As Eagles Fly

by Barbara Cartland

“Why do you not change your mind?” Lord Athelstan asked. “Appear as a woman and tell your people that you have escaped from captivity.”

  “Would you do that in similar circumstances?” she asked in a low voice.

  “I am a man,” he answered.

  “You have already told me I am unfeminine.”

  “I still think it would be the sensible thing to do.”

  “And leave my brother in the hell that Djemmal Eddin is going to?”

  There was no answer to this.

  With an irritated gesture Lord Athelstan threw his cigar away over the balcony of the terrace. It fell onto the ground below and he heard the hiss as it extinguished itself in the damp grass.

  “The fact that you are here will be reported to Shamyl,” he said. “Make quite certain of that!”

  “You mean – there are – eyes watching – us?”

  “Not only you, but Djemmal Eddin.”

  “I might have known that,” she said. “All the time we were in the Great Aôul there was always someone listening to what we said. I think such lack of privacy is terrifying!”

  “It is part of the East,” Lord Athelstan remarked.

  “And of Russia!”

  Natasha paused for a moment and then in a low voice as if she spoke to herself she went on,

  “That is why I would like to go to England. I wish I really was Prince Akbar! I have always dreamt of the Freedom of England, of not being afraid of what I have to say, of not having to look over my shoulder.”

  Lord Athelstan did not reply and she gave a little sigh.

  “It’s no use setting our sights too high,” she said bravely. “As your Lordship well knows, Constantinople is my goal.”

  She turned away from him as she spoke and walked back into the ballroom.

  He had a feeling that at that moment she wanted to look at the dancing, to observe the grandeur, the elegance and the beauty of those who waltzed.

  Like Djemmal Eddin, it would be the last time for her as well!

  Chapter Four

  Lord Athelstan walked into the sitting room that was part of the suite he and Natasha had been given in the Viceroy’s Palace.

  As he handed his hat and gloves to a servant he saw that Natasha was waiting for him.

  She had risen to her feet at his entrance and her dark eyes were on his as he advanced across the Aubusson carpet and under a huge crystal chandelier that decorated the centre of the ornate room.

  She waited until the door had closed behind the servant and then she said,

  “Is everything all right?”

  Lord Athelstan saw the anxiety in her face and realised that for once she was not defying or taunting him but was in fact very anxious.

  “Come and sit down,” he said, “and I will tell you what occurred.”

  He had risen very early in the morning to ride with Prince David, Djemmal Eddin and a number of other Officers to Hassif Yourt where they were to meet the messengers from the Imam.

  As they travelled, Lord Athelstan had learnt that the Prince David was desperately depressed, having that morning received a letter from his wife.

  He told Lord Athelstan that Princess Anna had written,

  “Today they were going to distribute us amongst the Naibs. We thought we were lost, but his sons asked Shamyl to send messengers to you for the last time.”

  “I cannot believe that is true,” Lord Athelstan had said. “I can only imagine that the Imam is frightening Princess Anna so that she will write to you in such a vein.”

  “My wife goes on,” Prince David replied with a break in his voice,

  “‘It seems as if it is not God’s will that we should see each other again in this world!’

  “What can I reply to that?”

  “I am absolutely convinced,” Lord Athelstan answered, “that however many threats they make, Shamyl is determined to have his son back with him. After all, he has waited thirteen years for this moment.”

  “I cannot find a million roubles,” Prince David exclaimed desperately.

  “I do not believe that money counts with Shamyl,” Lord Athelstan said. “I have seen the austerity he lives in. I have been in his house which has practically no comforts in it whatsoever.”

  “This avarice comes from the Murids, who apparently now rule their leader,” Prince David said bitterly.

  “That is what they wish us to believe,” Lord Athelstan replied. “Personally I think that Shamyl is far too astute to lose the chance of having his son back in his arms by allowing himself to be overruled by his own followers.”

  “I wish I could believe you,” Prince David sighed. “We will see what transpires this morning.”

  They reached Hassif Yourt, which was a garrison town and nearest to the place Shamyl had chosen for the exchange of hostages.

  This was a flat plateau on the edge of his own territory, the Greater Tchetchnia. It sloped down to the water so that his troops would have the shelter of the wooded hills.

  Across the River Mitchik the Georgian country was open and unwooded and could therefore easily be raked by gunfire if at the last moment the exchange should become a battle.

  In the meantime it seemed as if the Imam’s negotiators were determined to make difficulties.

  Lord Athelstan was well aware that he had been invited by Prince David to accompany him and Djemmal Eddin to this morning’s meeting so that he could see and report to Great Britain the manner in which Shamyl was prevaricating, temporising and putting obstacles in the way of what would normally have been a simple exchange of hostages.

  This was very evident when finally they arrived at Hassif Yourt to find that the Imam had written a letter to Prince David.

  The Prince, after he had read it, showed the letter to Lord Athelstan.

  One sentence in it summed up all the difficulties,

  “You must know that besides my son I require a million roubles and one hundred and fifty of my Murids whom you hold prisoner. Do not bargain with me, I will take no less. If you do not comply, I have resolved to distribute your family among the different aôuls.”

  It was obvious that the Prince was thunderstruck.

  For the moment he was silent and then in a voice hoarse with rage he said to the messengers,

  “I will make no further reply to your Imam. You can tell him from me that long ago I took an eternal farewell of my family. I can only trust them now to God’s mercy.”

  He drew a deep breath.

  “If by Saturday you do not bring back to me here the solemn acceptance of my original offer, I swear by the Creator that on that day I will leave Hassif Yourt and take Djemmal Eddin away with me.”

  He went on, his voice gathering fury, to say that from the day Shamyl carried out his threat of sending his wife and children to the aôuls he would no longer recognise them and would never in the future receive them back.

  When the Prince had finished speaking everyone was silent, too abashed by his violent words to reply. Then at length the messengers, who had listened with stony faces, asked if he would put this ultimatum to the Imam in writing.

  “I will not write another line,” the Prince replied harshly. “I am sorry to have wasted so much paper on a man who consistently breaks his word.”

  The Murids began to answer, but the Prince turned from them in disgust and made as if to leave the room.

  “There is one other way,” their leader said after a moment. “The Imam would agree to let your family go in exchange for his son and only forty thousand roubles but in that case Princess Varvara and her child must remain with him. Her release would then be a matter for later negotiations.”

  Prince David now lost all control of his temper.

  He would have struck the messengers had not Djemmal Eddin and some of the other Officers present restrained him.

  “Not only will I not leave my sister-in-law with you,” shouted the Prince, “but I will not even allow the youngest of my servants’ children to be detained.”

 
; In the uproar which ensued everyone talked at once and Lord Athelstan noticed that Djemmal Eddin had turned crimson with rage and humiliation at the way his people were behaving.

  For one moment Lord Athelstan thought he might have drawn his pistol on them, but finally the Officers managed to calm both Prince David and Djemmal Eddin and the messengers were hurried from the room.

  The Russians decided to send to Shamyl an Armenian interpreter who had been present on all the previous negotiations.

  He was serving with the Russian Army and was an extremely astute and diplomatic man.

  “I am sure,” Lord Athelstan said as he finished telling Natasha what had occurred, “Shamyl will not want to lose his son at the eleventh hour. The Caucasian tie of blood is sacred and Shamyl will, I am convinced, find a way to accept the Prince’s offer, which will save everyone’s face.”

  “The whole situation is intolerable!” Natasha cried hotly.

  “There is always a lot of sabre rattling that comes to nothing,” Lord Athelstan said soothingly. “I am sure that in the end Princess Anna will be returned and with her all the Prince’s household.”

  “Except Dimitri,” Natasha said in a low voice. “I know Shamyl will never let him go. I could see in his eyes when he talked to me that he had the idea of bringing up Dimitri as a Caucasian, just as the Czar had made Djemmal Eddin a Russian.”

  There was a pain in her voice that Lord Athelstan had not heard before.

  As he wondered how he could comfort her, she said in an entirely different tone,

  “Will you give me some money?”

  He started and then replied,

  “Of course. How remiss of me! I should have thought of it before, but seeing how you were dressed – ”

  He looked as he spoke at the rich material of her Princely coat and the exquisite silk of the pink turban she wore on her head.

  There was a faint smile on Natasha’s lips as she explained,

  “The mountain nobles raid the merchants’ caravans as they file through the passes. They make off with silks and brocades and fine furs from Tiflis and the East and carried by the camels Northwards.”

  She made a little gesture with her hands before she went on,

  “They also intercept the baggage trains coming South to Tiflis laden with goods from Moscow and St. Petersburg – French laces, ribbons, cloth, gold watches and china.”

  “I am surprised that Shamyl should stoop to thieving!” Lord Athelstan remarked.

  “He does not do it himself,” Natasha replied, “but he accepts presents from his nobles as in other countries a leader might impose taxes. He also makes quite sure that he has his fair share of the booty of war.”

  She looked down at her brocade coat.

  “This, like the other clothes I wear, came from a sort of Aladdin’s cave in the Great Aôul.”

  “I should imagine it came originally from Persia,” Lord Athelstan said.

  “Or even from India,” Natasha answered. “The Imam has so much stored away, gold dishes, jewel-studded sabre-scabbards, coral and amber drinking cups, that I realised it was a reserve for the future.”

  She gave a sigh and added,

  “To be sold to pay for guns, pistols and swords. A Caucasian cannot live without killing!”

  There was a sharp bitterness in her voice.

  Then she smiled.

  “I was allowed to take what was necessary but not of course a kindjal, which is what I need now or even a sharper dagger.”

  Lord Athelstan looked at her enquiringly and, with that defiant air that he had come to know so well, she said,

  “You should be pleased to give me money for a weapon I can kill myself with!”

  Lord Athelstan who had drawn a well-filled wallet from an inside pocket of his coat, stiffened.

  “Must you talk in that abominable manner?” he asked.

  “Why abominable?” Natasha enquired. “You have wished me dead. I have seen it in your eyes.”

  “That is not true,” he replied. “What I have wished is that I was not part and parcel of this unpleasant bargain that you have made with Shamyl.”

  “You had to be an accessory to the crime,” Natasha said lightly. “There was no one else available.”

  Lord Athelstan pressed his lips together.

  “Take what money you require,” he said coldly. “I imagine you will find sufficient here.”

  Natasha was about to answer him when the door into the sitting room was opened and a servant announced,

  “Her Excellency Baroness Walchian to see you, my Lord.”

  Lord Athelstan turned round.

  Coming into the room was an entrancing and attractive figure.

  Wife of the Ambassador of Austria, Baroness Walchian had conquered Paris with her charm and her beauty and for a short time Lord Athelstan had laid his heart at her feet.

  She extended both hands to him now as she seemed to glide across the room.

  “D’Arcy!” she exclaimed. “How wonderful! How incredibly wonderful to find you here!”

  “I had no idea, Kyril, that you were due in Tiflis,” he replied.

  “We arrived late last night and when I heard that you were staying in the Palace I was ecstatic with delight – I was really!”

  She looked up at him and Lord Athelstan thought that she had not changed.

  Her red hair, which was characteristic of Viennese beauties, glinted like fire in the light from the window. Her eyes were green pools of mystery and her small, heart-shaped face was unforgettable to any man who had once seen it.

  Lord Athelstan kissed both the Baroness’s hands.

  Then, as if he suddenly remembered that Natasha was there, he said,

  “May I present, Your Excellency, Prince Akbar of Sharpura, who is travelling with me to England?”

  “I heard you had a guest,” the Baroness smiled and held out her hand to Natasha.

  “I am delighted to meet Your Highness!”

  Natasha made no effort to touch the outstretched hand, but, raising her own pressed them together in the traditional Indian greeting.

  “I have always longed to visit your beautiful country,” the Baroness said.

  She walked towards Natasha to seat herself on the sofa just vacated by Lord Athelstan and added,

  “You must tell me all about it.”

  She gave Natasha a glance that would have sent any young man into a transport of delight.

  “Tell me why you are here,” Lord Athelstan said quickly to divert the Baroness’s attention.

  “Franz is on his way to Teheran,” the Baroness explained. “For a visit – not an appointment – and from there we return to Rome.”

  She looked at Lord Athelstan.

  “You are just as handsome as I remembered, mon ami!”

  “And you, if it is possible, are even more beautiful,” Lord Athelstan replied.

  As he spoke, he was conscious of feeling a surge of anger at the hint of amusement in Natasha’s eyes.

  He wondered irritably why she did not leave the room. She must be well aware that her presence was not required.

  “I tried to see you this morning,” the Baroness said, “for I don’t wish to miss a moment when we might be together; but I learnt you had gone with Prince David to meet the dreaded Tartars.”

  “That is true,” Lord Athelstan said.

  “Tell me about them,” the Baroness said. “Are they as wildly attractive, as passionate and as handsome as they are reputed to be?”

  Lord Athelstan did not reply and with a little light laugh the Baroness went on,

  “Everyone is so sorry for the Princesses shut up with those Adonises! But I am told that it is the dream of every woman in Georgia to be swept up into the arms of some Tartar brave, flung over his saddle and carried away into the mountains!”

  Lord Athelstan knew without even looking at her that Natasha had stiffened at the Baroness’s words, but he could not stop her vivacious chatter as she went on,

  “I
am sure our sympathy is wasted on Princess Anna. Doubtless by now she has found ample compensation for her captivity in the arms of Shamyl himself and as for the others – !”

  “It’s not true! Such things, if they are said, are slanders!”

  Natasha’s voice seemed to ring out in the sitting room and the Baroness turned to look at her in astonishment.

  There was no mistaking the fact that she was exceedingly angry and that there was a fire of fierce resentment in her dark eyes.

  Lord Athelstan’s diplomatic training brought him quickly to the rescue of what he realised might not only be an awkward moment but a very revealing one for the Baroness.

  He gave Natasha a warning glance as he said,

  “You must forgive His Highness, Kyril, for speaking so impetuously, but he accompanied me to Dargo-Vedin and was deeply distressed by the conditions the Princesses were living in.”

  He realised as he spoke in a quiet balanced tone that Natasha had regained her composure. But he knew that she had come near to betraying herself.

  “I assure you,” Lord Athelstan went on, “that the Princesses are very thin and emaciated. Their clothes are in rags and the cold they have experienced this long winter must have been almost insupportable.”

  “Do not tell me any more, D’Arcy,” the Baroness begged, “you know I cannot bear to hear of horrors or listen to tales of unhappiness. I was simply repeating the Palace gossip and you can be sure I have heard all of it since I arrived.”

  Natasha rose to her feet.

  “If you will excuse me, my Lord, I have some purchases to make and a servant is awaiting my instructions.”

  Once again the Baroness accorded to what she thought was a young Prince her most devastating and beguiling smile.

  “We shall meet again tonight, Your Highness,” she said, “and I shall look forward to it.”

  “Your Excellency is very gracious,” Natasha replied.

  She made an obeisance both to the Baroness and to Lord Athelstan and then she went from the sitting room.

  “And now, D’Arcy, we are alone!” the Baroness said invitingly.

  It was, Lord Athelstan knew, his cue to take up their association where it had left off.