Russian series 03 - The Eagle's Fate (3 page)

Looking at the dirty, strained faces, she saw no on who looked king, no one who had a pitying glance to spare for anyone else. All of them were engrossed in saving themselves and their own families and possessions. It was obvious that none of them was likely to allow a lone stranger to climb on to their overloaded vehicle, adding to their discomfort and wretchedness.

But she had to try. A cart lumbered past, going slowly, but with only two people on it, and it was not overloaded. The driver was a middle-aged man with his wife beside him, both dressed in decent, neat clothes—a small shopkeeper and his wife, perhaps—and the horse was quite a good one. Nadya hurried after the cart and managed to draw level with the driver.

‘Please!’ she cried desperately.

He glanced down at her, scowling, and jerked his arm at her, brusquely gesturing her to go away.

‘Please help me!’ she begged, but he slashed at her with his whip, the tip of it catching her painfully on her cheer, and stirred the horse into a lumbering trot for a few yards as she stumbled away, her eyes filling with tears of pain and shock.

No one else took the slightest notice. Nadya blinked away her tears and dragged herself on her way, her eyes on the dusty road before her feet, feeling utterly alone in the world and desperately worried.

Poor Luda! She had been a part of Nadya’s life as long as she could remember, growing 0lumper and more like a rosy wrinkled apple over the years. Trying and awkward at time, full of irrational fears and prejudices, but always loving, always comforting when her young mistress needed a shoulder to cry on, always ready to share her joys.

She had been ready to share the misfortunes, too. During these past five years she had been Nadya’s only help, going out to the market to buy food, making the little money available go as far as possible, so that at least they always had something nourishing to eat. She had cut and stitched away, helping Nadya to make clothes for them both out of odd lengths of cheap cloth, unpicking and turning garments grown shabby, and she had taken her share of washing and scrubbing in the fight again dirt and vermin.

Now she was gone, slipped away so quickly in that terrible crush on the bridge, and Nadya had not even seen her go, or even been aware of her loss when it happened. She remembered the weight which had dragged at her skirts, and wondered somberly if that had been Luda’s last desperate big to stay alive. She had not even looked to see, only fought to free herself! Sobbing, she prayed for poor Luda as her feet went on of their own accord, one painful step after another.

Eventually a stone found its way into her shoe, and she was forced to pull herself out of the haze of grief and do something about it. She limped across the grass verge and sat down at the base of yet another
verst
stone, pulled off the shoe and removed the stone. Pushing her sore, swollen foot back into the tight lather was agonizing , and when that was accomplished, Nadya felt too weary and hopeless to go one, but sat there, thinking of all the losses she had suffered in the past five years.

So short a time, really—little more than a fifth of her life, which had been so happy and comfortable before. And then, one after another, she had lost her brother, her mother, the fine houses, the jewels and the servants, all except Luda and her father’s valet.

It hadn’t mattered much at first, for her brother was little more than a stranger, and her mother was still alive, although in the other world within the convent walls. While her father was alive and they still had a little house of their own, she had not minded all that much doing without pretty clothes and balls and parties. But then her father died too, and there was nothing left but a small annuity and a few shabby pieces of furniture, most of her friends had disappeared from her life, either cutting her deliberately, or gradually passing out of touch as she became conscious of their embarrassment or coolness now that she could no longer afford to live as they did. There had only been Luda then, and now she was lost too, and there was no one to care what became of her.

Except Tatya Kalinskaya. She had never been cold or embarrassed, but had continued to be as concerned and open in her friendship as she had always been, and when Nadya’s pride would not permit her to do either, she had gone on writing, five or six times a year, friendly, warm letter, not offering embarrassing charity, but making it tactfully clear that Nadya would still be welcome to go to her if she changed her mind.

Please God, let her be at Ryazan now! If she was somewhere else, in Petersburg, perhaps, or on one of her other estates, or her brother’s…but that didn’t bear thinking about! Tatya was always at the Ryazan house in September! Every year, apart from the time when they were together at the Smolny Institute in Petersburg, and the brief, wretched period of Tatya’s marriage, every year she had spent August and September at Ryazan. She would be there! She must be!

Nadya coughed as another half-dozen waggons rumbled by in a bunch, sending the dust billowing, and pulled open her bundle of food, drank a mouthful of water from the canteen and ate a little bread and cheese. The water was tepid and tasted odd, and the food gritty and unappetizing, tasting only of the dust which had got into everything, but she forced it down, then tied up the bundle again, tightened her grip on it and the valise, and set off again, not even looking at the
verst
post to see how far she had come, for fear that it said less than she hoped—if hoped was the word!

The shadows were lengthening now, and she began to wonder what to do during the coming night, it was not likely, with so many people on the road, that she could find a place at a posting-house—indeed, they would probably not even allow a solitary female on food inside the door! In any case, the posting-house in the last village had been close, with shutters and bars at the windows. She was afraid that if she fell asleep by the road, or in a barn or a deserted cabin, someone would rob her or worse. She had never before felt that the world was so full of evil, but now it seemed to be all around her.

Lost in her thoughts it was several moments before Nadya became aware that someone was walking beside her, then a rough voice said in Russian, ‘Asleep on your feet, are you, lady?’

Startled, she jerked away from the hand laid on her arm, and found herself looking at a burly man in rough, ragged clothes. He wore a greasy cap of grayish fur which was so like his equally greasy, grizzled hair and beard that it was difficult to see where they joined. A pair of sharp little black eyes peered at her, deep-set under thick brows on either side of a bulbous red nose.

‘What do you want?’ she demanded, intending to rebuff the over-familiarity, but her voice sounded timid and wavering, and made the opposite of the intended impression.

‘All alone, are you?’ the man asked, glancing about for her companions, but everyone else around them was obviously heedless of the figures, now halted by the roadside. No servants, no escort hastening to send him away…he grinned.

‘Now what’s a lady doing, on foot and carrying such a load?’ His voice took on a sneering, oily tone as he looked her over. The high-waisted dress might be plain and shabby, but it was not the style a peasant would wear, and the cashmere shawl was good quality. ‘You don’t want to lug that great heavy case about!’

He put a hand on the valise and tried to pull it away from her, but she dropped the bundle of food and gripped the handle with both hands. The man, too, put both hands on the case and tugged at it, but Nadya held on, struggling desperately to retain her hold.

‘Let go!’ she spat. ‘Thief! Take your hands off it!’

The fellow grinned, knowing his greater strength must prevail in the end, and tugged all the harder, while Nadya pulled against him with all her strength and cast a despairing glance about her at the dozens of heedless folk passing by. Then she screamed for help at the top of her voice.

Naturally, as she always thought in French, she cried out in that language, and it was probably that which save her. Before she could collect her wits and cry out again in Russian, something flashed before her eyes and a cold, authoritative voice said, ‘Drop it, or I’ll have your hands off!’

For a moment of suspended time, Nadya and the bearded man stared at the curved light-cavalry sabre which had suddenly appeared between them, as its wickedly sharp edge resting across the man’s wrists.

Chapter Two

The would-be thief let go of the valise, spun on his heel and ran, disappearing rapidly among the carts and the dust, and Nadya staggered back against a solid body which put a reassuring arm round her and said ‘Steady on, now!’, in a friendly encouraging tone.

She looked about her in confusion, finding that she seemed suddenly to be in the middle of a troop of cavalry, then realised that in fact there were only six horses, with troopers mounted on two of them and holding the others. The reassuring arm belonged to a pleasant-faced young officer, who was looking down at her in a most concerned manner, and another officer, who must be her rescuer, was calmly sheathing his sabre and looking with amusement after the vanished villain.

Nadya allowed herself to be led, still supported by the officer’s arm,. across the verge to a low grassy bank bordering a field, and sat down on it gratefully, her knees suddenly feeling very weak. She looked at the two officers as they stood before her, waiting for her to recover and studying her white , strained face with concern.

The one who had rescued her was a typical hussar, moderately tall, broad-shouldered, slim in build, with long, muscular legs. His close-fitting dolman and grey campaign overalls set off an athletic body. His kiver was set at a jaunty angle on thick dark hair above a lean face with an aquiline nose, firm chin, a mobile, thin-lipped mouth and watchful dark eyes. It was an interesting face, reserved and full of character.

The other officer was shorter, and much more heavily built. In fact, he looked too heavy altogether for a light cavalryman, for he was obviously inclined to put on fat. His dolman was rather strained across his chest, his stomach bulged below it, and he had a plump, merry face, burnt red on the pudgy nose and cheeks. His blue eyes twinkled and his hair had a gingerish tinge.

Something in Nadya’s mind suddenly made a connection, and she looked again at the officers’ uniforms. Under the dust that cast a grey sheen over everything, the dolmans were dark blue with red facings, the pelisses swinging from their shoulders were scarlet and the fur edging had once been white, and their sabretaches were dark blue with a red Imperial cipher. The tall plumes were missing from their kivers and the cords were looped up instead of hanging to shoulder-level, but she remembered that that was usual on campaign.

‘Why, you’re Life Guard Hussars!’ she exclaimed.

The words seemed to break a spell which had held them all immobile for a few minutes, the two officers standing looking at Nadya, the troopers waiting and watching in the background with the horses, while the river of people and vehicles on the road flowed on unheedingly.

‘May I present Captain Count Alexander Alexandrovich Tuchin,’ said the taller officer, indicating his companion. ‘And I am Andrei Ivanovich Valyev. Same rank.’