Hay studied him severely. ‘Nowadays I am more used to diplomats than the Brigade.’
A small Chinese girl in a white smock entered the room with a silver tray. On it were two large glasses of whisky.
Blackwood could not remember asking for it, but he was so drained he could hardly recall any sequence of events.
The room gave a shiver as some shells fell somewhere in the city. He saw the servant’s eyes widen with alarm and wondered how the two interpreters were getting on, and if they were still alive. The whisky was good and he felt its strength warming him.
Hay said, ‘The officers here are a mixed bunch naturally.’ He frowned. ‘Some of them lost their kit in the first attacks, so there’s no need to dress for dinner.’
‘I don’t have mess kit either, sir.’
‘I understand.’
He went off at a tangent again. ‘I believe they will mount a big attack tomorrow or the day after. They need to occupy the whole city and destroy the defenders before they can join together at Peking.’
‘We are in the same position, sir.’
‘Really?’ He sounded distant. ‘So long as we can hold the perimeter things should get better.’
Blackwood tried not to look at him. At this stage of the game it seemed inconceivable that anyone could ignore the problems of shortages which would soon bear down on them all. Food, ammunition, survival.
Hay said, ‘The Boxers never attack at night. Perhaps their invulnerability only works in daylight, eh?’ He gave a short laugh, like a dog barking.
He added, ‘It was a pity you were not sent directly here in the first place.’ Again it sounded like an accusation. ‘That business upriver was a waste of time. That’s where you lost a subaltern, right?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Blackwood placed his empty glass on a table and saw that Hay had not drunk any of his. What was the matter with him? One minute he acted towards him with total indifference, and the next he had released some information which he must have gathered from someone else.
‘Oh yes, brave enough, no doubt of that, but not thought through.’
Blackwood asked abruptly, ‘Who told you about the Hoshun, sir?’
Hay stood up and squared his shoulders. ‘I heard something about it when you and Admiral Seymour’s advance party went through Tientsin. I also met quite a few of the people who were trying to get back to Peking before you arrived.’
‘Did you meet any of the Germans who returned to their Peking legation?’ Without noticing it he was leaning forward in the chair.
‘Oh yes. Count von Heiser of course.’
Why did he always add of course? He tried again, ‘I heard they arrived safely.’
‘Did you?’
He wants me to beg, but how could he know or guess?
Hay remarked offhandedly, ‘They went in separate parties in case the railway was torn up. As it happened, the Chinese closed the city to the Allies the day they arrived. But the second party turned back.’ His eyes glittered in the lamplight. ‘These Germans don’t know everything. It will do them good to have their tails between their legs for a change!’ Again the short, humourless laugh.
The colonel pulled a watch from his pocket. ‘You’d better get back to your sector. Don’t forget, double the sentries. All looters will be shot on sight. Stand-to at first light.’ It was dismissal.
Blackwood walked through an outer room where a tired-looking servant was busy polishing the colonel’s boots.
Sir John Hay was a strange bird, he thought. Was his comment about dressing for dinner merely to cover something else? He seemed very confident, perhaps too much so.
The warm night air made him yawn. He would have to go round the sentries before speaking to Gravatt.
It was deathly quiet, but in the sky he could still see the reflected fires, drifting smoke.
As he strode towards the sector where they had burst through the gates just a few hours ago he saw Swan’s shadow detach itself from the side of a low building.
‘You ought to get some rest, Swan. That’s one privilege at least your job gives you.’
Swan studied him in the darkness. ‘A Chinese girl brought you a letter, sir.’ He could not hold the pretence any longer and Blackwood saw his grin splitting his face as he added. ‘It was our little Anna.’
Blackwood took the small envelope and turned it over in his hands.
‘Tell Mr Gravatt I want him.’ He waited for Swan to hurry away and then ducked into the low doorway of the abandoned building. By the light of a shaded lamp he opened the envelope and held a single sheet of notepaper in the glow.
It said, Please come, and it was sighed with an F.
She is here. Hay had known the reason for his questions, or he soon would. He must be careful for her sake.
Gravatt crunched out of the darkness. ‘I’ve been round our posts, sir. I had the machine-gun mounted on a low building. The men there will be protected by a barricade of sandbags and sacks of grain. Best we can do.’
‘Stand-to at first light, Toby.’
‘I know, sir.’
Blackwood did not ask him how he knew.
‘He said, ‘Call me if you need me.’
Gravatt watched him go. No wonder the men liked him so much. He had seen Anna give the letter to Swan. The rest was easy to fathom out.
He removed his helmet and dragged his finger around his tunic collar. First light and they would stand and fight. Suddenly he envied Blackwood. Just to hold a woman’s hand again, to blurt out your fears, to pretend there was a future.
He sighed and walked around the corner to seek out the last picket.
The hotel which Hay had described in their brief interview was at the rear of the marines’ sector, hemmed in on either side by sturdy, barricaded buildings. One of the latter was where Gravatt had sited their only machine-gun. If he lived he would one day make a good field officer Blackwood thought.
If the enemy forced the gates and drove the marines back to their next line of defence, the gun could cover them from the flat roof and still be able to fire above the defences without being moved. The hotel was shuttered and curtained and smelt of musty carpets and decay. The last place on earth where any European might expect to end up.
A British soldier in a white jacket watched Blackwood with obvious suspicion as he explained who he had come to see.
‘’S like this, sir, we’re not supposed to let service people in ’ere after dark. Regulations, sir.’
‘Colonel Hay said it was perfectly all right.’
The man looked relieved. ‘In that case, sir.’ He gestured with his tray. ‘Up them stairs, second right.’ He hesitated. ‘If you’re sure, sir?’
Blackwood hurried up the curved staircase. The soldier might call his superior officer, but he doubted it. He guessed that sleep was a bonus around here; it would take a strong heart to wake an officer. He saw a small figure huddled in an armchair outside a door.
‘Hello, Anna.’
The girl took his hands in hers and rocked from side to side, as she had aboard the old Bajamar, a million years ago.
She whispered, ‘Bye um bye we all finish, Sah. Boxer come um choppum head. All gone!’
Blackwood could feel her terror, also the loyalty which held her to her German mistress.
He released his hands and tapped gently on the door.
It opened instantly, as if she had been listening, waiting.
He closed the door quietly and followed her through vague shadow to an adjoining room. There was a small glow from a lamp, but otherwise the place was in darkness, the air humid and without life.
She was wearing the same dark blue robe as when he had burst into her cabin with Swan’s shoulder beside him. Her hair too hung down her back, more like gold than honey in the faint glow.
She did not resist as he took her shoulders and pulled her against him.
She said, ‘When I heard the excitement and the cheering I knew it was you. It had to be.’ She looked up and searche
d his face. ‘You are not hurt? I heard that you had a bad time, that men were killed.’
‘Some were. Thank God you are safe, Friedrike.’ How easy it was to speak her name. ‘When Colonel Hay told me, I could not believe you might be here too.’
Her mouth quivered. ‘That man Hay. He is in the wrong army, I think. He should be a Prussian Guard!’
Blackwood held her closer and touched her hair, her soft warmth, and allowed the dream to become reality.
‘And you are alone here?’
She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Yes. Manfred had to go to Peking. He will be needed, I think. There is a rumour that Baron von Ketteler has been murdered there by Chinese troops. Nothing is certain.’ She looked at him again. ‘Except that you came. To me.’
Somewhere in the musty hotel a clock chimed. It sounded doleful, like a dirge. One o’clock.
She said suddenly, ‘I need air. I shall open the window. There can be no danger if the light is out.’
He released her reluctantly. Had she done that deliberately but was now once again in control of herself?
He turned off the lamp as she opened the long curtains and pushed the heavy shutters away from the windows.
‘Look at the moon, David.’ She sounded excited, like a child.
He stood behind her, his hands on her small waist as he stared across the beleaguered city. Tomorrow. What was the use of thinking about any tomorrow? It might be pointless.
She asked, ‘Will help come, David?’
He felt her shiver, but when he touched her neck it was hot, as if she had a fever.
‘They will come. They must.’ He thought of Masterman’s determination, his example to the others who had waited too long.
‘My men are nearest to you. We will protect you, no matter what.’
She spoke with great care and deliberation. ‘But if the Boxers come here, David, it will mean –’
‘It will mean that we have failed, and have paid for it.’ He forced the picture of the murdered Chinese girl and her baby from his mind. ‘But we shall make our stand here, you can depend on it.’
She turned easily in his arms and studied him although Blackwood could not see her face in the darkness.
‘I feel safe now.’
She did not resist as he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her very gently. It was like touching something fragile, or saying the wrong word when it counted most. She did not pull away but kissed him in return, her heart pounding to match his own. Only when he slipped his hand through the robe and touched her breast did she exclaim, ‘Oh, my God, David, I can’t, must not!’
But he held her breast in his hand. It was alive, warm and beating as if it would burst free.
She leaned against him, her hair brushing his mouth as she gasped, ‘I can’t!’ Then she struggled free of his arms and stood a few paces away. ‘What am I saying to you, David? We are deluding ourselves, I saw it on your face when you came in. We shall not survive!’ She tugged at the cord about her throat and allowed the robe to drop on the floor. Framed against the pale moonlight Blackwood saw her beautiful body as clearly as if she had been naked.
He took her to him again and soothed her sudden despair, the violent trembling which seemed to run right through her.
He said huskily, ‘I want you, Friedrike. I want you now. Then tomorrow can do what it will.’
She nodded against his chest. ‘I know. But it has been so long for me. I am afraid, just a little bit.’
Blackwood could feel her shivering, and guessed what it was costing her to reveal her feelings to him.
He heard himself murmur, ‘I’ll lock the outer door.’ He saw her watching him as he unbuckled his sword and revolver. The trappings of war which could reach neither of them, until as in the fairy-story the daylight came.
Blackwood placed them carefully on a chair and unbuttoned his tunic. His fingers were all thumbs, his mind blank to the consequences if there was an attack, if the belief that Boxers would not storm the city by night was just a legend.
He turned and for an instant he thought he had imagined all of it. She had gone.
Then he heard her voice from the darkness. ‘David.’
He moved into the deeper shadows and saw her arms rising from the bed to embrace him. His foot caught on the night-dress where she had thrown it, and the next second he was standing over her. In the moonlight, so faint here in one corner of the room, her body stood out like a fallen statue, her hair in disorder around her shoulders. She bunched her hands tightly into fists as he touched her and caressed her breasts, the gentle curve of her stomach and further still. She cried out and shook her head from side to side as if to defy some silent warning.
Blackwood threw his clothes on the floor and sat beside her. It was perfect, and it was torture. He kissed her mouth, and felt her lips part, her tongue on his as he kissed her harder. Only when he knelt above her did she show real fear.
She reached out for him, her hands frantic as they gripped his body.
‘Please, be gentle!’
It was like falling, he had known nothing like it. He felt her hand lose its fear as it reached out to guide him. Then she gasped just once as she arched her back to receive and to hold him.
When they had finished it was a long while before they moved. When he made to leave her she seized his hair in both hands and whispered, ‘No, stay. I can still feel you. Try to sleep. I will hold you.’
And so it was. When the window became edged with grey they stirred, as did their want of each other. They made love again, with the quiet desperation of wrongdoers.
Blackwood found himself half-running to the staircase, buckling on his weapons as he went. He should be totally exhausted, he could not remember sleeping at all. Only her voice calling his name, and the passion of her body which had been released like a trapped animal.
For a few moments longer he stood outside in the littered street and stared up at the vanishing stars.
He felt as if he could do anything.
Sergeant Tom Greenaway gripped part of the rough barricade and tried to shake it. It did not budge in spite of the mixture of things which had gone in to its construction. Iron rails, boulders, upended waggons and carts and sacks of grain. It might do the trick. He glanced at the two sentries who stood together like twins.
‘All quiet, Sarge.’
‘Good.’ Greenaway stood on a cartwheel and peered across at the shadows. It would be light in no time, he thought. In these parts the sun came up like a fireball. No hanging about.
He saw the pale shapes of Boxer corpses lying like discarded bundles of dhobying. He had laid two of them low himself on that charge from the gully. Yesterday. Was that all it had been?
Dago Trent chuckled. ‘They brought round some more grub in the night, Sarge. This billet’ll suit me proper!’
The other marine, a new recruit called Vicary, asked, ‘You reckon them buggers’ll come for us today, Sergeant?’
Greenaway thought about it. ‘Likely, I’d say. They’ve got everythin’ to lose by stayin’ put. ‘Side which they may be gettin’ short o’ rations like we was.’ Poor little sod, he thought. He’d done well this far, but he was still green and needed more time.
Dago Trent hissed, ‘Officer comin’!’
Greenaway tensed. It was the second lieutenant. He would watch his tongue. Inspect every word before he let it go.
He said smartly, ‘All’s well, sir.’
Ralf peered at the sentries. ‘Keep your eyes open.’ He turned to the younger man, ‘What’s your name?’
‘V-Vicary, sir.’ The young private had a stammer which showed itself when he was upset.
Greenaway tore his eyes away and stared over at the wall where Captain Blackwood’s horse had made such a fine leap. How could he and his cousin be so different?
Ralf said, ‘Well then, Private V-Vicary, you should know by now that when you’re on sentry-duty you’ll –’
Dago Trent said rudely, ‘He’s not been in
the Corps that long, sir.’
‘Hold your tongue! Is this what you allow, Sergeant?’ He stared at Greenaway who was still standing on the cartwheel and apparently excluding himself completely. ‘Pay attention, Sergeant!’
Greenaway hissed, ‘Quiet, everybody!’ He did not hear the officer’s furious exclamation. ‘Somethin’ wrong. I think, no, I’m certain that one o’ them corpses ‘as moved.’
‘Don’t be such a blithering idiot, Sergeant!’ It suddenly hit him what Greenaway had said. ‘It’s absurd, you’re seeing things!’
Absurd is it, you little maggot. Aloud Greenaway muttered, ‘Look, fifty yards. By them torn sandbags.’
Ralf peered blankly into the shadows. ‘You must be mistaken!’ But his voice lacked conviction this time.
A soft breeze moved one of the corpse’s clothing and Ralf added, ‘See that? It’s what you saw just now, right?’
‘Wrong.’ Greenaway could barely control his breathing. He added, ‘Sir.’
‘Why don’t you go and see?’ Ralf was confused.
Dago Trent asked, ‘Why don’t you, sir?’
Greenaway barked, ‘Cut it out, Dago!’ Trent usually managed to go just that bit too far.
‘I’ll see that you regret this, Trent! Don’t forget we come under the Army Discipline Act here, a bit of field punishment might teach you to show respect for your betters!’
Greenaway could see the danger. It could go right through his platoon like the pox.
He said heavily, ‘You’re ordering me to go, sir, is that it?’
Greenaway’s sudden challenge took Ralf off-balance, but not for long.
‘Yes, I bloody well am!’
‘Suits me.’ Greenaway picked up his rifle and climbed on to the barricade. As Trent made to follow he said, ‘You stay. Cover me.’ He glanced at the youth. ‘You come with me, Private Vicary.’ He grinned although he knew he was acting foolishly, out of anger. ‘An’ no stutterin’, see?’ He did not even glance at the second lieutenant. ‘It’s not respectful.’
The youth grinned. ‘I’m with you, Sarge!’ He blushed in the gloom. He was not that much a veteran yet. ‘I mean Sergeant.’
The First to Land (1984) Page 21