‘In Papa’s case, he’d have done better to take the horse,’ Sergei said unguardedly.
‘Sergei, you mustn’t say things like that,’ Anne said quickly.
‘I can’t help it, Anna -1 don’t like her. Oh, I do my bit and behave pretty, and call her Mother, but I’ve never liked her.’
‘I’ve seen you try, and applauded it, but I wish you need not find it such an effort. What is it you dislike?’
He shrugged. ‘There’s something about her and all her people that’s -1 don’t know – different. Not civilised. They aren’t really Russians at all. They’re like half-tamed dogs – they might turn at any moment and bite you.’
‘But you must believe that Irina Pavlovna loves your father very dearly, and he her.’
‘Why must I? I don’t believe it,’ Sergei said, frowning. ‘I don’t know what they may have once felt for each other, but I don’t believe he loves her now, and as for her – well, look where she is! If you loved my father, wouldn’t you go with him to Paris? Would you stay behind?’
‘Seryosha, it’s most improper for us to talk like this. Please, don’t say any more. You forget my position.’
He flung himself back on the grass on one elbow. ‘Your position! How could I forget? You’re always reminding me of it!’
Anne looked at him in distress, wondering how to cope with the jumble of emotions being presented her. But before she could draw breath to tackle the situation, there was a sound behind them, a little rushing rattle of small loose stones, and she turned her head to see that Nasha had climbed half-way up the cliff face and was sitting on a ledge, watching them.
Anne called out an automatic warning. ‘Nasha, be careful! It’s dangerous.’
Nasha looked down at her unperturbed. ‘I’m all right,’ she said calmly. ‘I shan’t fall.’ She regarded them steadily, her eyes impassive and bright, and Anne wondered uncomfortably if it were possible that she had heard what they were saying. But surely she was too far away?
‘Nasha, come down now,’ Anne called, but Natasha did not move to obey. Instead she looked away, and fixing her eyes dreamily on the middle distance, she said unexpectedly, ‘Anna, are all the people who hear voices mad?’
‘What do you mean? What voices?’ Anne asked, some undefined apprehension sharpening her voice.
Nasha’s gaze slid from the infinite to focus on Anne’s face. ‘Marie was telling me about Jeanne d’Arc hearing a voice that told her to dress as a man and go to war. But when I asked Kerim, he said that it was a sign of madness to hear voices.’ Anne regarded her cautiously, wondering what new mischief this heralded. Was Nasha hoping to be allowed to dress in trousers and ride at the muster tomorrow? And did she hope to enlist Divine aid for the purpose?
‘In the case of Jeanne d’Arc, we believe that the voice she heard was a command from God,’ she said, aware that Sergei was watching her with amusement at her predicament.
‘And what if someone else heard voices?’
‘I suppose it might be a Divine command,’ Anne began cautiously.
‘In the case of Bablash,’ Sergei interrupted, ‘it’s the voice of the genie in the bottle. Commands of a very different sort.’
Nasha considered. ‘How would anyone know which it was?’
Sergei was grinning at her discomfiture, and Anne firmly avoided his eyes. ‘I think if the voice were from God, the command would probably be to do something difficult that you didn’t particularly want to do.’
‘Because if it was something you liked doing, God wouldn’t have to tell you – you’d do it anyway?’ Nasha hazarded.
‘Something like that,’ Anne said, wondering how she could change the subject.
Nasha appeared to be pondering the matter, staring away into the distance. Suddenly she straightened and said in a very different voice, ‘Oh look, there’s the stallion!’
At the same moment Quassy let out a piercing whinny, and they turned to see the herd stallion standing on a rocky outcrop only a little way off, separated from them by a shallow gully. Anne drew a breath. She had never seen anything so magnificent: he was no mere horse, but a creature of raw power and commanding presence. He stood watching them, his head turned, his bright eye showing a little white, his whole body gathered and tense like a coiled spring. He was pure white, not tall for a horse, almost too stocky for beauty; his chest was deep, his ribs widely sprung, his quarters broad, muscle packed over shoulder and loin, and arching his massive neck into a crest; but his head was fine-cut and intelligent. Power and delicacy were perfectly combined in him as he stood there outlined against the sky, his ears pricked, his nostrils flaring as they sought to trap and identify the scents coming to him on the light air.
‘He’s magnificent,’ Anne breathed. The stallion arched his neck and raised his tail into a banner, and stamped his hoof threateningly as he looked warily at the group before him. Then he fixed his eyes on the horses, and made a deep knuckering sound. Instantly Quassy answered, fidgeting in excitement, and even the geldings began shifting nervously at their tethers as the tension in the air reached them.
Sergei was half-way to his feet. ‘We’d better get to them,’ he said. ‘There’s no knowing what–’
But the stallion had caught Quassy’s scent, and he made another sound, quite different this time, a deep and powerful whinny, to which Quassy replied with an excited squeal. She flung herself abruptly back on her haunches and jerked at her head-rope, and as the stallion called again, she reared up and struck out at her tether, and came down with a leg over the rope.
Now all was confusion. The horses were milling, the stallion stamping and calling, and Quassy was trapped, unable to free her leg from the rope which she was pulling taut in her efforts to escape. She was whinnying and struggling in a mixture of excitement and panic, and Anne and Sergei were both up and running.
‘Oh God, she’ll break her leg!’ Anne cried.
‘Get to her! Hold her!’ Sergei called. ‘I’ll try to drive him off!’ He ran past the horses, waving his arms and shouting to try to frighten the stallion away. Anne reached Quassy, grabbed her rope close to the head, and tried to pull her head down so as to slacken the rope enough to free her leg. But Quassy was too frightened now, strong in her panic, and strained back with all her strength, pulling the rope ever tighter under her knee.
In terror that the leg might break, Anne saw there was nothing to do but untie the rope. Sergei had hitched all the horses with safety knots, and she had only to reach for the loose end and tug. Her fingers closed on the rough hemp, just as Sergei, turning his head, saw what she was about to do, and shouted, ‘No! For God’s sake, don’t untie her!’
He was too late. The rope came free, and for a blessed moment all seemed well, as Anne dropped the slack of it and Quassy was able to put her foreleg down; but in the same instant the stallion called again, and the mare, her whole body quivering, flung up her head, her ears pricked towards him, and obeyed the imperative summons. The rope was jerked free, running through Anne’s hand, and burning her palm as she tried to hold on. She cried out; Quassy gave a violent breenge, and leapt away, almost knocking Sergei over as he tried to grab her. She was over the dry gully in one bound; the stallion whirled and snorted excitedly, circled her, and then closed his teeth on her crest, driving her towards the herd. Quassy squealed and obeyed, and the two of them disappeared over the edge and down the hillside.
Anne ran forward automatically, but Sergei caught her, almost pulling her over.