She and Zina exchanged a silent look over his limp body, and took the first of Pauline’s bandages and bound this second wound, too. Under Zina’s direction, the men lifted Sergei on to the bed, and there the women washed him, and made him decent. He was still alive, though unconscious – Anne could feel the pulse fluttering under his jaw. All that was left, she thought, was to try to keep him alive as long as possible, and to get word to Nikolai.
The men went out on to the terrace from time to time, but Anne had no more interest in the battle. To slow the bleeding, to keep him warm – these were all she could do. She would not leave his side. He might return to consciousness – she must be near him. As the afternoon progressed he began to show signs of life: first the flutter of eyelids, then a slight movement of the head, and his lips moved soundlessly. At first Anne thought he was disturbed by the distant sounds of the battle, just audible through the open windows on to the terrace; but it gradually became plain that the restlessness was caused by a fever, which was probably due to the presence of the bullet inside him. When he moved the bleeding grew worse, and she and Zina struggled to keep him still.
Suddenly, at about four o’clock, he opened his eyes, staring upwards at the ceiling. He seemed blankly bewildered; then he frowned with pain, and passed the tip of his tongue over his lips. ‘Thirsty,’ he whispered.
Anne had wine and water ready mixed in a cup. She slipped a hand under his head and lifted it a little, and put the cup to his lips. He closed his eyes and sipped, and again, and then sighed. She laid his head down again, and he turned and looked at her.
He didn’t seem to understand at first. ‘Anna?’ he whispered. ‘Am I ill?’
‘It’s all right. You’re safe. You’re in my house up in the hills. Someone brought you here when you were hurt.’
He frowned. ‘Hills? What hills?’
‘Above Borodino,’ she said.
‘Oh. I thought I was at Pyatigorsk.’ He closed his eyes; then they flew open. ‘Borodino! The battle! Is it–?’
‘It’s still going on. No, don’t move – you’ll start the bleeding again. Lie still, Seryosha.’
‘What’s happening? Have they broken through?’
‘No, no, the lines are holding. They won’t break through.’
‘Thank God,’ he muttered. Then he smiled, a travesty of a smile that made her want to cry out. ‘They always say it’s not enough to kill a Russian – you still have to push him over!’
He was silent, gathering his thoughts; then, ‘What happened to my troop?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. It was easier than trying to explain.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose you would.’ He sighed, and closed his eyes. ‘Hurts,’ he said. ‘Hurts to speak.’
‘Rest, then,’ she said. ‘I won’t leave you.’
He gave the glimmer of a smile. ‘Anna,’ he said. Then, ‘Sleep now.’
Time dragged its leaden feet through the weary day. The fever mounted; the restlessness grew worse, and he didn’t seem to know where he was. It was hard to keep him still. She tried to call him to consciousness, but when he opened his eyes, they only rolled sightlessly with delirium, recognising nothing. The flow of blood increased. Anne dared not remove the bandages. They added more layers, and more as they soaked through.
The evening drew towards dusk, the air cooled, and Sergei grew quiet. The firing from below was dying down. Soon Nikolai would come. Please God he would be in time.
Sergei woke, looked at her blankly. ‘Where am I?’
‘At my house,’ she answered.
‘Anna? Is that you?’ he whispered.
‘Yes, Seryosha, I’m here.’
‘I can’t see you. Don’t leave me! It’s dark. I’m so cold, so cold.’
It was still light in the room. She touched him with alarm, and felt the unnatural chill of his skin. She flicked a glance at Zina, who hurried off to fetch another blanket.
‘I won’t leave you,’ she said, stroking his head. ‘Don’t be afraid.’
He turned his head into her caress. His face was pure white, alabaster white, like a carving in marble of a dead hero. How long could he survive such loss of blood?
He drifted, and came back to himself.
‘Anna?’ he said, as if he had just recognised her. ‘Am I ill?’
‘You’re wounded,’ she said with difficulty.
‘Did I have a fall?’ he asked. ‘No – I remember. Borodino. We charged – charged the Germans.’
She saw he was rational now. His voice was hardly more than a whisper, but his eyes looked into hers with painful intelligence.
‘Seryosha, why did you do it?’ she asked suddenly. Akim Shan might talk of his longing for honour, but she didn’t believe that was Sergei’s reasoning. She had a deep inner fear that he had deliberately sought his death, and the end of his mental torment, which had begun that bloody day high in the mountains of the Caucasus. The tiger’s death he had sought, swift and merciful; but fickle chance had delivered him up to the jackal.
‘You were told not to try to take the town – only to cause a diversion,’ she said. ‘Akim Shan told me you – you went on, when everyone turned back. Why, Seryosha?’
She met his eyes, and his were sad and guilty and puzzled.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. She stroked his cold cheek again, not trusting herself to speak. He sighed. ‘Perhaps I wanted to escape.’ But you can’t escape. What you are comes with you, always, always.’ He closed his eyes.
Zina came back with the blanket and they tucked it round him. Anne slipped her hand down to his side, and felt the bandages only slightly damp. The bleeding was slowing – or was it that he had too little blood left?
She thought he had drifted away again; but after a moment, without opening his eyes, he said, ‘Anna? Did you ever love me?’
She couldn’t answer for a moment. She looked at his pale composed face with a love and pity that tore deeply at the fibres of her heart. He might almost have been her child – within her body a child now grew who was his brother. She ached to save him hurt, to preserve him, protect him, hold him close; and there was nothing she could do.
‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘I loved you – I do love you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and she had to lean close to catch his words – his voice was only a murmur. ‘I’m sorry it’s like this.’
The light was fading outside, and one star was shining clear and steady in the pale green evening sky. Sergei began to yawn, as men bleeding to death often will. He had drifted away from her in his thoughts, back to the safety of his troop. After a long silence he muttered, ‘Don’t forget the horses. See to the horses first.’
It had been dark for a long time. The firing seemed to have died down, except for long rumblings, which sounded like distant thunder, from the direction of Utitsa. The main battlefield had fallen silent. It was silent inside the room, too. A lamp glowed softly in the corner, throwing its light over the bent head of Zina, who was dozing in an armchair. Anne sat beside the bed, watching Sergei. She had been still for so long, that perhaps she had dozed, too; at any rate, she had the feeling of coming suddenly to herself at the sound of voices and footsteps on the stairs.
She rose to her feet as though pulled by a string, and ran out into the hallway. Nikolai was coming up the stairs in a swirl of movement, with Stenka shuffling behind him as fast as he could, crying, ‘Barina! Barina! He’s here!’
‘Oh, thank God you’ve come!’ Anne was across the landing and in his arms in an instant. He pressed her to him, smelling of sweat and smoke; his cloak was damp from dew; he was trembling all over, and breathing fast, as though he had been running. Their embrace lasted only an instant; she was drawing him towards the room, asking as they went. ‘Is it over? Is the battle over? We could still hear cannon-fire in the distance.’