by V. A. Stuart
“Were you wounded recently, sir?” he enquired, feeling the need to change the topic of conversation.
The Colonel nodded. “A Cossack sabre all but severed this arm at Akhaltzick—I was there with General Guyon in the winter of eighteen-fifty-three. That was a battle, my young friend!” He laughed and, in high good humour again, attacked his food with gusto. “I should like to tell you of it but you have not come here to listen to me boasting of old campaigns or singing the praises of General Guyon, have you?”
“Alas, no, sir. As I told you, I have been sent here to request the presence of Serfir Pasha at Ghelenjik and if you could advise me where I may find him, then I—”
“We see action, with Serfir and his Circassians,” the Colonel said, as if Phillip had not spoken. “This wound of mine, concerning which you kindly enquired, was from a Russian musket ball, two—no, almost three weeks ago. Just when I had begun to recover the full use of my arm, as ill luck would have it!” He took a long draught of his wine. “By comparison with the campaigns of Schamyl and General Guyon these are, of course, mere skirmishes but . . . we harass the enemy and give him no peace. Not perhaps on the scale your Admiral envisages, although we have our successes.” He described the type of fighting in vivid detail and Phillip listened, picking at his goat’s meat in an effort to hide his growing impatience and waiting for an opportunity to broach the question of how he and his party could best make contact with Serfir Pasha. Time, he was aware, was slipping by, and Cochrane would be wondering at the delay . . . he stole a surreptitious glance at his watch. He would need Colonel Gorak’s help, if he were to find the Pasha, but Colonel Gorak, in his present mood, was not to be hurried . . .
The opportunity he wanted came finally when his host, after refilling both their earthenware drinking cups, started to speak of the ambush of the Russian supply train on its way to Soujak which, it seemed, he had helped to plan. “I should have been there, had it not been for this accursed arm,” he said regretfully. “It is the biggest operation Serfir has undertaken, and I do not think he will abandon it, whatever inducements you may offer him. So why do you not wait here until he returns? You will be more comfortable and, I assure you, very welcome. You—”
“My orders are to make contact with His Excellency at the first possible opportunity, Colonel,” Phillip put in quickly. “How long do you anticipate that he will be away?”
The Polish Colonel shrugged. “Two or three days, perhaps. No longer—unless our spies have misinformed us as to when the supply train is due to leave Taman.”
“Spies, sir?” Phillip questioned.
“Of course . . . we have spies everywhere, in Kertch, in Yenikale, in Taganrog—even in Anapa itself. They are usually reliable. Occasionally they give us the wrong information but, if they do, it is because they have been bribed. It is possible that our information concerning the supply train is false but—”
“Do you mean that there may be no supply train?”
“Oh, there will be a supply train—Soujak is short of food and fresh water. But it may not come at the time or by the route we have been told that it will take.”
“Then, sir, if the information is not correct,” Phillip persisted, “what do you expect Serfir Pasha to do? Will he return here, do you suppose?”
The Colonel hesitated and then shook his head. “No, he will most probably wait—or set another ambush, if he can ascertain which way the supply train is coming.”
“Which might take him more than three days?”
“Perhaps. There is no way of knowing. His force is highly mobile, you understand, and—”
“And being mobile, such a force might well be hard to find, once it moves from its present position?” Phillip reasoned. Receiving a nod of assent, he went on, “You know its present position, do you not, Colonel?”
“I know where Serfir will make camp tonight, yes. But . . .” the little Colonel seemed about to argue. “It would be exceedingly unwise for you to venture in pursuit of him. You are a Giaour. Serfir’s men might mistake you for a Russian and—”
“I must take that risk.” His mind made up, Phillip got to his feet. “I must deliver my Admiral’s message, Colonel, and I should be grateful for any help you can give me.”
Colonel Gorak sighed. “What help, my impetuous young friend? You’ll want horses, of course—but for how many?”
“Four, sir. That is, I have an officer and two seamen with me, in addition to a dozen of Najib Bey’s men. I also have a case of Minié rifles and ammunition. Sir . . .” Phillip eyed his host expectantly. “If you can provide me with a guide and, perhaps, an interpreter, I could leave at once—although the interpreter may not be necessary because—”
“Because you speak Osmanli?”
“No, sir, only French. But Najib told me that Serfir had a daughter with him—a Christian girl, I imagine—who speaks French and some English.”
“Yes, she is here at this camp. But she has no English and her French is poor—you could not use her as an interpreter. In any case, she is of the Moslem faith, she would not be permitted to accompany you.” Colonel Gorak was frowning. “Did you not bring a guide, Commander? Did Najib not provide you with one?”
“His son Dafir acted as our guide, sir,” Phillip answered. “Unfortunately he left us when we met your cavalry patrol and we haven’t seen him since. He took a horse and dashed off on his own—I have no idea where he has got to. My men are searching for him but—”
“Dafir the Fearless One?” The Colonel’s frown vanished and he threw back his head with a guffaw of laughter. “That young gentleman is even more impetuous than you are, my dear boy! He will, by this time, be well on his way to join Serfir, in the hope of playing an active part in the ambush. It is a pity, in the circumstances, that he did not wait for you . . . he could have saved me a good deal of discomfort.”
“You sir? But—”
The old man clambered slowly and awkwardly to his feet. “I shall have to take you to Serfir myself, since you refuse to be sensible and wait here until he returns. There is no one else who can play the dual role of guide and interpreter . . . except Selina. She is not of the Moslem faith but, nevertheless, I could not permit her to accompany you alone.” He waved aside Phillip’s protests. “I can sit a horse, so do not concern yourself for me. I shall survive the journey, although I do not expect to enjoy it, and Serfir will be delighted if I help to bring him those Minié rifles! Right, then, it’s decided. My coat is there—be so good as to assist me into it. Yes, the sheepskin one . . . thank you.”
Phillip helped him don the heavy garment. “It is extremely good of you, sir. But are you sure that you are fit? You—”
“You have an English saying, do you not, about never looking a—what is it? Gift horse in the mouth?” The little Colonel thrust his bandaged arm under the sheepskin coat and smiled as Phillip fastened it for him. “Go and summon your sailors, Commander Hazard, whilst I choose horses and an escort. We must leave at once if we are to reach our destination before dark.”
He stumped out of the hut and Phillip hurried after him.
CHAPTER FOUR
Aparty of twelve left Serfir Pasha’s base camp half an hour later, all mounted and with the rifles and ammunition loaded on to two baggage ponies.
To Phillip’s surprise, the girl Selina accompanied them, so muffled in a thick sheepskin cloak and with a cap of the same material pulled down over her eyes that, at first, he did not recognize her. The slight feeling of apprehension her presence engendered in him swiftly changed to one of admiration, as he watched her riding at the head of the column beside the Colonel for, as he had proudly proclaimed, she handled her horse as well as any man. And, indeed, a good deal better than himself, Phillip reflected ruefully, when his shaggy mount stumbled over a loose stone and he only saved himself from an ignominious fall by grabbing wildly at the animal’s mane.
Anthony Cochrane, drawing level with him, grinned at his discomfiture and, gesturing to the small, dignifi
ed figure at the Colonel’s side, observed thoughtfully, “Dafir will need to look to his laurels if he tries to compete with that lad, don’t you think, sir?”
“That lad, Mr Cochrane,” Phillip told him, mindful of the grin, “is a young and very beautiful woman, I would have you know.”
“A woman?” Cochrane gasped incredulously. “And with us, carrying a rifle? I can’t believe it, sir. Why—”
“It’s the truth. Her name is Selina, she was educated at a convent school in Erzeroum, speaks English, French, and Osmanli and probably Polish as well, and is of the Christian faith. She is also, according to her husband, a capable nurse and she has campaigned with him for the past two years. She—”
“Her husband, sir?” Cochrane put in, sounding shocked. “You don’t mean the Colonel, do you—Colonel Gorak? For God’s sake, he’s old enough to be her father! I’ve heard the Turks like their women young but he’s a European, isn’t he? He told me he was Polish.”
“Yes, he is.” Phillip hesitated, wondering whether, after all, he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. The Colonel had not specifically stated that the girl was his wife; he had described her as “the joy of his heart” and his “most precious possession” but such descriptions could apply equally to a daughter or a wife and . . . Cochrane was right, he was old enough to be the father of a girl of eighteen.
“Well, possibly he is her father, Mr Cochrane,” he conceded and felt an odd tightness about his throat at the thought. It continued to haunt him, hour after hour, as they rode on, for all his efforts to banish it from his mind. He recalled his conversation with young Roberts and the uncompromising warning he had issued to his ship’s company and his resolution hardened. He had no right to think of any woman, he reminded himself, least of all one encountered fleetingly in such circumstances as these. He had his duty to do, he had Admiral Lyons’s orders to carry out and, as soon as he had completed his mission, he must return to his ship—as Lieutenant Roberts had also had to return—and to whatever fresh task might be awaiting him.
It grew colder as they climbed higher, following a track little wider than the one by which Dafir had led them the previous day but Phillip was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to worry unduly on this account. He let his horse have its head and pick its own way and the animal did not stumble again. The Colonel set a brisk pace, sitting hunched in his saddle and seldom looking back to ascertain how those who followed him were faring. His face was drained of colour, Phillip noticed when, during one of their infrequent halts, he caught a glimpse of it. Fearing that the gallant old man might have overtaxed his strength or be suffering pain from his wound, he ventured an enquiry, to which the only reply was a curt headshake and the immediate resumption of their journey. He did not ask again and maintained his silence even though, a little later, the Colonel dropped back, looking whiter than ever, and relinquished the lead to Selina. She slowed their pace a fraction—no doubt out of consideration for the Colonel—but, in spite of this, it was a tense, nerve-straining journey, the last two hours, as the light was fading, taking its toll of them all.
Erikson, who, on his own wry admission, had never ridden a horse before, was grey with fatigue; Cochrane confessed to suffering from vertigo and renewed shortness of breath and Phillip himself, although happier on horseback than on foot, was beginning once more to experience sharp twinges of pain from his old leg wound. Even the big, stoical Thompson, whilst he made no complaint, looked worn out and spoke very little, sitting his plodding pony like a statue. Concerned for his own party and still more so for Colonel Gorak, Phillip called out to Selina to suggest a brief rest, but she shook her head and gestured to the now rapidly darkening sky.
“Soon we shall descend, Commander Hazard,” she called back, over her shoulder, her English a trifle hesitant but with hardly a trace of accent. “We must make the descent while there is still some light. If we do not, then we must remain here during the night and it will be cold, because we are very high up, you understand.”
Reaching a point where the track widened, however, she drew rein and waited for him to catch up with her, and he realized then that she was leading the Colonel’s horse, as well as riding her own. The old man sat very erect in his saddle and seemed scarcely to be breathing, his eyes closed and his face deathly pale. Phillip looked at him anxiously.
“For his sake, ought we not to stop?”
“He told me to go on. Whatever happened to him, he said I was to go on.”
“Yes, but he is ill,” Phillip objected. “Is there nothing we can do for him?”
“He was ill when we set off,” Selina answered. “I told him that he should not attempt this journey, that he had not the strength, but he would not listen to me. It is on your account that he left his sick-bed, Commander Hazard—because of what you said to him. Could you not see how frail and weak he was?” Her dark eyes reproached him and Phillip met her gaze unhappily, aware that he deserved her censure.
“I am sorry,” he began. “I did not realize. I thought it was just his arm and because my mission is urgent, I—”
“It is done now.” There was a note of resignation in her voice.
“Do not blame yourself, Commander Hazard.” The Colonel roused himself, fumbling for a flask in his saddle-bow and Selina slipped swiftly to the ground and, unstrapping the flask, held it to his lips. He drank thirstily and then waved the girl away, addressing her impatiently in French. “I shall do what I have promised. Go on, Selina, I pray you.”
She bowed her head obediently. “Very well, Papa, if that is what you wish.”
Phillip heard her reply but its significance did not dawn on him until they resumed their journey, once more in single file. He had been wrong, he thought, and was warmed by the knowledge that the girl whose beauty had made so deep an impression on him was, after all, the old Colonel’s daughter and not his wife. But he said nothing; Cochrane was sunk in gloom, interested in little save his own acute discomfort and, as they rode on into the gathering darkness, Phillip’s brief elation faded. It did not matter, he told himself, it could make no difference to him whether Selina were wife or daughter. In a day or so, he would be on his way back to Ghelenjik and the chances of his ever seeing her again were remote.
An icy, north-east wind met them when they reached the head of the pass through which they had been travelling and they changed direction, in order to begin the descent into a rocky valley of which they could see little or nothing in the fading light. Phillip felt the cold seeping into his very bones despite the heavy sheepskin draped about him but Selina, seemingly unaffected by either wind or height, led them unhesitatingly on. One of the Circassians, on her instructions, dismounted and, giving his reins to one of his fellows, climbed up behind the Colonel, who had now slumped over his horse’s shaggy neck and appeared to be barely conscious.
There was no sign of a camp in the valley below, no flickering bivouac fires and Phillip began to wonder uneasily, as his horse slithered on the steep slope, how much farther they had still to go. He did not ask but, as if she had sensed his uneasiness, Selina pulled up to wait for him and, when he drew level with her, she pointed to where, far below them, he could just discern what looked like a road, snaking its way westwards in the direction of the coast.
“That is the route by which the Russian supply trains usually come,” she told him. “Serfir Pasha will have made camp above the road, on both sides . . .” her arm went out, indicating first a patch of thick woodland, a mile or so to their right, and then what Phillip could only suppose was a fold in the ground or a narrow ravine, running at right angles to it. “The men sleep on the bare ground, each one with his rifle beside him and his horse tethered nearby, and they do not light fires. The Russians have become cautious, you understand, for they have been attacked many times. Lately they have taken to sending Cossack patrols to scout the route—days before the supply train is due. Our men remain hidden and do not molest them for, if the patrols did not return to report the road clear, the supp
lies would not be sent.”
“Then Serfir Pasha may have to wait a long time?” Phillip suggested. To his relief, the girl shook her head.
“No,” she answered, kneeing her horse forward. “He has his own scouts, as well as men paid to spy on the Muscov garrisons from inside. He does not take his main force into position for an ambush until it is reasonably certain that the train will come through within two or three days. It is cold in these mountains, even in summer, Commander Hazard—too cold for men who must sleep on the bare ground without fires. Often they must wait above the snow-line, so that the patrols do not suspect their presence.” She talked on, telling him of Circassian raids on isolated garrisons, and of running battles with large bodies of Russian troops sent to subdue the rebellious mountaineers, whose villages they occupied and held to ransom in an attempt to weaken their resistance.
Her understanding of the military tactics involved astonished Phillip but, he supposed, recalling Colonel Gorak’s conversation with him earlier, the old man—having no one else to whom he could talk—probably gave her chapter and verse of every action in which he had been engaged.
“You speak with authority, mademoiselle,” he said. “No doubt the Colonel, your father, recounts the details of all his campaigns to you?”
Selina Gorak turned to look at him, her lips parted in an odd little smile, at once amused and pitying, as if what he had said reflected little credit on his intelligence. “No,” she returned quietly. “I speak from—how do you say it in English? From personal knowledge, from experience, Commander Hazard.”
“But do you mean . . .” Phillip was stunned, staring incredulously into her lovely face which, beneath the high-crowned fur cap, still seemed to him the epitome of youthful purity and innocence. “You surely cannot mean that you have taken part in these raids and ambushes?”