Eventually he asked, “Why did you leave? And how? I mean, this place is a long way away, is it not?”
“Yes, from here certainly.” I did not particularly want to go into the reasons for my departure from the colonies or details of my journey to England. I pursed my lips, toying with Xavier’s mane, twisting up little strands. “I met someone who persuaded me to return to England with a departing ship. I was… restless and wanted the adventure.”
“And that was the first time you wore clothes?”
I laughed out loud at the innocent wonder and childlike naivety of his question. He had fixated on the nakedness, as I thought he might, and could not now see beyond it. I was glad. He had not pursued the subject of that terrible sea voyage and my unrequited passion. We had arrived at the docks. I stopped spinning my small web of revenge and looked about for a likely ship. Aleksey wandered off to buy some food from the stalls that always surrounded ports, and I made my way to the harbor office to inquire about passage to London.
I heard the first cries of alarm a few moments after entering the office but thought I was hearing gulls, the cries of which had been a background accompaniment to our whole conversation. But the harbormaster, clearly more used to the true sound of these scavengers than I, looked up, surprised. He glanced out the open door and mumbled something in the awful local dialect that I did not catch. We both went outside onto the quay when the shouting got louder. I immediately looked around for the prince. I was not so angry with him that I wanted something harmful to have occurred. On the contrary, it was not that kind of anger at all.
A number of men were congregating around another. He was shouting, and they were taking up the cry. Aleksey suddenly appeared at my side. His pale face was alight with what I could only describe as glee. “We have been invaded!” These were not the words I expected to accompany that look. I told him so. He punched my arm and reiterated, as if this explained all his great joy, “We’re at war, Niko! War!” He ran to his horse and snatched Xavier’s bridle at the same time, then led them both over. He swung up into his saddle, his thighs rippling, his whole body taut and vibrant. “Come on! Or we’ll miss it!”
I climbed into my saddle beside him. “We will miss the war?”
Color rose even more on his cheekbones. “Well, all right, not the war, but I don’t want to miss the fun of telling everyone. Come on!”
We cantered through the dockside, adding to the excitement of the crowd. They began to cheer the prince, and me also, I suppose. It was ludicrous. Aleksey loved it, though, and returned their cries with a clipped wave of his hand, the general bestowing his blessing. I sighed, spurred Xavier to a gallop, and outpaced him upon the open road. With any luck, I could use this new corn raid to my advantage and slip away unnoticed later that day. I wanted no good-byes. By the look of Aleksey’s distraction, I wouldn’t get them anyway. Some old doctor was leaving? How could that compare with going to war? He’d probably wear his scarlet and green jacket, polish his medals, and ride proudly in front of his army. Hesse-Davia had gone to war. How exciting.
CHAPTER 14
SAXEFALIA, THE country to the east of Hesse-Davia’s borders, was the great Satan that had dared to cross and claim a large peninsula which had been a subject of dispute for many generations between the two nations. As I had discovered from King Gregor in the sweat lodge, this country was the very one that had taken Aleksey as a boy and held him hostage for two years. I had expected him to be bitterer toward it, but he was not. He remembered his time there extremely fondly as, according to him, he had been treated as a favored prince and pretty much allowed to do exactly as he wished. Just as his life here, then, I pointed out. But he wasn’t in the mood for my sarcasm. He had a war to plan. He was clearly very disappointed by my lack of enthusiasm, and constantly appeared in my rooms to show me plans and maps and consult me, in a flattering way I suppose, about strategy. I told him that the only preparation I had ever made for war was to slap paint on. He liked this idea and went off to propose it to Colonel Johan.
I tried to impress on him the horror of war, the mutilated bodies, the emotional scars that never healed, but he was having none of this. And I had to admit, there was some justification to his argument that life was bloody and bitter and short for most men anyway, and that at least if they were at war, they died for some reason and with honor. Also, more importantly, as he pointed out, they died with a pension that went to their families.
I had frowned at this when he first mentioned it, not understanding the concept, and he had immediately tried to change the subject. We were poring over maps spread upon the table in his rooms—or he was. I was watching him and pretending to be interested in the calculation of rates of march versus likely weather constraints. But I did switch into his chatter when he mentioned this pension, just as he stumbled to silence and tried to change the subject to quantities of wine which might be carried.
When pressed, though, he admitted, “It was my first act when I became general. I had seen terrible things in battle that ruined a man’s body, but it seemed to me that a man’s soul was ruined when he was left behind—unable to fight. It’s such a contradiction. I wonder why clever men have not studied it. Anyway, I increased each man’s pay by one-third but kept that extra money back—and trust me, Niko, that was not easy to sell to the men. I think they thought I was actually keeping it all for myself. But it is there for them—when they are injured or too old to fight.”
I frowned. “But is that not motivation for you to see them killed outright in battle—not be treated so they might recover?”
He stared at me as if I’d performed a lewd act over his maps and replied haughtily, “If they die, the pension is paid to their families for their relief.”
“Oh.” It was now explained why Aleksey’s army always appeared so well manned. I assumed it had its pick of the young men of Hesse-Davia desperate to join.
This conversation led me to stop my criticism of his war and take a more active interest in it. For, of course, it made me stop my personal war with Aleksey. I don’t think he had actually realized that we were at war, so that had rather ruined my fun anyway. But how could I hate a man who could think of something like that? Whenever I tried to return to my anger and jealousy, he would do something that proved he had hidden depths, which, for some reason, he kept well hidden under the guise of an idle, spoiled prince.
For the first few days after the declaration of war, I fully intended to keep to my resolution and leave. But two things happened that prevented me. Firstly, they closed the borders; that was the more practical reason. Had I forced the king’s hand, he would have let me go. After all, the closure was more to keep people out than in, but then the second thing occurred, and leaving became less attractive.
I was on my way to the stables to ready Xavier for a possible secret flight during the night, but before I could cross the courtyard, a messenger accosted me, informing me the king had summoned me. Assuming this to be official confirmation of my sequestration in Hesse-Davia for the duration of the war, I debated making a dash for freedom there and then, but something held me back. Pride? Possibly—I didn’t want an unseemly tussle with the servant. But it was more than that. I felt a sense of helplessness, as if I were merely one of the ships trapped in the harbor and my fate now was entirely beyond my control.
Whatever the reason, I followed the man meekly enough to the king’s council room.
I recognized many of the faces present, the courtiers who habitually surrounded the king like flies on carrion.
More to the point, I recognized one particular face. A pale one with freckles. Fifteen, to be precise.
I knelt and awaited my sentence.
The king bid me rise. He was smiling. Aleksey was grinning like a fool, but I ignored him.
“Doctor, as you are aware, we are at war. We are eternally grateful for your services over these last few months. What say you, sir, to now putting your skills to work with our men at arms?”
My brows rose for a s
econd before I swiftly composed my features. The loon was grinning even wider, but I was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing that anything he did caught my notice or interest.
The king, clearly not used to refusal, took my confusion and silence as consent to his plan and thrust a rolled parchment at me. When I didn’t examine it, he waved imperiously at one of his minions. “Surgeon General. Commission and rank accordingly. See the colonel has all he needs.”
I was outside the council room, parchment in hand, before his words made sense. I felt a nudge to my elbow, knew who it was, so began to pace away down the long gallery.
I was followed.
“Well, is this not excellent, Colonel Hartmann?”
I made no reply, but the parchment got a little scrunched in my fist.
“I shall have to teach you to… salute.”
He could try.
“I shall have to teach you to salute… me.”
I gritted my teeth and swerved toward a staircase descending who knew where.
I heard an amused snort, and he was at my side again with the grace of a dancing partner executing a complicated step.
“You will look so fine in your uniform. I can’t wait to admire you.”
Uniform? This was something I’d not considered. “Will it be the same color as yours?”
If there was another amused snort, I ignored it.
“Of course. Not so much gold braid, though. You are only a colonel.” He stopped and caught my arm. “Tell me you like this plan of mine, Niko, for it was the very devil to persuade my father that soldiers need care in battle—more than kings in peace time, if truth be told.”
I looked down upon the fingers holding my arm. I felt that touch in every part of my body and was set afire. I acquiesced with a nod. He took it as capitulation to his plan. He did not realize that it was very much more than this.
TO BE fair to me, I was less seduced by the rank and uniform than by the prospect of being responsible for the health and well-being of so many men. Men of my profession knew very well the opportunities war offered. Warfare advanced knowledge in every sphere, and medicine was one of the most fortunate in this regard. I wanted the chance to see wounds and injuries I had never seen before, the opportunity to devise new strategies and methods of healing. This war was just too good to miss. That I would ride into battle in a splendid new uniform alongside the object of my desire did not, of course, factor into my decision making at all.
I accepted the position. I was immediately moved from the rooms in the castle to rooms in the barracks. These were in the officers’ mess, and I had a room across from Colonel Johan. I immediately discovered that my rank had not been merely an affectation on Aleksey’s part (or a ruse to see me in uniform). The rank gave me the authority to carry out the preparations I wanted to make. I had complete autonomy over medical issues, mainly because—compared to swords and lances, horses and flags—sick men were considered very boring. No one was concerned with what I was doing, therefore, and I took advantage of this free hand to do as I pleased.
Men often died in battle because help for them was too long in coming. A wounded man who had to be carried off the battlefield, loaded into a cart, and jolted over rough ground amongst similarly injured men, often did not survive the journey despite not having received an initially fatal wound. Treatment for these soldiers needed to be immediate, appropriate, and close to the action. The cleansing of wounds when soldiers had arrived back to medical help could save other lives. The less badly wounded, those who needed some respite from the fighting before they could steady their nerve and return, did need to be removed from the sounds and sights of the war. I wanted to establish two medical stations, therefore, one that traveled with the front line of the army, where I would be, and one that remained in the rear for the less critical injuries.
I soon realized that my plans would fail entirely unless I had some help. I thought of Jules Lyons. He was a good man, trustworthy and not resistant to new ideas. I consulted him, and he agreed to my proposal. I had not known he was already a particular friend of Colonel Johan. They had been companioned once on a royal visit to a spa in Germany for the king’s health and had discovered a mutual love of chess. Jules too was commissioned—Captain Jules Lyons. I had my first officer in my small medical corps. It was quite exciting, and we celebrated our joint venture by adding a small white band to the sleeves of our red jackets to represent a bandage and thus make us easily identifiable to soldiers. I thought we would be laughed at, but everyone liked the idea, and soon different colored bands were appearing on all uniform sleeves. It became very much easier, therefore, to recognize who was responsible for what.
Jules and I could not hope to equip our two planned medical stations from the limited supplies we had available in the capital. We were fortunate, therefore, that many foreign ships had been caught in the closure of the borders. Ships in those days often carried surgeons and well-stocked apothecary stores. We requisitioned all their supplies. A scarlet uniform and sword carried the day. It never ceased to amaze me the power of a little bit of gold braid.
I did not personally step foot upon a single ship. I could not. Even the smell of the harbor and the sound of the wind in the rigging of moored ships made me ill. Nothing alleviated the sense of nausea I experienced approaching lowered gangplanks. I had to leave the boarding of the ships to my newly appointed captain and our small troop of soldiers.
Jules suggested I suffered from an extreme form of the malady that overtakes many men upon discovering the rolling motion of the sea, and I did not disabuse him of this notion.
I returned from each of our scavenging expeditions bitter with anger at my own weakness. I could not help but compare this evidence of my diminishing with the growth I began to see in Aleksey.
I had never truly appreciated what kind of a man Aleksey was until I became one of the officers in his army. Whereas I had one captain and one concern—ensuring medical provision—Aleksey commanded everyone and was responsible for everything. All his officers looked to him for decisions and money and approval of their plans. Everything had to be coordinated through him. It was no good me buying hundreds of yards of cotton to provide clean sheeting for injured soldiers if we had no carts to carry my provisions to war. No one could speak directly with the officer in charge of wagons (incidentally now wearing a green band), or he would have had dozens of such approaches. I never quite knew how Aleksey did it, but three weeks after the initial declaration of war, we had an army assembled and ready to march to Saxefalia. He was only twenty-three. I thought it incredible that not only could he achieve this impressive feat, but that he did it with a never-failing cheerfulness and enthusiasm that kept us all in his thrall.
Of course, he didn’t have to work hard for me to be in his thrall. I had admitted to myself that I was totally in love with Prince Christian Aleksey.
This private confession was painful and unpleasant and added to the bitter anger I felt then toward much in my life. When the confusing sensation first twisted my gut, I actually put it down to the aftermath of the raiding expedition we had that hour returned from.
It was early morning. We often carried out our raids—visits—before sunrise so that we had enough time to thoroughly search the ships in good daylight. In this case, the supplies had been handed over without complaint, and so we were returned before breakfast.
I was stabling Xavier.
I heard a commotion from the yard and peered out of the door.
The explosive noise of a barrel dropping off the high back of a wagon and breaking open on the cobbles had badly spooked a horse. Several men were attempting to catch the rearing animal and calm it, and right in there amongst them was the general, the prince—Aleksey. He was wearing only his trousers and open shirt, as if he had heard the commotion whilst dressing and rushed out before considering his attire.
Surrounded by confusion, shouting men, and a panicked horse, it seemed to me that the sunlight suddenly bent to shi
ne upon him alone. Time slowed down as I watched the events unfold. I feared I was finally overcome by the sickness that had plagued me at the harbor. The strange illumination of Aleksey’s hair, the brilliance of his white shirt, the way he turned his head to seek me, slowly, as if through a dense medium that had sprung up between us—all this I assigned to my earlier weakness and did not recognize the symptoms for what they were.
When he caught the horse, as he inevitably did, he handed it off and came over to me rapidly. “Are you unwell?”
I turned away and went back into the gloom of the stable.
I did not understand what I was feeling, but whatever it was, it was worse when he was close.
Aleksey rarely did as anyone told him, and I knew he would not leave if I made my anguish known.
Predictably, he followed me into Xavier’s stall, leaning on the wall, watching me as I removed imaginary pieces of straw from the dark mane. I felt Xavier shift in recognition of the scent of the wolf at Aleksey’s side.
“Are you finding your new duties tiresome, Colonel? I ask not as your friend, but so I might help my new officer. This is not your country nor your language, and you have not been brought up to soldiering.”
I managed to mutter that all was well. I think I would have gotten away with this lie if he hadn’t come and leaned against Xavier’s warm flank. I groaned, and he caught at my waist, perhaps thinking I was about to fall.
He smelled of new sweat in freshly washed linen.
His hands were warm, his fingers strong, squeezing my sides, and through those small touches he ignited my entire body.
I burned and did not know how he could hold me so and not suffer this conflagration.
Things might have taken an unexpected turn for both of us had not a fellow officer entered the stables at that moment to seek Aleksey’s counsel on a matter of some urgency regarding tents. Aleksey swung away from me quite naturally, as if he stood that close to all his officers, and went to the other man, questioning him. Aleksey laid his hand upon the man’s arm as they spoke.
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