happening in a second-rate, sensational Russian play.
The whole drama, which was in itself a tragedy, was too overcharged with emotion with the far-flung arm of Fate dragging in undistinguished unimportant lives to suffer beside the main characters.
If only Natasha had not gone to Georgia to stay with her Godmother! If only she had left her brother in St. Petersburg where he was happy!
There were so many coincidences, so many sub-plots, that it was difficult to disentangle them from the main action taking place between the Imam and the Russians.
“There is nothing I can do!” Lord Athelstan said to himself.
There was a note of frustration and perhaps a touch of despair in his voice.
He decided to go to bed.
Then, as he rose to his feet, he heard the sound of horses arriving at the edge of the camp.
A moment later he saw in the light from the campfire an Officer in Russian uniform coming towards him escorted by Hawkins.
Behind him several soldiers were dismounting.
Lord Athelstan waited, wondering why soldiers should be visiting him at this hour of the night and what their arrival portended.
Hawkins brought the Officer to the tent and he stepped inside.
“I am Colonel Straganov, my Lord.”
Lord Athelstan held out his hand.
“Good evening, Colonel Straganov. This is a surprise!”
He saw that the Colonel was a man somewhat older than himself with a touch of grey hair above his ears.
He had a hard face with sharp suspicious eyes.
He was the sort of man, Lord Athelstan thought, he would have little in common with.
“Will you sit down and have a glass of wine, Colonel?” he asked.
“Thank you. I should be glad of it,” the Colonel replied. “We have come a long way.”
Lord Athelstan raised his eyebrows and he continued,
“From Vladikavkaz. I have been sent by Field-Marshal Prince Bariatinsky.”
“Indeed!” Lord Athelstan answered, “and why has the Prince sent you to find me?”
Colonel Straganov sipped the glass of wine that Hawkins had poured out for him before he replied.
He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care.
“The Field-Marshal has heard a rumour, although it may of course be untrue, that one of the hostages captured by Shamyl is under your protection.”
“A hostage?” Lord Athelstan asked.
He was thinking quickly, realising that in the inevitable manner of the East a rumour had been started and had spread like wildfire to reach the ears of the Field-Marshal.
“I may tell you, my Lord,” the Colonel went on, “that the rumour comes from Daghestan and has not, of course, been substantiated by our own people. I understand that when you stayed at Vladikavkaz that you had a young Indian Prince with you.”
“Yes that is right,” Lord Athelstan said. “As a matter of fact he has now left me. He had to return to India unexpectedly and started home from Tiflis.”
He raised his voice as he spoke, knowing that as Natasha’s tent adjoined his, it would be quite simple for her to hear everything that he was saying.
He was taking a chance in saying that Prince Akbar was no longer with him, but he knew that if the Colonel had come from Vladikavkaz he would not have been in touch with Tiflis.
He would have come straight across country and therefore would not be in a position to know whether the supposed Prince had left the Palace in his company or not.
“The Field-Marshal was rather surprised that you should have taken an Indian Prince with you to Dargo-Vedin,” the Colonel said after a moment.
“I had no choice in the matter,” Lord Athelstan answered. “The Maharaja wished me to escort his son to England and I could hardly leave him sitting by the roadside while I visited Shamyl.”
“No, of course not,” the Colonel agreed. “I would, however, have liked to talk with him.”
“Then I am afraid you will have to catch him up on the road to Teheran,” Lord Athelstan answered lightly.
He refilled the Colonel’s glass and his own as he said,
“I am sorry that these rumours should have given you so much trouble.”
“It’s all in the day’s work!” the Colonel replied. “At the same time you will not mind if my men look around your camp?”
Lord Athelstan stiffened.
“I am afraid, Colonel, you forget that I claim diplomatic immunity. This camp is British and on principle I cannot allow searches or persecutions of any sort whether I have or have not anything to hide.”
The dignity with which he spok
e obviously impressed the Colonel.
“Of course, my Lord, if you feel like that about it I would not think of incommoding you. You will, I hope, allow me to rest a little before I continue my journey to Batoum? I am sure my men are already accepting the comfort of your fire.”
“I hope they are!” Lord Athelstan said genially, “and I am delighted to offer you the hospitality of my tent.”
He was well aware as he spoke that the Russians, while ostensibly being convivial with his men, would make every excuse to find out what they could.
It was obvious that the Colonel had no desire to cause an international incident. At the same time the Field-Marshal must have been fairly sure of his facts before he despatched such a senior Officer on such a long journey.
He could only pray that Natasha, having heard the conversation, would disguise herself in some clever manner or contrive that no one should enter her tent.
The Russians were experts at spying and he was quite certain that Colonel Straganov had brought with him well-trained men, picked for this particular mission.
They would be as astute and as skilful as the Secret Police. They would worm their way into every hole and corner where they suspected that something might be hidden.
He glanced towards the campfire and saw to his relief that most of his men had already retired for the night.
The Russians were being given drinks by Hawkins and two other men who had been with him ever since he had left India and whom he could trust not to gossip, however skilfully they were interrogated.
“I understand you found it a very arduous journey to reach Dargo-Vedin,” Colonel Straganov said.
“It was certainly not a journey I would like to undertake very often,” Lord Athelstan replied.
“And, when you saw the Princesses, did you not wish you could do something for them?” the Colonel persisted.
“I did indeed,” Lord Athelstan answered. “But, as you will realise, there was nothing I could do, except to hope that the exchange of hostages would be effected with all possible speed. In fact I understand that it will take place very shortly.”
“We must hope so,” the Colonel replied.
There was a pause and then he said,
“How do you imagine this rumour got about that one of the women had left Dargo-Vedin with you?”
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