Polonaise (57 page)

'Marylka, I can't promise. You must see that.'

‘I suppose so, and I do trust you, pani. There are Polish wounded in the cellar, dying of hunger and thirst. And a French officer. You can hear them groaning if you listen at the trap door. The landlord has put a cask on top of it. Better dead than caught, he says. The French army is short of everything. No food; hay used for bandages; nothing warm to cover them. It's even colder in the cellar, damp from the river seeps in. If nothing is done for them, he thinks they will die tonight.' She looked at Jenny with a mixture of hope and despair.

‘We can't let that happen. Ask the landlord to come and speak to me, Marylka?'

‘The lord wished to see me?' The landlord went through the hand-washing motions of Jewish subservience, but Jenny thought his heart was not in them.

‘Yes.' Jenny was every inch the aristocratic young English male. ‘My servant has come to me with an amazing story. You are really sheltering enemy wounded in your cellar?'

‘Not enemies of mine, lord. Nor yours either! We Poles have always loved you British, hoped for help from you.' He smiled at her suddenly, drew himself from his fawning crouch up to his six emaciated feet, and broke into English. ‘“And freedom screamed when Kosciusko fell.”' He smiled at her. ‘You'll not betray me, lord, because I care for my friends?'

‘No, but my man says they are dying. What kind of caring is that?'

‘What can I do, lord? The Russians are out for blood.'

‘We have more than we need: food, clothes, everything. And I have a little medical skill. We'll not trouble my brother with this, landlord; he is out for the evening. Let me see these unlucky guests of yours.'

‘You promise?'

‘I promise.'

The stench, when he moved the cask and lifted the trapdoor, was so horrible that Jenny flinched, but he was already ahead of her on the narrow ladder, candle in hand. Honour made her follow him, but she wished she had brought Marylka, instead of leaving her on guard.

Too late now. She was on the damp earth floor, following
the landlord and his flickering candle which revealed one gaunt, emaciated face after another. They lay on wisps of straw on the ice-cold ground, close-packed, like galley slaves, eight of them, but four, she saw at once, dead. ‘They'll all die, if they are left down here,' she turned to the landlord.

‘They'll be killed, if we take them up. And so will I.'

‘Have you no attic?'

‘A loft, yes.' Reluctantly.

‘Why not up there?'

‘There was no time. We could move them now, it's true. You will promise that no one but you goes up?'

‘Yes. But – there's another?' She had heard a breath of a groan from a corner even lower, even nearer the river.

‘The French officer!' Carelessly. ‘The men made me bring him too. They're beyond caring now. Let him rot where he lies.'

‘No. If we save any, we save all. Let me see him, my man.' She managed to put years of domination into the order and he obeyed without demur, turning to light their way into the dank corner of the cellar where a long body lay in half an inch of water. It groaned again as candlelight flickered across the grey face. ‘
Pour l'amour de Dieu!
'

‘Paul.' She could not believe ears or eyes. ‘Paul Genet?'

‘His ghost. Who asks?'

They had to move the Poles before they could get at Paul Genet, but two more of them died in the process and were left in the cellar with their dead comrades. The others were so skeleton thin that the task of getting them up to the attic was unexpectedly easy. They turned out to have only minor wounds with which Jenny was able to deal, and Paul, when they got to him at last, seemed to have only an immense swelling on his head, enough to have knocked him out.

‘But he's dying of cold, pani,' Marylka told her. ‘I've seen it before. Put him in that icy attic, you might as well have left him in the cellar. He'll be dead in the morning.'

‘What should we do?'

‘Dry clothes; get him warm; hot soup.'

‘Are there hot bricks in my brother's bed, as I told you?' Jenny turned to the landlord.

‘Yes, lord.'

‘Then we'll put him there. I'll be answerable to my brother. It's an old friend of his. He'd want it. And build up the fire; heat some soup for all of them; it's food they need as much as anything. I'll leave you to deal with the Poles, landlord; my servant and I can manage here.'

Left alone, they stripped Paul's limp body of tattered shirt and breeches and wrapped it in the officer's cloak Marylka had found on one of the dead Poles, first warming it at the stove in the corner. ‘I wonder if the landlord stole his clothes, or if that was before,' said Jenny thoughtfully. ‘Put that hot brick at his back, Marylka, and then all our furs on top. Where can he have been to have got so thin?'

‘At Moscow, I think, pani. One of the Poles talked a little. Delirious; he spoke of horrors. Death of cold; death by fire; fighting each other for food; and, pani, cutting slices off their living horses as they walked along. Drinking their blood. The horses are so cold they don't feel it!'

‘Horrible! Marylka, go and see how the landlord is getting on with that soup. Lord, listen to the wind! Put a little more wood on the stove before you go. It's going to be colder than ever tonight.'

‘Thank the good God and his Virgin Mother we're warm in a town,' said Marylka. ‘I'll take a look at the poor men upstairs, too. It must be cold as Christmas up there.'

‘Do.'

Chichagov and his officers dined well, celebrating the comforts of Borisov and the trap that was closing on Napoleon, and the early dark had fallen when Glynde made his way back from headquarters through flurries of snow tossed on the rising wind. Its sound masked the creak of the inn door and he found the landlord deep in talk with a small man so wrapped in greasy fur as to be only a shaggy outline and a whining, eager voice. Both stopped dead at sight of him. ‘There's news?' he asked.

‘On a night like this? None, lord, except that my poor neighbour here has been turned out of his house by the bloody Russians. His wife's at the convent. I've said he can stay here if your Lordship has no objection.'

‘I wouldn't want a dog out of doors on a night like this.'

‘Brother!' Jenny appeared from the corridor. ‘I thought I heard you. Tell the man to heat more soup, would you? And I think a little brandy wouldn't come amiss. Oh!' She had seen the stranger. ‘Who's that?'

‘All's well,' said the landlord. ‘Soup and brandy right away, my lordling.' Something in his tone made Glynde give the man a sharp look, but Jenny was beckoning.

‘He's seen through me, I'm afraid,' she said quietly in English as she held the candle down the long corridor. ‘My fault; I forgot. We've got a guest.'

‘A guest?'

‘Paul Genet.' She pushed open the door of Glynde's room and he saw the still figure on his bed. ‘He was dying of cold in the cellar. Marylka found out from the landlord; there were some Poles there he was protecting. They'd left Paul to die in a pool of water. They've come from Moscow, Marylka thinks. One of the Poles is babbling of horrors. I'm so glad you're here. I think Paul is coming round. He wasn't badly hurt; just the cold; and starvation. But what's been happening?'

‘Napoleon's Grand Army is dying as it marches. The Russians were exulting about it at dinner. There's news from Kutusov, who is following and letting it happen. Up to now. This is the end for them, now we've taken the bridge. Napoleon destroyed his pontoon equipment back at Orcha. If he can't cross on the bridge here he's caught.'

‘Destroyed it? But why?'

‘Because the conditions are so terrible. It sounds as if they are all a little off their heads. But so is Chichagov. He plans to go out and attack in the morning, while the baggage train is still crossing. Look! He's stirring!' He was gradually taking in the full strangeness of the position. Here was Genet, Jenny's lover, unconscious in his bed, with Jenny in devoted attendance. Had he really been letting himself dream of a homecoming with Jenny at his side? Mistaking her unfailing good comradeship for something more? Idiot. Fool. This was the end for him as well as for Napoleon.

‘Jenny?' The cracked, frost-blistered lips struggled open, and Jenny spooned in a little hot soup. ‘Jenny? Or are you another dream?'

‘No. I'm real enough, and so is Glynde Rendel, here beside
me. Tell us what has happened to you, Paul. You're safe with us.'

‘Safe?' The next spoonful of soup dribbled from clumsy lips. ‘Glynde Rendel?' Cogs in his brain began slowly, reluctantly to turn. ‘Lord Ringmer?' Another pause. ‘Didn't marry the Princess then? I'm glad.' A claw-like hand found its shaky way out from under the coverings and searched for hers. ‘Jenny, I'm so glad.'

‘No more talk now. You must sleep.' But he was already.

‘I don't understand anything.' Glynde took a distracted turn around the room.

‘No.' Jenny smiled at him. ‘I don't suppose you do. Can you manage on the pallet in here, and will you let me know if he needs anything before morning?'

‘Don't worry,' he said savagely. ‘I'll keep him alive for you.'

The wind dropped in the night and they all slept late in the great silence of thick new snow. When Glynde roused from his hard pallet at last, it was to meet Paul Genet's eyes, lively and intelligent, gazing at him from the bed.

‘Thank you,' said Paul.

‘It was Jenny.'

‘She was really here? I didn't dream her? I've dreamt her so often.'

‘Indeed she is here. I'll call her.'

‘Not yet. Tell me, first. Did I say anything foolish last night? I can't remember; only that she was here; only that I love her.'

‘Still?'

‘Always. And you – you didn't marry the Princess?'

‘You knew about that?'

‘Not one of Talleyrand's best ideas. He's losing his grip, I'm afraid. Some brandy, Glynde, could I? Mind you, we may all be glad of his good word with the Tsar if things turn out as badly as I fear. The Grand Army's a wreck; it fell to bits in Moscow. And something's wrong with Napoleon; he can't make up his mind. In Moscow … in Smolensk … fatal delays … He sent me to tell Dombrowski this town must be held at all costs, and it fell the day I got here. When was that?'

‘Just yesterday. You don't remember?'

‘A blow on the head … Then nothing … I was lying here,
Jenny bending over me. That angel Jenny … Glynde, I'm so happy …'

‘I'm sure you are!' Glynde could stand no more. ‘I congratulate you; you're a lucky man. But we have to think what to do for the best. The Russians are in a savage mood. I'll do what I can for you, of course, but Chichagov's a firebrand.'

‘Lucky? You call me lucky?' But now, both of them were distracted by sounds of tumult outside. ‘What is it?' Genet pulled himself up painfully as Glynde crossed the room to throw open a shutter and let in a great draught of cold air and the sound of chaos outside. Shouts, shots, curses, the scream of a wounded horse.

‘The Russian army's in flight.' Glynde looked grimly at the man in the bed. ‘And I doubt their supply train is clear of the bridge yet. It's not Napoleon who's trapped now.'

‘Where are my clothes? Quick! It'll be Oudinot,' he said, as he struggled into them. ‘He's a reasonable man; the best of the Marshals. He'll protect you, if I can just get to him. Where's the landlord?'

‘Vanished.' Jenny stood in the doorway. ‘The Russians are retreating; what are we going to do? Oh – Paul, I'm glad you're better. What is it?' She turned back to the door as Marylka appeared with two gaunt, bearded men behind her.

‘It's the Poles; they say they're going out to fight.' But the two men had pushed past her and hurried over to Paul Genet, greeting him with tears of joy as their little father risen from the dead.

‘Good.' Paul pulled the cloak around him. ‘You'll have to hide,' he told Glynde. ‘It will be savage for a while. A sack. I pray God they don't fire the town. I'll get help to you as soon as I can. You two,' he turned to the two Poles, and in Polish, ‘you will stay here and protect the lord and ladies.'

They protested at first, but Marylka said something short and sharp to one of them under her breath and they yielded in a babble of talk. ‘It makes sense,' Paul said at last. ‘Marylka will be the landlady; Pavel here her husband back from the wars to protect her; his friend helping. And you two in the cellar, I'm afraid, until I can send help. It won't be for long. Just the time it takes Napoleon to get the wreck of his army
across the bridge. I hope I'll see you again, but in case I do not: goodbye, Jenny.'

‘God bless you, Paul.' She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

‘I don't understand,' but Glynde's protest was drowned in an outburst of activity as a new volley of shots outside warned them of dangerous time passing.

‘I understand nothing.' He said it again as the trapdoor closed with a thud above them and the cask settled heavily on top.

‘Well, we're alive for the moment.' Jenny put down the candle on an empty barrel. ‘We've food and wine, and furs to keep us warm. And a couple of stools to sit on, bless Paul Genet for a quick thinker. And Marylka is going to put on the performance of a lifetime as the landlady up there.' The six bodies, now frozen solid, had been stacked in a far corner like baulks of timber. Supplies, wine, warm clothes and a charcoal brazier had been hurried down to the cellar while Marylka changed into women's clothes, presumably belonging to the vanished landlady. ‘I think we're going to lose Marylka, don't you? If ever I saw a case of love at first sight! Lucky for us. And trust Paul to make his men love him. I wish I knew how long it is going to take Napoleon to get the wreck of his army across the river. I imagine we had better prepare ourselves for quite a siege here, don't you?' She stood up, candle in hand, and moved carefully down the length of the dank main chamber, gradually diminishing into a dark silhouette. ‘It's huge.' Her voice came, carefully quiet, from a distance. ‘But going downhill all the time. The furthest had better be our privy apartments. Not an elegant establishment exactly, but I'm sure we can manage here for the few days it takes Napoleon to get his army across.' She was coming back now. ‘What's the matter?'