Twelve

'I said I wouldn't come with you,' Natalia explained, 'but I'll come as far as the edge of the city.'

We walked in silence for a while. I saw sweat breaking out on Dmitry's brow. Even with our support, the effort was exhausting for his weakened body. The sweat must have stung horribly as it ran down his burnt cheek, but he did not complain.

'Do you have a wife, Captain Danilov?' asked Natalia, breaking the silence.

'That's very formal. You were calling me Aleksei yesterday.'

'Which do you prefer? I like "Captain".'

'It's a shame you didn't meet Vadim. He's a major.'

'That's better, isn't it?'

'It's more senior,' I told her, knowing that Vadim himself was all too well aware of the distinction.

'So are you married?'

'Yes I am. And we have a son, called Dmitry.'

'Just like Captain Petrenko.'

'He was named after Captain Petrenko.'

'Why? No, I remember. He saved your life at Austerlitz.'

'That's right.'

'And now you've saved his life, so you're even.'

'I don't think it works quite like that.'

The conversation lulled and we carried on walking. Again it was Natalia who broke the silence.

'So is that why you're going to Yuryev-Polsky; because your wife's there?'

Despite his discomfort, Dmitry managed to emit a short cynical laugh.

'No,' I replied, 'we just have friends there.'

'Is Captain Petrenko married?'

'What Captain Petrenko really likes to be called is Mitka,' I said, taking petty revenge on Dmitry's cynicism.

'Really?' I nodded. 'So, is Mitka married?'

'No, he's not.'

'Why is that?' she asked.

'I think that's one you'd better ask him.' Dmitry was, I'm sure, relieved just then to be unable to speak.

We arrived at the edge of the city about ten minutes after dawn. The man with whom I had spoken the day before was there, with an open wagon to which was harnessed a mule, rather than a horse, but it would suffice. There were no signs that he had brought anyone with him or that he planned to ambush us and take the money. There was no haggling over the agreed price. It was all done with the simple trust of one man in his fellow countryman that can only emerge at a time of war.

He headed back to the city on foot, and Natalia and I loaded Dmitry up on to the wagon, along with our few possessions.

'Goodbye, Captain Danilov,' said Natalia, taking my hand. Then she went over to Dmitry and leaned forward, kissing him on his uninjured cheek. 'Goodbye, Capt… Mitka,' she said with a giggle.

She began to walk away, then she turned. 'And thank you for the food – from me and from my father.'

I went over to her and pressed a few of the gold coins I had left into her hand.

'What's this for?' she asked.

'To repay your kindness,' I said.

'Kindness doesn't need any repayment.' She was not insulted at all, only uncomprehending. 'It doesn't work like that.' She tried to hand it back.

'It's a gift,' said Dmitry as loudly as he could manage.

'Why should I get a gift?' she asked, with a voice that clearly expected an answer, as if the right answer were more important than the gift.

'What's the date today, Aleksei?' Dmitry asked me. I had to think for a moment.

'The eighth – the eighth of September.'

'And why is that important?' asked Dmitry. Natalia grinned a childish grin that told me she knew full well what Dmitry was getting at. Still though, he had to say it. For my part, I was completely lost.

'You tell me,' she replied playfully.

'It's the feast of Saint Natalia – your name day. That's why you get a gift,' Dmitry told her.

'Thank you,' said Natalia, giving a beaming smile and clutching the coins to her chest as though they were the most valuable things she had ever owned (which, in fact, they probably were). She turned and ran gaily back towards Moscow.

I mounted the front of the wagon and we set off in the direction of the rising sun.

'So have you memorized all the name days, Dmitry?'

'Yes.' There was no reason to doubt him, but it seemed astonishingly out of character.

'Why?' I asked.

His reply was simple. 'You saw her smile.'

CHAPTER XVI

IT TOOK US THREE DAYS TO GET TO YURYEV-POLSKY. I WAS SURPRISED how soon out of Moscow the country began to return to normal. We saw serfs working in the fields and wagons taking goods to local markets. Some were even travelling in the opposite direction to us, back towards Moscow, where they knew they could get the best price for what they had to sell. Nowhere was there a French uniform in sight.

I slept more comfortably than I had for many days, and not just thanks to my receding fear. For inns along the road it was business as usual, so we were well fed and well looked after. Prices were back to normal – a joy after the exploitation of occupied Moscow – and because Dmitry was seen by all as an heroic wounded soldier, we always got a little more of everything than we might otherwise.

Dmitry and I spoke much on our journey and our friendship became cemented once again. We didn't discuss any weighty matters, such as the war, and we certainly never got on to the Oprichniki, but through normal conversation we remembered who we were and managed to forget – or at least suppress – the events that had forced us apart over the past weeks.

Yuryev-Polsky was packed with refugees and with wounded soldiers. Finding care for Dmitry was no problem. He was given a bed in a makeshift hospital – formerly a convent – and medical opinion was that he would recover. The scars would always show, but even the use of his right hand should return to him eventually.

I left him and went to look for Domnikiia. It turned out to be easier to find Pyetr Pyetrovich, whom everyone in the town seemed to know. If you needed something, anything, Pyetr Pyetrovich could furnish you with it – for a price. Food, alcohol, ammunition – he was the man to get it for you. I found him in a tavern. He was unmistakable as one of the courageous few who still opted for elegant French fashions; though that appeared to be no obstruction to his businesslike discussion with a colonel in the artillery. When he had finished, I approached.

'Pyetr Pyetrovich?' I said, offering my hand.

'Yes,' he replied, taking my hand and trying to remember where he had seen me before.

'I'm Captain Danilov,' I told him. 'I was hoping you could help me, I'm looking for Domnikiia Semyonovna.' He looked at me blankly. 'For Dominique.'

'Ah!' he exclaimed, recognizing me at last. 'For Dominique.' He lowered his voice. 'I'm afraid, captain, that for the time being, that side of my business is closed – not that I have had any problems with it, I assure you. It's just that at the moment there are far better ways to earn a living. But once you boys can clear Bonaparte out of Moscow, then it will be business as usual, don't you worry.' He winked.

'I simply want to see her,' I explained with some restraint. 'She is a friend.'

'Really? A friend?' The concept appeared new to him. 'Well then, you'll find her in the hospital next to the church of Saint Nikolia. She's a nurse there.'

'A nurse?'

'They all are. There's a lot of sick soldiers in town.'

I headed for the hospital. It wasn't large, consisting of just two long rooms running at right angles to each other, with about twenty beds in each. I looked into the first and instantly recognized Domnikiia, bending over the bed at the furthest end of the room. I waited, my hand resting on the door post as I attempted to look relaxed. In fact, I was gripping it for support.

She stood up from the bed and began walking to the next one. She looked towards me. She was too distant to make eye contact, but as her eyes fell on me, her footsteps faltered slightly, as though she had turned an ankle. She recovered instantly and continued walking only as far as the next bed. She bent over the patient, spoke to him and fluffed his pillows. Then she moved on to the next patient, and the next and the next. As she approached she never looked directly at me. Though she moved so agonizingly slowly, still the force of her approach felt to me as if I were being charged down by a galloping stallion. A feeling of dreadful anticipation built up in me the closer she got. I could not step away and yet the prospect of her finally reaching me filled me with a sense of some great impending impact.