Flight From the Eagle (19 page)

As he progressed up the line, he was surprised how many of the men said they were glad to see him back in his place. 'Didn't seem right, Your Excellency, not seeing you up front there on your big grey,' was the general verdict. Orlov was touched and also concerned to see how white and exhausted some of them looked.

When he reached the second cart, he found that Sergeant Platov and the corporal were both asleep—genuinely this time. Countess Barova looked unusually dishevelled and her head drooped wearily. He rode close alongside and said, 'Sparrow?' in a gentle, enquiring voice.

She looked at him, startled, and he saw that her face was quite white under its coating of dust and there were streaks in the dirt on her cheeks as if she had been crying. He looked at her, frowning with concern, and she dropped her eyes under his scrutiny, turning her face away. 'I—it's so hot,' she said in an unsteady voice.

Orlov leaned over and prodded Sergeant Platov awake. 'Take over driving this cart,' he said. 'Can't, you see that the Countess is tired out?' He sounded furious and Platov scrambled awkwardly onto the box, apologizing profusely and looking quite frightened. The Countess surrendered the reins to him and shifted along the box out of his way.

Orlov rode close up alongside and reached across, put his arm round her and lifted her over to sit in front of him on the horse in the same position as when he carried her across the river. He nearly unseated himself in the process but once he had her safely, he held her close, not worrying this time about where his arm was pressing. She leaned against him with her face hidden in the frill of his shirt.

He urged his horse forward and resumed his place at the head of the procession of carts, passing Josef's vehicle with no more than 'We'll be stopping soon' because he wanted to remove himself from the curious looks and sharp ears of the men. Once he was well ahead again, he bent his head and tried to see Countess Barova's face, but it was still hidden. 'What is it, pet?' he asked. 'Are you ill?'

She lifted her head and moved a tiny fraction away from him. 'No,' she replied. 'It's nothing. It's just so hot and ... and ... oh, nothing.'

'You mustn't let those two great idle men bully you into driving all the time,' he said, frowning with concern.

'They don't bully me!' she protested. 'Sergeant Platov's shoulder hurts him when he tries to drive, and the corporal can't sit on the box properly with his wounded foot. They're very kind really.'

'So kind that they let you sit there and cry with fatigue without even noticing?' Orlov still sounded angry.

She made a hopeless little gesture with one hand and did not reply. Orlov pulled her close against him almost roughly and rode along in silence, still scowling. He saw, looking ahead, that the arch of trees over the road framed a view of open country as the belt of forest they had travelled through all day came to an end.

In a few minutes, they emerged from the shade of the trees into, the full glare of the sun and ahead stretched an expanse of meadowland, with large fields of rye or oats further away and another belt of forest black beyond them. The road went on through a village about a mile ahead, but there was no sign of life in it or its surroundings, no smoke from the little wooden houses, no animals or people in the fields.

Orlov twisted in the saddle to shout to the men behind him and turned off to the left, where a brook came out of the forest and ran downhill through the gentle slope of grass towards the village. 'We'll stop here,' he said to the Countess. 'I, for one, can't face a scorching out there on a day like this. Anyway, it's quite two hours since we started and that's long enough in this weather.'

She sighed and he let go of the reins, allowing the grey to amble along towards the water and put his hand under her chin, tilting her face up so that he could look at it properly. He inspected it minutely, seeing the little lines of strain round her eyes, the dark smudges under them, the paleness of her cheeks and lips, tear-stains and the slight tremble of her mouth. 'Oh, Sparrow! You look
terrible!'
he said and her eyes filled with tears.

He found himself kissing her lips very gently before he realized what he was doing. The next
moment the creaking of protesting timbers behind him warned him that the carts were coming up. He took a firm grip round her waist to lower her to the ground, telling her very severely to go and rest in the shade and not allow anyone to give her anything to do. To his surprise, she smiled a little as he said it.

As he dismounted, Kolnie
v came up, mopping his red face, which was liberally streaked with dirt. 'Thank God for that!' he said, pushing his bandage crooked. 'I thought I'd melt if we had to cross that furnace today!' He gestured towards the open country.

'We'll have to cross it tomorrow,' Orlov warned him. 'We shouldn't hang about too much in case of trouble. I wish I knew when (and if) the French left Smolensk.'

Kolniev frowned. ‘I’
m afraid I tend to forget about them,' he admitted. 'There seems to be so much to think about when we camp and on the road I go off into a sort of trance, what with the heat and the dust. I almost forget why we're here and where we're going at times. It feels as if we've been driving along this road all our lives.'

Orlov admitted that he felt the same sometimes. 'Just imagine what it would be like if we were
condemned to go on doing it for
ever!' he said.

CHAPTER TEN

A little while later the three officers and Countess Barova gravitated together under a large oak tree near the stream. From its shade, they could look out over the rather leisurely activity of the camp where the cooks were languidly beginning to prepare the evening meal even though it was still afternoon. Most of the men had finished their particular duties for the time being and were stretched out in the shade of the carts or the trees on the edge of the forest. Beyond the two tents, which were pitched under another large tree, Josef could be seen washing linen in the stream.

The more distant prospect was of the fields and the village and still there was no sign of life anywhere. Just within the far belt of woodland could be seen the roof of a large house, probably the home of the local landowner, but again there was no smoke rising, no sound or sign of activity.

The sky above the trees had a leaden hue, more ominous than the brassy blue which had predominated for so many days and Orlov, looking at it, wondered how soon the storm it presaged would arrive. He glanced covertly at the Countess and wondered if she had noticed the storm clouds—they were not really more than a distant threat so far.

He saw that she looked a little less near to collapse after washing and tidying herself and that her hair was now hanging in a thick plait down her back. 'Has your last hairpin been commandeered?' he asked.

She smiled. 'Yes, I'm afraid so.'

'Very useful things,' commented Kolniev. 'I'd no idea how many jobs they could be used for.'

Orlov lapsed into a sleepy reverie, going back over the old problem of what the French were doing. He suddenly gave a grin of amusement.

'What's funny?' asked Kusminsky, interested.

'I was just thinking,' he replied. 'Bonaparte may have had a more successful military career than I have, but my French accent is better than his.'

'Have you heard him speak?' asked Kolniev.

'Yes. I was at Tilsit when he met the Czar. He has an atrocious Italian accent.'

'At Tilsit! Then you've seen the Czar?' The Countess sounded very impressed. Orlov looked at her with surprise. 'Dozens of times,' he replied and it occurred to him that she probably had no idea of the significance of his white, silver and red-braided uniform.

'The Major is an officer of the Chevalier Guard, and a Staff officer as well,' Kolniev explained earnestly, in a respectful tone. The Countess looked embarrassed. 'I'm sorry. I didn't know,' she almost whispered.

'No reason why you should,' Orlov replied.

'And what does His Majesty call you?' asked Kusminsky in his most provocative manner. Orlov refused to let it ruffle him, and replied equably, 'It depends what sort of mood he's in. If he's feeling affable, it's Lev Petrovitch; if he's bad-tempered, it's Major Er; and if he's being brisk and efficient, it's plain Orlov.' Kusminsky laughed.

'Are you very important?' the Countess asked, looking anxious and subdued. Orlov puzzled over the question, even as he answered it.

'No, not very. I was born with a few undeserved advantages, but they tend to make me what Kusminsky would call a parasite on the body politic'

'I'd say no such thing!' Kusminsky protested. 'I wouldn't dream of using such a stupid expression! You make me sound like a damned Jacobin!'

'Aren't you?' asked Orlov, with an innocent expression and the surgeon snorted.

Kolniev embarked on a long and very earnest explanation
of the position and duties of a Staff officer and of the Chevalier Guard, to which the Countess listened with every appearance of interest. Kusminsky clearly found it boring, and insisted on changing the dressing on Orlov's arm in spite of his protests. By the time it had been done and the arm had settled down sufficiently to be bearable, supper was ready.

After the meal, Orlov persuaded the Countess to go to bed and she seemed somehow grateful for his concern. When she had gone, he asked Kusminsky if he thought her strength was being overtaxed. 'She looks so white and tired and unhappy,' he said.

'What do you expect?' asked Kusminsky. 'She's been uprooted from a very quiet, dull life; she's lost her home; her only relative has died, suddenly, in very difficult circumstances and she was left with the dead body and no one to help her—all the servants had run off with the French on the doorstep. She's helped me dress wounds that probably turn her sick; she's spent a week in the company of rough soldiers, with no other woman for companionship; she's no privacy, her modesty outraged in all directions; and she has no idea what is to become of her—no money, no home, no one to turn to. On top of that, there's the heat and the strain of the journey, quite apart from whatever emotional upheavals she's experiencing. What the hell do you expect her to look like? The latest Paris fashion plate?'

Orlov let the tirade pass and when Kusminsky had subsided, he said quietly, 'I only wondered if perhaps it was asking too much for her to drive a cart. She seems rather frail.'

'Frail, fiddlesticks!' replied Kusminsky crabbily. 'She's all right physically, apart from
being tired. If she becomes ill,
it'll be because she's worried and unhappy and you may well concern yourself about that!' He went off muttering something about going to bed early and disappeared into his tent.

'He's tired,' Kolniev said. 'He doesn't mean to be bad-tempered.'

'We'd be in a bad state without him,' Orlov replied. He changed the subject by asking Kolniev about the supply situation and they spent some time discussing it, then both de
cided
to turn in as the heat made them feel as drained of energy as anyone.

It was still extremely sultry and nightfall had not brought much of a drop in the temperature. The atmosphere was so still and heavy that Orlov felt that the storm could not be long coming.

When he entered the tent, he found that the Countess was fast asleep so he made his own preparations for the night as quickly and quietly as he could. He lay down on top of his bedding, for it was far too hot to have even a single blanket over him. When he had blown out the candle, he lay for some time looking out through the tent door across the open country and thought he could see the distant flicker of sheet lightning.

Later in the night, he was woken by a flash of white light and a distant rumble which he thought at first was cannon fire. He sat up, still confused and half asleep. He realized that it was thunder approaching rapidly and felt chilly. He stood up, feeling for a blanket, which he draped round him rather awkwardly, and was about to lie down again when a second flash of lightning showed him that the Countess was sitting up, her hands over her face. The flash was quickly over, but it -left him with a vivid impression of her terror and in the darkness which followed, while the thunder rumbled and crashed nearer still, he stumbled over and knelt beside her, putting his arm round her shoulders.

She turned to him, hiding her face against his shoulder. He was still desperately sleepy and after a second's hesitation, he hitched the blanket round to enfold her as well as himself, lying down with her in the circle of his good arm. She shrank against him as the thunder boomed again and the first heavy drops of rain began to patter on the canvas and the leaves of the trees.

The crashing thunder became almost continuous and the lightning came in a series of blinding flashes, each of which seemed to make her press more closely against him, trembling with fear. He held her as close as he could and after a few minutes he felt her hand on his chest, apparently trying to cling to him, but it slid across his bare skin without finding anything to grip, and eventually came to rest under him.

The storm roared overhead and gradually passed further away, continuing to rumble and flash in the near distance for a considerable time. Orlov kept thinking that he ought to return to his own side of the tent but each time he made up his mind to do so, there was another roar, still quite close. After a time, he realized that the tense body of the Countess had relaxed and the soft stir of her breath on his skin had become regular. There seemed little point in waking her if she had fallen asleep, so he lay still, soon drifting off to sleep himself.

When he became conscious again, he was at first aware of the sound of rain and felt warm and comfortable. As long as he could remember, he had enjoyed the feeling of being snug in a comfortable bed while the rain poured down outside. He gave a luxurious squirm at the thought of it, then gradually became more aware of where he was. It was light, but still very early. The rain was falling steadily on the tent.

Despite the hardness of the ground
,
he felt pleasantly comfortable, largely due to the fact that the slender body of Countess Barova was still pressed closely against him, with her head on his shoulder and her soft, heavy plait of hair lying across his chest. He lay still, wondering what on earth he should do and was forced to smile to himself. This was certainly the first time he had ever found himself in bed with a woman and had to wonder what he should do about it! But then, none of the others had been like this one. He was sure that he was the first man who had ever held her like this and it made him feel a protective tenderness for her.

She stirred and wriggled even closer to him, her arm tightening round his waist in a little hug. Then she woke properly and started up, her eyes wide with shock.

'There was a thunderstorm,' Orlov said in his most matter-of-fact tone. 'By the time it passed, you were asleep and I fell asleep too.' As he spoke, he withdrew his arm, removed himself neatly to his own side of the tent and rolled himself in his remaining blanket. 'It's all right,' he assured her. 'Nothing happened.'

She was silent for a few minutes, and then said in a choking
voice, 'Whatever must you think of me----'

'I think you were very frightened. What else could I do?
Turn over and go to sleep again, leaving you to die of fright? Forget about it.'

She lay down and was quiet and Orlov listened to the rain for a while, then said conversationally, 'It looks as if we're in for a wet day. Be careful not to touch the tent when you get up or the wet will come through.' She murmured something, then there was a long, awkward silence.

Orlov huddled under his blanket, watching the rain through the door of the tent and thinking about her. He had a curious feeling in the pit of his stomach as if something momentous were happening to him, something of very great importance but he wasn't sure what it was. How could he convince her that he didn't think badly of her?

He knew very well that it wasn't because she had been afraid that she sounded so ashamed—it was because she had clung to him, going to sleep in his arms and she was afraid he would think----He said, in a voice which sounded to him quite unlike his own, very gentle and sincere, 'If you really want to know what I think of you—I admire and respect you more than any other woman I've ever known.'

She gave a gasp. After that, there didn't seem anything else he could say so he closed his eyes and dropped into a doze until it was time to get up.

When Josef arrived, he suggested that his master should be shaved and dressed under an awning which had been put up between a couple of nearby trees. Orlov went out, clutching his clothes and accoutrements and then turned back to advise the Countess to wear his cloak. She thanked him gravely and he stood for a moment, awkwardly bent over, his greatcoat and other things dragging on his good arm and cold rivulets running down his bare back, looking anxiously at her. After a moment, she smiled and said 'You'll get wet'. He returned the smile and ran off through the pouring rain to the improvised shelter.

The orderlies produced some more boxes as the ground was too wet to sit on and presently Kolniev and Kusminsky joined Orlov. They sat in a row, gloomily contemplating the rain.

'Looks as if it could go on for
ever,' observed Kolniev. 'Better than yesterday's heat,' Orlov replied.

'We'll have to find shelter,' Kusminsky said. 'We're not a normal army on the march, we're a moving hospital. If these men get soaked, there'll be fe
ver and inflammation of the lu
ngs to add to our troubles. Most of
them haven't adequate clothi
ng and the awnings won't keep them dry. I suggest that alter breakfast one of you goes over to the big house there to Bee if we can lay up in it or its barns until the weather improves.'

They both agreed and rose to their feet as the Countess arrived. She was wearing Orlov's voluminous black cloak which was so long on her that it touched the ground and she had to hold it bunched up a little. Orlov stood smiling down at her and said, 'It goes round you twice,' pulling the edge over and round her to demonstrate and took her plait of hair, winding it round her white throat. Kusminsky observed the look on his face, caught Kolniev's eye, and winked.

'Bad storm last night,' he said. 'Did it worry you very much, Countess?'

She blushed and looked acutely embarrassed. Orlov cut in quickly, 'She was scared half to death, so don't remind her of it!' and the subject was not mentioned again.

The cooks had done wonders in getting their fire to burn well and Orlov ran across to their kitchen area, under another awning, to praise them for their good sense in keeping their stock of firewood covered in anticipation of the rain. They assured him that they always covered it as heavy dew was almost as bad as rain.