Once Upon a Hero: Tales of Love Throughout History

by C. N. Bird

  She belonged to him.

  He frowned as he ran towards the house, snow flicking up from his heels, his thoughts running together without pause. Even if they did have orders to retrieve her, the chances of these peasants recognising her as a noble woman were slim indeed.

  Would they care if they did recognise her?

  It wasn’t fair. Soldiers volunteered to join battles, to take coin to face danger on behalf of proud little men. She never volunteered for this.

  Suddenly he became aware of a glint in the corner of his eye and years of instinct and training took over. He rolled to the ground as a flash of steel glimmered past his face, vaguely aware of snow pressing against his bare chest. He kicked his assailant’s hand and felt fingers crack under his boot. Amaury grabbed his adversary’s arm and wrested the sword from his hand, his foe’s grunt turning to an outright howl as Amaury pulled him and rolled him to the ground. The sword was drawn to the Cossack’s throat and Amaury pressed the blade home. The man gurgled through the wound, his hands clutched his throat as if to keep his soul within the flesh. A life extinguished quickly, efficiently.

  Amaury stood panting, assessing his attacker. Sneaky bastard. Clearly some rudimentary training. Not enough though.

  For the first time, it struck him that the bitter, all-enveloping cold had been entirely forgotten— a cold that now forced itself upon every thought that arose in his mind. In a way he was grateful. To not feel the cold was to be just a few steps from succumbing to it.

  He had to get to Katinka.

  ***

  They sat huddled, shaking, cringing in unison with each new scream that made it to their chambers.

  A musket shot was fired then another then an angry cry. “Stop shooting, you damned fools! How can you tell friend or foe?”

  A splinter of fear vibrated in Katinka’s chest. If Amaury were to be hurt… oh lord, if Amaury were to be hurt by his own men!

  She thought back to that evening, the harsh words spoken. And yet further back, his hands so warm and tender upon her, his mouth tasting her, caressing her. His scent. The slickness that remained between her legs from their lovemaking. She groaned and clasped her temples, eyes beginning to well up. Such a stupid thing to quarrel when all around them was chaos and war. Such small things that appear so large and intractable and yet in the context of life and death are so petty and small.

  “You think he will be safe, Your Excellency?” Pauline whispered up to Katinka. Katinka smiled gently and sniffed. It was evidently quite telling what was troubling her, even if Pauline could perceive her heart’s wishes better than she could herself. But then, Pauline had served her most faithfully for many years.

  “It’s all in the hands of God now, my dear Pauline,” Katinka murmured, holding Pauline ever closer to her.

  “Josefa, come to me, my dear.”

  Josefa looked across at the two of them and sat by them. Katinka and Pauline raised their arms around her but Josefa was stiff in their embrace.

  The stairs outside their door creaked and they froze. Slowly, carefully, they turned towards the door, as though fearful that the noise of their heads turning would betray them. Katinka’s heart sank. The noise was clearly not the bottom stair. Someone was attempting to sneak up the stairs. Josefa started to snivel and Katinka shot her a look that invited no rebuke.

  Another creak.

  The creaking came with more regularity, slow and steady, step by painful step. Katinka shuddered and grabbed her embroidery scissors and a square of lace. Holding the scissors open as far as they would go, she wrapped the lace around the middle to protect her hands from the handles and blade, leaving pointed edges protruding two inches from either side of her palm. It was just like her father had shown her many years ago. She shivered still but felt stronger now she was armed and anger rushed through her, energising her. She may not be able to save herself or Pauline or Josefa but she would blind the man who tried to attack them.

  At each step, she was certain that he must now be at the top of the stairs until yet another creak. Finally, after an agonising wait, the door opened.

  The bearded man who entered was tall with the darkened leathery skin of a man used to working long hours exposed to the elements. Josefa watched him warily whilst Pauline visibly relaxed. Though appearing older, the Cossack looked fit as a hound and smirked, a white mottled tongue licking his lips. Katinka shuddered at the sight. Though her countryman, his manners appalled her. She straightened her back and looked him directly in the eye.

  “Countryman. It is good that you have come at last. I am the Archduchess Katinka of Viasma. Your commanding officer has no doubt instructed you to seek the remaining family members of the noble house of Viasma. These women are my serving women and should be treated with the same courtesy that you extend to myself. Now what are your orders with regard to returning us to your commanding officer?”

  To her surprise, he stood still, a lascivious grin spreading across his gap-toothed mouth.

  “What? You are slow, dunduk? If you do not know your orders, you should go and instruct your commanding officer that we are found. We are tired, hungry and wish to return to my family’s property in Viasma.”

  He snickered and with a sinking heart, she realised that he was slowly raising his sword to them.

  “Oh you are a one. So full of yourself and airs and shit. Imagine that you don’t shit or something. I suppose I oughta refer to you as ‘your majesty?’”

  His voice was deep, a baritone that sounded like the devil himself. The sword was now pointed directly to her breasts.

  “They told me the French spies were good. Very, very good indeed. But you don’t shit a shitter, oh no. I ain’t never heard no Russian ever speak with such an accent as weird as yours. Foreign for sure.”

  The warmth slipped from Katinka’s cheeks and Josefa started to shriek, panic fully realised.

  “No! No, you cannot think we are spies! We were captured! We are wearing rags, for the love of God! We’ve had no food and I just want to go home and—”

  “Josefa, will you pull yourself together,” Katinka hissed, resignation setting in. At least Papa and Vasili could say they died serving Russia but to be murdered by her own countrymen... She scanned the room quickly and felt fear rising. There was no way in or out of the room but through the door the Cossack stood in.

  The Cossack chuckled, moving his blade from Katinka to Josefa, the tip grazing the skin on her throat.

  “I’d agree with your shrewish little princess here. Who knows, eh? Play along. Give some tired old soldiers some good times and you might even live to see the other side of this war. Get big Alexei’s donkey cock in you and you might even come to thank your stars that we were the ones that found you.”

  He turned the blade so it rested gently across Josefa’s throat before stepping forward and leaning into her ear. She shook so violently that the blade just nicked her skin and she yelped. He smiled a wolfish grin and whispered loudly enough for all to hear.

  “Have you ever tasted Russian cock, my little French princess?”

  The outer door to the building smacked open and feet thundered up the stairs. Amaury!

  “No!” Katinka cried and immediately regretted it. The Cossack growled and turned towards the door, pushing Josefa towards the bed.

  ***

  He heard her shout. Katinka lived. He had made it in time.

  He thundered up the stairs before stopping when he saw the Cossack. Stood in the doorway, he surveyed the scene slowly, never looking away from the Cossack for more than a few seconds at a time before crossing the threshold into the room. They watched each other, a look that betrayed no hatred, no anger, just the respect due to honoured opponents. Side to side they stepped in a slow dance, both light on their toes, sizing each other up. Amaury felt no fear, knew nothing but clarity as he faced his foe, knowing of no other outcome but death or glory. The clarity he wished he could have explained when speaking with Katinka about being a soldier.

&n
bsp; Katinka!

  The lapse in his concentration was fleeting but it was enough for the Cossack, trained and keen, to take his opportunity. With a flash, the Russian slashed his blade towards Amaury’s side and quick as a cat, he threw his sword arm down to block the blade. It was just too late. His opponent’s blade slid through his shirt sleeve and into the flesh of his forearm. He grunted and kicked at the man, who stepped back before circling again. He had bought himself some space at least.

  “Amaury, you’re bleeding!”

  “For the love of all that’s holy,” Amaury growled, “please be silent.”

  If you value me… if you would have me live.

  Amaury held his sword firmly, using both hands to support the weight and calm the trembling. They continued to circle, a step here and a threatened counter, circling.

  The fat lady started babbling in Russian at the Cossack, maybe she was pleading? She clasped her hands together, sobbed, crossed herself whilst her tone of voice got higher and sharper. It was evidently all for naught as the Cossack just smirked, would not look at her.

  Suddenly he screeched and wheeled around. The blade of a pair of embroidery scissors tumbled out of a neck wound much too shallow to ever do anything but enrage. Katinka flung herself backwards, her face a perfect picture of shock and terror.

  It was the opportunity Amaury needed.

  With a step and a twist, he pressed his sword into his opponent’s back and watched it slide in. The Cossack groaned—a moan of resignation and horror—and turned towards Amaury. The Cossack’s blade dropped to the floor and Amaury pulled the sword from his back. There was a sickening gurgle as the blade pulled air into the wound and with the reverence due a defeated enemy, Amaury lowered his opponent carefully to the ground. A dark, sticky pool formed under the now grey-skinned Russian and Amaury pressed his eyelids shut. The fat lady nodded approvingly and started singing in a language he didn’t recognise. It seemed fitting. Josefa lay insensible on the bed and Amaury moved his ear to her mouth. Hearing her breathe he nodded and stood, suddenly aware of the pain in his arm.

  “I would have twisted the blade! I would have stabbed him in his most precious… He tried to attack us! He was going to assault us! He deserved so much more… He… I… I was so scared and…” Katinka slumped to her knees, her temper subsiding into relieved tears.

  “Hush now, my dear,” he whispered as he reached to her with his good arm. She embraced him with gusto and he inhaled sharply. “Please, a bit looser. My arm…”

  She jumped back. “Oh Lord, let me see! Is it painful?”

  “I suspect that’s another scar but I should live,” he replied drolly. “Now hush one moment.”

  They stood in silence and listened. No musket fire. No clashes of swords. He could hear his men shouting the names of their colleagues. The Cossacks were probably gone. That sounded like the regrouping. He frowned, despite his relief that the attack was over. He dreaded the knowledge of what casualties had been inflicted in this attack.

  “I need to go out to see what damage has been done. You need to hide. There is a cellar in this building. Take all the layers of clothing and material you can and huddle together for warmth. When I am assured that it is safe, I shall come for you.”

  “Amaury, I can’t let you go out there! You are in no fit state.”

  They gazed at each other before he leaned gently and kissed her. “I’m a soldier. I will be fine. My men are waiting for me. But I shall be back for you.”

  “On your honour?”

  He nodded. “On my honour.”

  Chapter Five

  “Capitaine!”

  Amaury rolled over and winced, the pain in his arm wiping away any trace of sleepiness as swiftly as a bucket of cold water. He had already had too little sleep as it was.

  “Sapkowski…”

  “Sincere apologies, sir, there is a messenger here for you. From Commandant de Poitiers, sir.”

  He ran a hand over his face and shook himself. “Thank you, Sapkowski. I shall be ready in just a moment. Kindly show our messenger as much hospitality as we can muster. He will have had a long journey.”

  “Capitaine.”

  He dressed and wrapped himself in a cloak before walking towards the Eastern post. They had lost four men last night and three more were having their wounds tended to by the surgeons. As promised, he had retrieved the ladies from the cellar once he was assured of the safety of the supply post and posted additional guards to their chambers, promising that as soon as he could, he would visit personally. He had finally drifted to sleep as dawn broke, after attempting to stitch together his arm by lantern. The memory returned of flushing the wound with brandy and his arm ached afresh.

  A messenger from Yves. It could surely only mean that Moscow had fallen and he was to escort the archduchess there. His stomach sank at the thought. It could never have lasted indefinitely but it had evidently been too much to hope for a few more days.

  He approached the messenger, treading carefully through the snow, careful to avoid those patches where the snow had been trodden into hard ice. He could not afford to slip today. “Soldier, you have a message for me from my brother?”

  The messenger, still sat atop his horse and saluted. He was slender and covered in boils but seemed lively enough. The same could not be said about his horse—ribs protruding from under the patchy coat of hair. “Capitaine, yes.” He passed across an envelope, the red seal attached.

  “Soldier, you must be tired. Can we offer you water and some respite?” Amaury asked, peeling open the wax and pulling out the letter.

  “Thank you, sir, but no. This filly has got me here but I fear if we rest she may not carry me back.”

  Amaury’s felt his stomach churn as he read the contents. The messenger looked at him expectantly and Sapkowski watched Amaury carefully for his reaction. Amaury glanced at the two soldiers and through force of will maintained an impassive face. They could not know yet. It would destroy them.

  “Thank you, soldier. Before you return, what word of Cossack forces nearby? Any deserters, lost squadrons?”

  “Sir. Hard to tell. I would sincerely fear for any deserters or squadrons lost. The Russians have burned the ground, there is nothing to find. They will surely starve. As to the Cossacks, I have encountered none. None living at least. The roads are littered with the dead, all marked with boils. No marks to say the Russians killed them. We seem to not to be blessed on this campaign.”

  Amaury nodded. More than you realise, soldier. “Thank you soldier. You may report back to my brother that small Cossack parties have attempted to attack our supply posts but that these attacks have been repelled. If we cannot offer you a bed for the night, at least allow us to provide you with what supplies we can for your long journey back. Sapkowski, please assemble a package. Soldier, your name?”

  “St Martin, sir.”

  “St Martin. I wish you well. God speed and God bless.”

  Amaury walked slowly back to his quarters, deep in reverie. The message from Yves had been deeply troubling and the small matter of how to respond would likely occupy him for some hours. Though no coward, he was unaccustomed to bad news and whatever happened to him, he needed to protect his men. Needed to protect Katinka.

  ***

  For the second time that day, the horn from the Eastern post sounded.

  Amaury walked to the Eastern post, a small crowd now forming. Katinka, Pauline and Josefa wandered over, intrigued by this excitement. Katinka watched Amaury, frowning. He had been quiet, so quiet since he rescued her last night. She watched as Amaury scanned the roads and fields, saw the moment when his jaw fell before she followed his gaze.

  “Blanc! Sainson! To me!”

  Amaury sprinted down the road to the approaching soldier, not swiftly enough to catch him before he fell to the ground. Katinka gasped, riveted to the spot. It was clear, even from this distance that the last steps taken by the soldier had represented his very last dregs of endurance, that to see his coun
trymen had been his final hope attained, such a small goal though it was.

  Pauline stood to Katinka’s side, eyes brimming. “My lady, I fear we may witness another man’s death.” Katinka pulled her shawl tighter around her. Slower, harder and crueller than a blade.

  Pauline crossed herself and mumbled “Ya rekomenduyu tebe na nebo i gospodin moy,” before crossing herself again. Katinka watched her and shivered before looking back across at the ailing soldier. Amaury and Blanc had picked the man up and were carrying him between their shoulders back to the supply post.

  “No,” she whispered, voice full of determination. “We cannot just say that he will die. He shall not die today. Does no one fetch a surgeon? Pauline! They have no bandages left or medical supplies. Bring the dress I wore when captured, the vodka and the embroidery scissors.”

  Pauline stood gaping at her.

  “What? Do you doubt me? Today we will best death! Now go! Swiftly! Move your fat, docile arse!”

  Pauline ran, wobbling towards the barn and Katinka turned back towards the road. Amaury and Blanc were nearly back at the post with the soldier clinging to their shoulders, feet dragging in the snow. Behind them, Katinka could see Sainson gesturing furiously and her heart sank. The first soldier was evidently the messenger.

  “Capitaine! There are at least ten more that I can see! They’re… they’re all in a bad way Capitaine…”

  Amaury grimaced but did not turn back, merely shouting back. “So we will return Sainson. Guide them as best you can.”

  Katinka ran up to Amaury. “Amaury, there will be too many for the infirmary, you must use my quarters. I have some things that will help but is there anything more in supplies?”

  He looked into her eyes and must have seen determination blazing there. He returned the look with astonishment, admiration and finally gratitude.