The Burning Shore (23 page)

Don’t waste time, Bobby snapped, and she took it in her hands; it was still warm and surprisingly weighty.

Now there is nothing that I will not dare to do, she realized as she carried it away.

At last she reached the stage of exhaustion when even Bobby realized that she could not stay on her feet.

Go and lie down somewhere, he ordered, but instead she went to sit beside a young private on one of the mattresses. She held his hand, and he called her motherand spoke disjointedly of a day at the seaside long ago.

At the end she sat helplessly and listened to his breathing change, panting to stay alive, and his grip tightened as he felt the darkness coming on. The skin of his hand turned clammy with sweat and his eyes opened very wide and he called out, Oh Mother, save me! and then relaxed, and she wanted to cry for him, but she did not have the tears. So she closed those staring eyes as she had seen Bobby Clarke do and stood up and went to the next man.

He was a sergeant, a heavily built fellow almost her father’s age, with a broad, pleasant face covered with grey stubble, and a hole in his chest through which each breath puffed in a froth of pink bubbles. She had to put her ear almost to his lips to hear his request, and then she looked round quickly and saw the silver Louis X! soup tureen on the sideboard. She brought it to him and unfastened his breeches and held the tureen for him, and he kept whispering, I’m sorry, please forgive me, a young lady like you. It isn’t proper. So they worked on through the night, and when Centaine went down to find fresh candles to replace those that were guttering in the holders of the candelabra, she had just reached the kitchen floor when she was seized by sudden compelling nausea, and she stumbled to the servants toilet and knelt over the noisome bucket. She finished, pale and trembling, and went to wash her face at the kitchen tap. Anna was waiting for her.

You cannot go on like this, she scolded.

Just look at YOU, you are killing yourself, I she almost added child, but caught herself. You must rest. Have a bowl of soup and sit by me for a while. It never ends, Anna, there are always more of them. By now the wounded had overflowed the salon and were lying on the landing of the staircase and down the passageways, so that the orderlies bringing out the dead on the canvas stretchers had to step over their recumbent bodies. They laid the dead on the cobbles at the side of the stables, each wrapped in a grey blanket, and the row grew longer every hour.

Centaine! Bobby Clarke shouted from the head of the stairs.

He is familiar, he should call you Mademoiselle, Anna huffed indignantly, but Centaine leapt up and ran up the stairs, dodging the bodies that sprawled upon them.

Can you get through to the village again? We need more chloroform and iodine. Bobby was haggard and unshaven, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, and his bare arms caked with drying blood.

It’s almost light outside, Centaine nodded.

Go past the crossroads, he said. Find out if the road is clearing, we have to begin moving some of these. Centaine had to turn Nuage back twice from the crowded roads and find a short cut across the fields, so by the time she reached the hospital at Mort Homme, it was almost full daylight.

She saw at once that they were evacuating the hospital.

Equipment and patients were being loaded into a mongrel convoy of ambulances and animal-drawn vehicles, and those wounded who could walk were being assembled into groups and led out into the road to begin to trek southwards.

Major Sinclair was bellowing instructions to the ambulance-drivers. By God, man, be careful, that chap has a bullet through his lung- but he looked up at Centaine as she rode up on the big stallion.

You again! Damn it all, I’d forgotten about you. Where is Bobby Clarke? Still at the chateau, he sent me to ask- How many wounded has he got there? the major interrupted.

I do not know. Dash it all, girl, is it fifty or a hundred, or more?

Perhaps fifty or a few more. We have to get them out, the Germans have broken through at Haut Pornmier. He paused and examined her critically, noting the purple weals under her eyes and the almost translucent sheen of her skin. At the end of her tether, he decided, and then saw that she still held her head up and that there was light in her eyes, and he changed his estimate. She’s made of good stuff, he thought. She can still go on. When will the Germans get here?

Centaine asked.

He shook his head. I don’t know, soon I think. We are digging in just beyond the village, but we may not even be able to hold them there. We have to get out, you, too, young lady. Tell Bobby Clarke I’ll send him as many vehicles as I can. He must get back to Arras. You can ride with the ambulances. Good. She turned Nuage’s head. I will wait for them at the crossroads and guide them to the chateau. Good girl, he called after her as she galloped out of the yard and swung the stallion into the vineyard on the eastern side of the village.

Beyond the wall of the vineyard she reached the path that led up to her knoll above the forest. Then she gave Nuage his head and they went flying up the slope and came out on the crest. It was her favourite lookout, and she had a fine view northward to the ridges and over the fields and woods surrounding the village. The early sun was shining, the air bright and clean.

Instinctively she looked first to the orchard at the base of the T-shaped forest, picking out the open strip of turf that served as the airstrip for Michael’s squadron.

The tents were gone, the edge of the orchard where the brightly painted SE5as were usually drawn up was now deserted, there was no sign of life, the squadron had moved out during the night, gone like gypsies and Centaine’s spirits lurched and sank. While they had been there it was as though something of Michael also remained, but now they had gone and they had left an empty hole in her existence.

She turned away, and looked to the ridges. At first glance the countryside seemed so peaceful and undisturbed. The early summer weather painted it a lovely green in the early sunlight, and near her in the brambles a lark was calling.

Then she stared harder and saw the tiny specks of many men in the fields, scurrying back from the ridges like insects. They were so distant and insignificant that she had almost overlooked them, but now she realized how many there were, and she tried to work out what they were doing.

Abruptly she saw a tiny greyish-yellow puff of smoke spurt up in the midst of one of the groups of running men, and as it drifted aside, she saw four or five of the antlike figures lying in an untidy tangle, while the others ran on.

Then there were more of those smoke puffs, scattered haphazardly on the green carpet of the fields, and she heard the sound of it on the wind.

IShellfire! she whispered, and understood what was going on out there. These were troops that had been driven out of their trenches and earthworks by the German attack, and in the open ground they were being harassed by the artillery batteries which the Germans must have brought up behind their advancing infantry.

Now, when she looked down at the base of the hillock on which she stood, she could make out the line of hastily dug trenches that she and Anna had seen them preparing the previous morning. The trenches ran like a brown serpent along the edge of the oak forest, then under the lee of the stone wall on the top side of North Field, turning slightly to follow the bank of the stream and then losing themselves amongst the vineyards that belonged to the Concourt family.

She could see the helmets of the troops in the trenches, and make out the stubby swollen barrels of the machineguns protruding over the earthern parapets as they were lifted into position. Some of the running figures began to reach the trench line, and fell out of sight into it.

She started at a crashing explosion close behind her, and when she looked around, she saw the thin grey feathers of smoke drifting from a British artillery battery at the foot of the hill. The guns were so cleverly concealed beneath A their camouflage nets that she had not noticed them until they fired.

Then she saw other guns, concealed in forest and orchard, begin firing at the unseen enemy, and the answering German salvoes burst in random fury along the line of freshly dug fortifications. A raised voice roused her from her fearful fascination, and she looked around to see a platoon of infantry men doubling up the path to the crest of the hill. They were led by a subaltern who waved his arms wildly at her.

Get out of here, you damned fool! Can’t you see that you are in the middle of a battle? She swung Nuage’s head around to the path and urged him into a gallop. She swept past the file of soldiers and when she looked back, they were already frantically digging into the stony earth at the crest of the hill.

Centaine checked her mount as they reached the crossroads. All the vehicles had passed, except those stuck in the ditches and abandoned. However, the roadway was crowded with a rabble of retreating infantry who staggered under their loads, carrying on their backs the dismembered machine-guns and boxes of ammunition, and the other equipment that they had managed to salvage.

Amid the squeal of whistle and shouted orders their officers were rallying them and sending them off the roadway to the freshly dug trenches.

Suddenly over Centaine’s head passed a mighty rushing sound, like a hurricane wind, and she ducked fearfully. A shell burst a hundred paces from where she sat, and Nuage reared on his hind legs. She caught her balance and gentled him with voice and touch.

Then she saw a lorry come towards the crossroads from the village, and when she stood in her stirrups she could make out the red cross in its white circle painted on the side. She galloped down to meet it, and seven more ambulances followed the first through the bend. She reined in beside the cab of the leading ambulance. Have you been sent to the chAteau? What’s that, luv? The driver could not understand her heavily accented English, and she bounced on her saddle with frustration.

Captain Clarke? she tried again, and he understood. You seek Captain Clarke? Yes, that’s it. Captain Clarke! Where is he? Come! Centaine raised her voice as another shell burst beyond the stone wall beside them and there was the electric sound of shrapnel passing overhead. Come! she gestured, and swung Nuage into the lane.

With the line of ambulances following her, she galloped up the driveway towards the chAteau, and saw a shell burst just beyond the stables and another hit the greenhouse at the bottom of the vegetable gardens. The glass panels splintered into a diamond spray in the sunlight.

The chateau is a natural target, she realized, and galloped Nuage into the yard.

Already they were bringing out the wounded, and as the first ambulance pulled up at the bottom of the stairs, the driver and his orderly sprang out to help load the stretchers into the back of the truck.

Centaine turned Nuage into the paddock beside the stables and ran back to the kitchen door. Behind her a howitzer shell hit the tiled roof of the long stable building, blowing a hole through it and knocking out part of the stone wall. However, the stables were empty, so Centaine darted into the kitchen.

Where have you been? Anna demanded. I have been so worried- Centaine pushed past her and ran through to her own room. She pulled the carpet bag from the top of her wardrobe and began to throw clothing into it.

There was a deafening crash from somewhere above, and the plaster ceiling cracked and chunks of it fell around her. Centaine swept the silver frame of photographs off the bedside table into the bag, then opened the drawer and found her jewelbox and her travelling toilet set. The air was full of white plaster dust.

Another shell burst on the terrace outside her room, and the window over her bed exploded. Flying glass rattled against the walls and a shard grazed her forearm and left a bloody line on her skin. She licked the blood away and dropped on her knees, creeping half under the bed, and prised up the loose floorboard.

The leather purse with their hoard of cash lay in the recess beneath it. She weighed the purse in one hand almost two hundred francs in gold louis d’or, then dropped it into the bag.

Lugging the carpet bag, she ran down the stairs into the kitchen.

Where is Papa? she shouted at Anna.

He went up to the top floor. Anna was stuffing strings of onions, hams and bread loaves into a grain sack. She pointed with her chin at the empty hooks on the wall. He has taken his gun and plenty of cognac. I will fetch him, Centaine panted. Take care of my bag. She hitched up her skirts and raced back up the stairs.

The upper levels of the chateau were in confusion. The ambulance orderlies were trying to clear the salon and the main staircase.

Centaine! Bobby Clarke called across the stairwell at her. Are you ready to leave? He was manhandling one end of a stretcher, and he had to raise his voice above the shouts of the orderlies and the groans of the wounded.

Centaine fought her way up against the press of humanity descending the stairs, and Bobby caught her sleeve as she came level with him. Where are you going? We have to get out! My father, I must find my father. She shook off his hand and went on.

The topmost levels of the house were deserted and Centaine ran through them, shouting shrilly, Papa! Papa!

Where are you? She ran down the long gallery, and from the walls the portraits of her ancestors gazed down haughtily upon her.

At the end of the gallery she threw her weight on to the double doors which led through into the suite of bedrooms that had been her mother’s and which the comte had kept unchanged all these years.

He was in the dressing-room, slumped in the highbacked tapestry-covered chair in front of the portrait of Centaine’s mother, and he looked up as Centaine burst into the room. Papa, we must leave immediately. He did not seem to recognize her. There were three unopened cognac bottles on the floor between his feet, and he held another by the neck. It was half-empty, and he lifted it and took a mouthful of the raw spirit, still gazing at the portrait. Please, Papa, we must go! His single eye did not even blink as another shell crashed into the chAteau, somewhere in the east wing.