by V. A. Stuart
“Then take it out for me, if you please,” Phillip requested.
“Me, sir? But”—the big Norwegian paled—“I’ve never done anything like this before, sir, never. I don’t know how.”
“You have your knife, man . . . heat the blade in the fire to cleanse it and then use the point.”
The seaman drew in his breath sharply but he obeyed, thrusting the knife blade deep into the glowing embers of the fire. “Perhaps Mr Cochrane—” he began.
Phillip glanced at Cochrane. Like the other occupants of the cave, his second-in-command was sleeping soundly, oblivious to what was happening and deaf to the voices a few feet from him. He looked very young in the firelight, young and vulnerable and, at that moment, very peaceful. It seemed inconsiderate to waken him, particularly since he probably had no more experience of removing musket balls from the human flesh in which they were embedded than Erikson had. There was Thompson, of course, but . . . Phillip shook his head. “Learn to take responsibility, Erikson,” he said with well simulated sternness, aware that Gunner’s Mate Thompson would relish this task no more than Erikson did. “You surely don’t wish to remain an AB throughout your service in the Royal Navy, do you? You are an educated man but if you are to merit promotion, you’ll have to accustom yourself to accept responsibility, you know.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Erikson acknowledged. He took his knife from the fire and stood staring down at the cooling blade in an agony of indecision. “I have never sought promotion, Commander Hazard,” he pointed out, his tone injured and faintly resentful. “I joined your English Navy because I have a hatred for the Russians and—”
“You’re wasting time,” Phillip put in curtly. He could feel a cold sweat breaking out on his brow and the palms of his hands were clammy. For no reason that he could have explained, he was determined that Selina should not be called upon to take the ball out for him but, if Erikson continued to argue, she would undoubtedly hear him and might well come over to ascertain what was amiss, and if she did . . . “For God’s sake, man!” he said impatiently. “If you can’t do as I ask, then waken the gunner’s mate. At least he can be relied on to obey orders when I give them.”
“I can do it, if you order me to, sir,” Erikson assured him. His blue eyes held an angry glint as he knelt, gripping the clasp-knife resolutely in his right hand.
Phillip tensed as the knife blade bit deep into the muscles of his thigh, sending a ripple of pain running through him and it took every vestige of self-control he possessed to stifle the cry which rose to his lips. Somehow, he managed to do so and, jamming his clenched fist against his mouth, he lay face downwards on the rocky floor of the cave without emitting a sound but the sweat pouring off him, so that he seemed to be immersed in a pool of ice-cold water.
Erikson made an unhandy surgeon. Fearful of damaging the surrounding tissue by making his cuts too swiftly, he hesitated and then, encouraged by his patient’s silence, started to gouge carefully and methodically in the direction which the musket ball had taken, using the point of his knife somewhat in the manner of a corkscrew. His progress was slow and, by the time he reached the object of his search, Phillip was almost at the end of his endurance and it required a tremendous effort of will not to scream his agony aloud.
“I’ve found it, sir!” Erikson announced triumphantly. “I’ve found it . . .” forgetful of his earlier caution, he thrust the knife-point hard against the sphere of metal in a clumsy and unsuccessful endeavour to lever it out. But the bullet was evidently deeply embedded and, after three more abortive attempts to dislodge it, he too, was sweating profusely. “I’ll give it one more try,” he muttered, more to himself than to Phillip. “If it doesn’t come this time, I . . .” the knife went in again but still the lump of flattened metal eluded him and he swore, loudly and despairingly. “I can’t, sir . . . before God, I can’t! I’m no surgeon and I can’t see what I’m doing.”
Phillip let a smothered groan escape him as he heard the knife clatter to the ground and Erikson moved away, retching his heart out. Then, coming from what seemed a great distance, another voice said something he could not catch and gentle hands replaced the rough, awkward ones of the unfortunate Erikson. There was a metallic click and the pain ceased, to be succeeded by a dull ache which, by comparison, was not unpleasant.
“The ball is removed,” Selina’s voice stated reassuringly. “I will dress the wound for you and you must try to sleep. Now . . . this will hurt a little but it is necessary, to make sure that the wound is clean.”
Phillip felt a sharp, stinging pain, as liquid was splashed about his injured leg but this sensation quickly passed and thankfully he let himself relax and slowly sink into unconsciousness as the gentle hands moved soothingly about his weary, tortured body and Selina softly bade him sleep . . .
He wakened to find Cochrane bending over him, looking worried but his young second-in-command’s expression turned to one of relief when he sat up and greeted him quite cheerfully.
“My God, sir, you gave me a scare,” Cochrane confessed, when his enquiries as to his commander’s health had been reassuringly answered. “Poor Erikson is still in quite a state, too—he was as sick as a dog for most of the night, I gather. And to think I slept through it all and didn’t hear a thing!” He shook his tousled red head in frank bewilderment. “The Pasha was asking after you and—”
“Oh, Lord, where is he?” Recalled to his duty, Phillip looked at him apprehensively. “We’ve got to get him to Ghelenjik in the next two days, Mr Cochrane, and—”
“Don’t worry, sir, he’s ready and willing,” Cochrane put in eagerly. “He hasn’t gone far away—just to the ravine, to see if there’s any plunder the Russians have left and to help Dafir bring in his gun. They’ll be back by nightfall, I understand. I let Thompson go along with them, sir—partly to inspect the gun and see if it could be adapted to the Circassians’ use and partly because I thought you’d want him to keep an eye on Serfir.” Phillip nodded his approval and he grinned. “Do you feel like eating anything, sir? I’m afraid it’s still goat but . . . Selina said I was to persuade you to eat, if I could.”
“I need no persuasion, Mr Cochrane.”
“Right, sir, I’ll see what I can rustle up for you.” Cochrane’s grin widened. “I take it you won’t be averse to some coffee either?”
“Not at all averse. In fact I . . . what time is it?” Phillip looked round but, in the dim light of the cave, it was impossible to tell night from day. There were a few men squatting about the fire but he himself, he realized, had been moved to the far end of the cave and now lay on a couch of skins as the Colonel had lain when . . . he caught at Cochrane’s sleeve, as memory flooded back. “What about Colonel Gorak?” he asked apprehensively.
Cochrane’s smile faded abruptly. “He’s still hanging on, sir, but he’s not conscious and Selina says he’s not in pain. She’s with him now and I think she’s fallen asleep. I didn’t disturb her, although she said I was to tell her when you woke up. She’s exhausted, sir, and just about at the end of her tether. And it’s”—he took out his pocket watch—“four-fifteen in the afternoon, sir.”
“And the date?”
Cochrane frowned. “I fancy it’s the eleventh or twelfth of May, sir.”
He went off in search of food and Phillip lay back on his softly yielding couch. He must have slept for over twelve hours, he realized, which doubtless accounted for the fact that he felt almost himself again. And that was just as well, since half his allotted limit of ten days had now expired and he would have to leave for Ghelenjik with Serfir first thing next morning . . . pray heaven he could still walk! He flung off the skin rug which covered him and gingerly inspected his right thigh. It was heavily bandaged but the bandage was clean and free from any ominous stains and, although it felt stiff, he had little difficulty in flexing it. It would probably take his weight if he stood up, he decided, and subjected it to a cautious test, elated to discover that the leg gave him no pain, apart from its accus
tomed ache. When Cochrane returned, accompanied by a Circassian, bearing two steaming bowls and a brass jug of coffee, Phillip limped across to meet them.
“Selina didn’t think you’d be able to use that leg for a couple of days, sir,” Cochrane said doubtfully. “Ought you to try? I mean, sir, you—”
“I shall have to be able to use both my legs by tomorrow, Mr Cochrane. We cannot delay our departure any longer, you know.”
“No, sir, I realize that.” Cochrane set down his burden and Phillip motioned him to seat himself on the couch. The contents of the bowl smelt appetizing and so, too, did the coffee and they both fell-to with a will. It was good to be hungry again, Phillip thought, wryly recalling his nausea of the previous evening, when faced by a similar meal to the one he was now enjoying.
“Where’s Erikson?” he enquired, setting down his bowl at last with a satisfied sigh.
“He was helping Selina with her father, the last time I saw him, sir.” Cochrane half rose. “Yes, he’s there still but I think he’s asleep—shall I get him, sir?”
Phillip shook his head. “No, don’t bother—I’ll have a word with him later. I owe him an apology for what I ordered him to do last night.”
“I don’t think he expects one, sir.”
“Don’t you? Why not?”
Cochrane’s eyes were on his coffee cup. “Well, sir, he told me he was very grateful to you. I couldn’t quite follow his— well, his reasoning, but he said you’d shown him how to accept responsibility and he seemed pretty pleased that he’d been able to . . . though why he should be when, according to Selina, he damned nearly killed you I don’t pretend to understand.” Phillip grunted and the younger man went on, still avoiding his gaze, “Another thing puzzles me, sir. I know it’s none of my business but—” he broke off, his freshly shaven cheeks a trifle pink. “I beg your pardon, sir—I shouldn’t ask.”
“Ask away, Mr Cochrane,” Phillip invited. “But before you do—I need a shave very badly and I observe that you’ve managed to have one. Could you procure me the means, do you suppose, so that I can follow your example?”
“Yes, of course, sir. I’ll only be a moment.” He was as good as his word and, when he returned with a bowl of warm water and a razor, Phillip thankfully set to work to remove the four-day growth of unsightly stubble from his cheeks. “Well?” he encouraged. “What did you want to ask me, Mr Cochrane? I’m listening.”
“It’s about Selina Gorak, sir,” Cochrane told him, his expression now carefully blank. “I was wondering . . . if the Colonel dies, we can’t just abandon her here, can we?”
Phillip sighed. The question of Selina’s future was one he would gladly have evaded—he had not, as yet, been able to give the matter the thought it required—but, faced by Cochrane’s perfectly reasonable enquiry, he knew that he would have to reach a decision and reach it very soon. “The Colonel,” he said slowly, “asked me to be responsible for her, Mr Cochrane—he asked me last night, in the conviction that he was dying. I promised that I would do all in my power to see that his wishes concerning her were carried out—I could hardly refuse, in the circumstances, although heaven knows, my power is very limited.” He scraped glumly at his chin with the latherless razor and then set it down, looking up to meet his young second-in-command’s anxious gaze. “Colonel Gorak told me that he did not wish Selina to be left here alone, in the event of his wounds proving mortal, so . . . it looks as if we shall have to take her to Ghelenjik with us.”
Cochrane looked relieved. “I’m glad about that, sir,” he admitted.
“Are you, Mr Cochrane?” Phillip’s tone was wry.
He sighed and levered himself up from his couch. “Let’s walk a little in the fresh air, shall we? I fancy it would be as well if I were to exercise this leg of mine, in preparation for tomorrow’s journey. If we are to return by the route Dafir chose to get us here, then I cannot afford to run the risk of falling by the wayside.”
Cochrane offered his arm. “If you’re not fit to undertake the journey, sir,” he said diffidently, “you may rely on me to take your place. Perhaps if you had a couple of days more in which to recover you’d find it less of a strain.”
“Thank you, Mr Cochrane.” Phillip eyed him with real affection as he accepted the proffered arm.
They walked together towards the entrance to the cave, pausing for a moment in silence before the Colonel’s couch. He was still deeply unconscious, Phillip observed pityingly, and he signed to Cochrane to move on. Selina was sleeping the sleep of the utterly exhausted, her head resting on her hands and her face hidden from his gaze and neither she nor Erikson, who was stretched out close beside her, even stirred at the sound of his limping footsteps.
It was evident, even to a cursory glance, that the sands of Colonel Gorak’s life were running low and Cochrane said, as they emerged into the fading afternoon sunlight, “He cannot be moved, can he, sir? And if we sent a surgeon from Ghelenjik, he would not be able to get here in time.” It was more a statement than a question and Phillip regretfully confirmed it. “Yet he still holds on,” Cochrane mused. “Poor old man! It seems very sad, somehow, that he should die here, away from his own people, does it not? But at least he’ll go out in a blaze of glory, so far as Serfir’s Circassians are concerned.”
Which, no doubt, was what Jan Gorak would have wanted, Phillip thought although, for Selina’s sake, perhaps . . . he bit back a sigh as Cochrane went on, “It seems, sir, that he did get across the ravine to warn Serfir about the guns the Russians had concealed in that supply train, or so Yusef told me. Yusef’s French isn’t too easy to understand, but from what I could gather, the Colonel ran into the Cossack rearguard, when he was on his way to rejoin us.”
“That’s what he was trying to do, was it? I wondered how they came to get on his trail.” Phillip frowned. “It was a pity Serfir didn’t stop him.”
“Yes, sir,” Cochrane agreed. “He’d have been all right if he had stayed with Serfir’s cavalry, because they all moved out of the line of fire and they suffered very few casualties, as a result of the Colonel’s warning.”
Phillip smiled, without amusement. “‘An exile and a mercenary in the service of an Oriental power’ . . . that was how he described himself to me, you know. But he’s of the stuff from which heroes are made—let us hope the Oriental power he served will remember him and his like, when the war is over.”
“The Circassians will remember him, sir.”
“And so shall I, Mr Cochrane.” Phillip took out his watch. “We’ve about another hour of daylight. Let us make a leisurely ascent of that hill to our left, shall we, and see if there’s any sign of Serfir’s return?”
Serfir did not, however, make his appearance until long after darkness had fallen and those in the cave had already partaken of their evening meal. He and his officers flung themselves wearily down beside the fire but they looked not ill-pleased with their day’s work and Thompson reported to Phillip that, in terms of plunder, they had salvaged one damaged and one workable field-gun, a quantity of rifles and ammunition, and about a score of horses from the wreckage of the Russian train.
“And the Russians went back the way they’d come, sir,” the gunner’s mate added, with satisfaction. “They took their dead and wounded with them, so there was no way of judging what casualties they suffered—but they weren’t light and they didn’t wait to blow up all the ammunition they abandoned. We buried twenty-three Circassians, sir.”
Not a victory, Phillip thought as he dismissed Thompson for his well-earned meal, but still not the ghastly shambles it might have been and it was to be hoped that Serfir would be content. He waited, with what patience he could muster, for the Circassian leader to finish his meal, glancing occasionally across to where Selina—who had wakened from her exhausted sleep a short while ago—was attending to her father. Erikson was with her, fetching and carrying for her, and he did not disturb them, aware that his reluctance to do so stemmed from his own conscience-stricken failure to reach a
definite decision concerning her. He continued to wrestle with his conscience, returning monosyllabic answers to Cochrane’s cheerful chatter over a shared jug of strong, sweet, black coffee which, at least, served the purpose of keeping him awake.
Yusef presented himself, twenty minutes or so later, with a message from his father. “He says,” the tall, young Circassian told him, in his slow, carefully enunciated French, “that he will be ready to accompany you to Ghelenjik tomorrow, in order that he may hold council with Mustapha Pasha and the other chiefs . . . if you are sufficiently recovered to make the journey.”
“Tell His Excellency that I am,” Phillip answered, without hesitation. “And that we can leave at any hour he wishes tomorrow.”
Yusef, his message delivered, became less formal. He gestured to Phillip’s leg. “My father feels concern for you.”
“He need not, I assure you. I have been exercising outside, with Mr Cochrane, for over an hour. I am quite fit and—”
“Nevertheless, monsieur, it is a long journey and my father intends to make it on horseback, with a body of his cavalry— a sufficiently large body to attack any Muscov patrols which may be encountered on the road. He will follow the coast road, which passes behind the fort at Soujak, thus—” he squatted on his heels and, with the hilt of his dagger, drew a crude map on the powdering of earth on the cave floor. “You see? He will descend to the foothills and join the road at this point, three miles north-west of Soujak. It is possible that patrols may be met with and, if they should be . . .” his gesture was explicit and Phillip stared at him in dismay. This was a complication he had not anticipated and he knew that he must do all in his power to dissuade Serfir from any diversion calculated to delay him. He caught at Yusef’s arm.