by Wilbur Smith
No! Centaine shrieked, and Anna lifted her off her feet and ran with her to the head of the stairs. Anna was still sobbing and tears streamed down her fat red cheeks, but her strength was unimpaired.
Behind them part of the burning ceiling fell, taking the rest of the gallery floor with it, and Anna set Centaine on her feet and dragged her down the staircase. The smoke cleared as they went down, and at last they burst out into the yard again, and sucked in the sweet air.
The chateau was in flames from end to end, and shellfire still crashed into it or burst in tall columns of smoke and singing shrapnel upon the lawns and in the surrounding fields.
Bobby Clarke was supervising the loading of the last ambulances, but his face lit with relief as he saw Centaine, and he ran to her. The flames had frizzled the ends of her hair and scorched her eyelashes, soot streaked her cheeks.
We have to get out of here, where is your father? Bobby took her arm.
She could not answer him. She was shaking and the smoke had burned her throat and her eyes were red and streaming tears. Is he coming? She shook her head and saw the quick sympathy in his expression. He glanced up at the flaming building.
He took her other arm and led her towards the nearest ambulance.
Nuage, Centaine croaked. My horse. Her voice was roughened by smoke and shock.
No- Bobby Clarke said sharply and tried to hold her, but she pulled out of his grip and ran towards the stable paddock. Nuage! She tried to whistle, but no sound came through her parched lips, and Bobby Clarke caught up with her at the paddock gate.
Don't go in there! His voice was desperate, and he held her.
Confused and bewildered, she craned to look over the gate.
No, Centaine! He pulled her back, and she saw the horse and screamed.
Nuage! The rushing roar and thunder of another salvo drowned out her heart cry, but she fought in his grip.
Nuage! she screamed again, and the stallion lifted his head. He lay upon his side; one of the shell bursts had shattered both his back legs and ripped open his belly.
Nuage! He heard her voice and he tried to lift himself on to his forefeet, but the effort was too much and he fell back. His head thudded on the earth and he blew a soft fluttering sound through his wide nostrils.
Anna ran to help Bobby and between them they dragged Centaine to the waiting ambulance.
You can't leave him like that! she pleaded, trying with all her might to resist them. Please, please, don't leave him to suffer. Another salvo of shells straddled the yard, driving in their eardrums and filling the air around them with hissing chips of stone and steel fragments. No time, Bobby grunted, we must go. They forced Centaine into the rear of the vehicle, between the tiers of stretchers, and crowded in after her.
immediately the driver clashed the gears and pulled away, the ambulance swung in a tight circle, bouncing over the cobbles, and then accelerated through the gateway and out into the driveway.
Centaine dragged herself to the tailboard of the speeding vehicle and looked back at the chateau. The flames were rushing up through the shell holes in the pink tiles, and dark black smoke towered above it, rising straight up into the sunlit sky.
Everything, Centaine whispered. You've taken everything that I love.
Why? Oh Lord, why have you done this to me?
Ahead of them the other vehicles had pulled off the road at the edge of the forest, and parked under the trees to avoid the shellfire. Bobby Clarke jumped down and ran to each in turn, giving orders to the drivers and regrouping them into a convoy. Then, with his own vehicle in the lead, they sped down to the crossroads and turned into the main road.
Again shell-fire fell close about them, for the German observers already had the crossroads well covered. Like a conga line the convoy wove from one side of the road to the other to avoid the shell holes and the litter of destroyed carts, dead draught-animals and abandoned equipment.
As soon as they were clear, they closed up and followed the curve of the road down towards the village. As they passed the churchyard, Centaine saw that there was already a shell hole through the green copper-clad spire.
Although she glimpsed the upper branches of the yew tree that marked the family plot, Michael's grave was out of sight from the road.
I wonder if we will ever come back, Anna? Centaine whispered. I promised Michael - her voice trailed off.
Of course we will. Where else would we ever go? Anna's voice was rough with her own grief and the jolting of the ambulance.
Both of them stared back at the shot-holed church spire and the ugly black column of smoke that poured up into the sky above the forest marking the pyre of their home.
. . .
The ambulance convoy caught up with the tail of the main British retreat on the outskirts of the village. Here the military police had set up a temporary roadblock.
They were sending all able-bodied troops off the road to regroup and to set up a secondary line of defence, and they were searching all vehicles for deserters from the battlefield.
Is the new line holding, sergeant? Bobby Clarke asked the policeman who checked his papers. Can we halt in the village? Some of my patients- He was interrupted by a shellburst that hit one of the cottages beside the road. They were still within extreme range of the German guns.
There is no telling, sir, the sergeant handed Bobby back his papers. I were you I would pull back as far as the main base hospital at Arras. It's going to be a bit hairy around here. So the long, slow retreat began. They were a part of the solid stream of traffic that blocked the road for as far ahead as they could see, and reduced to the same excruciating pace.
The ambulances would start with a jolt, roll forward a few yards with noses to tails, and then pull up again for another interminable wait. As the day wore on so the heat built up, and the roads so recently running with winter mud turned to talcum dust. The flies came from the surrounding farmyards to the bloody bandages and crawled on the faces of the wounded men in the tiers of stretchers, and they moaned and cried out for water.
Anna and Centaine went to ask for water at one of the farm houses alongside the road, and found it already deserted. They helped themselves to milk pails and filled them from the pump.
They moved down the convoy, giving out mugs of water, bathing the faces of those in fever from their wounds, helping the ambulance orderlies clean those who had not been able to contain their bodily functions, and all the time trying to appear cheerful and confident, giving what comfort they could, despite their own grief and bereavement.
By nightfall the convoy had covered less than five miles, and they could still hear the din of the battle raging behind them. once more the convoy was stalled, waiting to move on.
It looks like we have managed to hold them at Mort Homme, Bobby Clarke paused beside Centaine. It should be safe to stop for the night. He looked more closely at the face of the soldier who Centaine was tending. God knows, these poor devils cannot take much more of this.
They need food and rest. There is a farmyard with a large barn around the next bend. It hasn't been taken over by anyone else yet, we" bag it."
I IL Anna produced a bunch of onions from her sack and used them to flavour the stew of canned bully beef that they boiled up over an open fire. They served the stew with dry army biscuit and mugs of black tea, all of it begged from the commissary trucks parked in the stalled column of traffic.
Centaine fed the men who were too weak to help themselves, and then worked with the orderlies changing the dressings. The heat and dust had done their worst, and many of the wounds were inflamed and swollen and beginning to ooze yellow pus.
After midnight Centaine slipped out of the barn and went to the water pump in the yard. She felt soiled and sweaty and longed to bathe her entire body and change into clean, freshly ironed clothes. There was no privacy for that, and the few clothes she had packed in the carpet bag she knew she must hoard. Instead she slipped off her petticoat and knickers from under her skirt and
washed them out under the tap, then wrung them and hung them over the gate while she bathed her face and arms with cold water.
She let the night breeze dry her skin and slipped her underclothes on again, still damp. Then she combed out her hair and she felt a little better, although her eyes still felt raw and swollen from the smoke and there was the heavy weight of her grief like a stone in her chest, and an enormous physical fatigue dragged at her legs and arms. The images of her father in the smoke and the white stallion lying on the grass assailed her once again, but she shut her mind to them.
Enough, she said aloud as she leaned against the gate to the yard. Enough for today, I'll cry again tomorrow. Tomorrow never comes. A voice replied in broken French from the darkness, and she was startled. Bobby? She saw the glow of his cigarette then, and he came out of the shadows and leaned over the gate beside her.
You are an amazing girl, he went on in English, I have six sisters, but I've never known a girl like you. Matter of fact, I've known damned few chaps that could match you, either. She was silent, but when he drew on his cigarette, she studied his face in the glow. He was about Michael's age, and handsome. His mouth was full and sensitive-looking, and there was a gentleness about him that she had never had an opportunity to notice before.
I say- he was suddenly embarrassed by her silence_you don't mind me talking to you, do you? I'll leave you alone if you prefer. She shook her head. I don't mind. And for a while they were silent, Bobby puffing on his cigarette and both of them listening to the distant sound of the battle and to the occasional soft groan from one of the wounded in the barn.
Then Centaine stirred and asked, Do you remember the young airman, the first day you came up to the chAteau? Yes. The one with the burned arm. What was his name again, Andrew? No, that was his friend. The wild Scot, yes, of course. His name was Michel. I remember both of them. What became of them? Michel and I were to be married, but he is dead- and her pent-up emotions came pouring out.
He was a stranger and gentle, and she found it so easy to talk to him in the darkness. She told him in her quaint English about Michel and how they had planned to live in Africa, then she told him about her father and how he had changed since her mother had died, and how she had tried to look after him and stop him drinking so much.
Then she described what had taken place that morning in the burning chateau.
I think that was what he wanted. in his own way he was tired of living. I think he wanted to die and be with Mama again. But now both he and Michel are gone. I have nothing. When at last she finished she felt drained and tired, but quietly resigned.
You have really been through the grinder. Bobby reached out and squeezed her arm. I wish I could help you. You have helped me. Thank you. I could give you something, a little laudanum, it all would help you sleep. Centaine felt a surge in her blood, a longing for the quick oblivion he offered her, it was so strong that it frightened her. No, she refused with unnecessary emphasis. I will be all right. She shivered. I'm cold and it's late now. Thank you again for listening to me. Anna had hung a blanket as a screen at one end of the barn and made a mattress of straw for them. Centaine dropped almost immediately into a deathlike sleep, and woke in the dawn in a sickly sweat with the urgent nausea on her again.
Still groggy with sleep, she stumbled out and managed to get behind the stone wall of the yard before heaving up a little bitter yellow bile. When she straightened up and wiped her mouth, clinging to the wall for support, she found that Bobby Clarke was beside her, his expression troubled as he took her wrist and checked her pulse rate.
I think I had better have a look at you, he said.
No. She felt vulnerable. This new sickness worried her for she had always been so healthy and strong. She was afraid he might discover some dreadful disease.
I am all right, truly. But he led her firmly by the hand to the parked ambulance and drew down the canvas side screens to give them privacy.
Lie there, please. He ignored her protests and unfastened her blouse to sound her chest.
His manner was so clinical and professional, that she no longer argued, and submitted meekly to his examination, sitting up and coughing and breathing at his instruction.
Now I will examine you, he said. Do you wish your maid to be present as a chaperone? She shook her head mutely and he said, Please remove your skirt and petticoat. When he had finished, he made a show of packing his instruments back in the roll and tying up the retaining ribbons, while she rearranged her clothing.
Then he looked up at her with such a peculiar expression that she was alarmed. Is it something serious? He shook his head. Centaine, your fiance is dead. You told me that last night. She nodded.
It is still very early to be certain, very early, but I believe that you will need a father for the child you are carrying. Her hands flew to her stomach, an involuntary protective gesture.
I have really known you only a few days, but that is long enough for me to realize that I have fallen in love with you. I would be honoured, his voice trailed off, for she was not listening to him.
Michel, she whispered. Michel's baby. I have not lost everything. I still have a part of him Centaine ate the sandwich of ham and cheese that Anna brought her with such relish that Anna examined her suspiciously.
I feel so much better now, Centaine forestalled her inquiry.
They helped feed the wounded and ready them for the day's trek. Two of their critical cases had died during the night, and the orderlies buried them hastily in shallow graves at the edge of the field and then the ambulances started up and pulled out into the main stream of traffic.
The congestion of the previous day's route had abated as the army shook itself out of mindless confusion into a semblance of order. The traffic still rolled slowly, but with fewer halts and false starts, and alongside the road they passed the rudimentary supply dumps and advanced headquarters echelons that had been set up during the night.
During one of their halts on the outskirts of a tiny village, half-concealed by trees and vineyards, Centaine made out the shapes of aircraft parked at the edge of the vineyard.
She climbed up on the running-board of the ambulance for a better view, and a flight of aircraft took off from the field and flew low over the road.
Her disappointment was intense as she realized that they were ungraceful two-seater De Havilland scouts, not the lovely SESas of Michel's squadron. She waved to them, and one of the pilots looked down at her and waved back.
. it cheered her somehow and as she returned to her selfimposed duties, she felt strong and lighthearted, and she joked with the wounded men in her accented English, and they reacted with delight. One of them called herSunshine and the name passed quickly down the line of ambulances.
Bobby Clarke stopped her as she passed. Great stuff but remember, don't overdo it."I will be all right. Don't worry about me. I can't help it. He dropped his voice. Have you thought about my offer? When will you give me an answer? Not now, Bobby. She pronounced his name with equal emphasis on each syllable, Bob-bee, and every time she said it he lost his breath. We will talk later, but you are very gentil, very kind. Now the roadway was almost impassable once more, for the reserves were being hastened up to help hold the new line at Mort Homme. Endless columns of marching men slogged past them, and interspersed between the ranks of bobbing steel helmets were batteries of guns and lines of supply trucks loaded with all the accoutrements of war.
Their forward progress faltered, and for hours at a time the ambulances were signalled off the roadway into a field or a side lane while fresh hordes streamed past.
I'll have to send the ambulances back soon, Bobby told Centaine during one of their halts. They are needed . As soon as we can find a field hospital, I'llhand over these patients. Centaine nodded and made as if to go to the next vehicle where one of the men was calling weakly. Over here, Sunshine, can you give me a hand. Bobby caught her wrist.
Centaine, when we reach the hospital there is bound to be a chapla
in there. It would only take a few minutes- She gave him her new smile, and reached up to touch his unshaven cheek with her fingertips. You are a kind man, Bobby, but Michel is the father of my son. I have thought about it, and I do not need another father. Centaine, you don't understand! What will people think? A child without a father, a young mother without a husband, what will they say? As long as I have my baby, Bobby, I don't give a, how do you say in English, I don't give them a fig! They can say what they like. I am the widow of Michel Courtney.
In the late afternoon they found the field hospital they were searching for. It was in a field outside Arras.
There were two cottage tents, emblazoned with the red crosses. These were serving as operating theatres. Rough shelters had also been hastily thrown up around them to accommodate the hundreds of wounded waiting their turns on the tables. They were built of tarpaulins over timber frames, or of corrugated iron scavenged from the surrounding farms.
Anna and Centaine helped unload their own wounded and carry them into one of the crowded shelters, then they retrieved their baggage from the roof of the leading ambulance. One of their patients noticed their preparations to leave.
You aren't going, Sunshine, are you? And hearing him, others pulled themselves up on an elbow to protest.
What are we going to do without you, luv?
She went to them for the last time, passing from one to the next with a smile and a joke, stooping to kiss their filthy, pain-contorted faces, and then at last unable to bear it any more, hurrying back to whence Anna waited for her.
They picked up the carpet bag and Anna's sack, and started along the convoy of ambulances which were being refuelled, ready to return to the battlefield.
Bobby Clarke had waited for them, and now he ran after Centaine. We are going back, orders from Major Sinclair."Au revoir, Bobby."I'll always remember you, Centaine. She went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. I hope it will be a boy, he whispered.
it will be, she told him seriously. A boy, I am certain of it The convoy of ambulances trundled away, back into the north, and Bobby Clarke waved and shouted something that she did not catch, as they were carried away on the river of marching men and lumbering equipment.
