‘If we get that far.’ They took it in turns to watch that night but it passed peacefully enough, with a new fall of snow to blanket sound.
It made the going slower next day, and Jan, helping Glynde to push Miriam’s sledge out of a hole, chose his moment to mouth, ‘You were right. There is someone.’
Back in the sledge when they had cleared the obstacle, they broke the news to Miriam. She took it calmly. ‘Just one, you think?’
‘Certainly not more than two.’
‘Two would be enough. One to keep with us, the other to summon the rest of the gang.’
‘Robbers?’ asked Jan.
‘Or someone who doesn’t wish your cousin to get to Rendomierz. But that gets us no further. As we don’t know why the Princess wants you so badly, Glynde, we have no clue as to why anyone should wish to stop you. But I think we should assume they do and keep good watch.’
‘You must go back at once,’ said Jan.
‘Impossible. Or – if I go back, we all do. I gave my word that I would tell no one of the secret way. I have to show you.’
‘But we can’t go back,’ said Glynde.
‘I agree with you. It would only make the next try more dangerous. We must do nothing to let it seem we are expecting an attack. So, the element of surprise is reversed. Whoever they are, they will want it to seem a mere affair of robbery with violence.’
‘Mere?’ asked Glynde.
‘They happen all the time. Or it could be a band of Cossacks, of course, got out of hand. That happens, too.’
‘We should never have let you come,’ groaned Jan.
‘Nonsense. Do you think it is only men who can risk their lives for Poland? Oh, gallant to die in the field of battle! Woman’s part is different: lonely, but taking no less courage. And, it’s a strange thing, but since I lost my own boys, I can’t help loving the little Prince. He has my whole allegiance. He and Poland. If the Princess needs you, so must he. And Poland. So – we go on.’
‘And the man who is following?’
‘We’ll have to deal with him. Or them. That is my affair. They shall not learn my secret path. Nor, I warn you, will you, though I lead you along it. It’s not something one learns by one experience.’
‘You mean, you have taken it before?’ asked Jan.
‘When I was young; many times. You forget that there has never been real peace here in my lifetime. And for us Jews … Never …’
Four members of the escort vanished next morning. Glynde and Jan exchanged glances, said nothing. They did not comment either on the fact that Miriam was forcing the pace. Whips cracked, men shouted and swore, horses squealed as the sledges struggled forward over newly frozen snow. Today, the forest was closer to the track, looming dark and vast on either side.
‘I’ll never get used to the immensity of it,’ said Glynde. ‘No wonder this has always been a land of violence, when an outlaw can vanish into the forest and live off it as long as he pleases.’
‘Or so long as he can do without salt, and a few other of the essentials of life,’ said Miriam drily. ‘Even outlaws need friends. We’re going to spend tonight with a band of them,’ she went on. ‘I’d been meaning to warn you. We’re in the district of Bialystok now; do you know what that means?’
‘No,’ said Glynde. ‘I seem to have heard the name, but …’
‘Why should you know or care? At Vienna last year, Napoleon gave Bialystok to the Tsar, just like that. For doing nothing!’
‘I heard about it, of course,’ said Jan. ‘They said in Petersburg that it was a bride gift for the Tsar’s sister.’
‘A bride gift drenched in blood,’ said Miriam. ‘Imagine what happened to the men who had risked their lives to support the French against the Russians three years ago. Oh, there was fine talk in Vienna about no reprisals. Tell that to the men of Bialystok. You’ll be meeting some of the lucky ones tonight. The ones who saw vengeance coming and got away into the forest. The wisest of them brought their wives and children with them. It’s a hard life, but it’s life.’
‘You can’t mean –’ Glynde was horrified. ‘But the Tsar is a man of peace; deeply religious; he can’t have intended –’
‘What the Tsar intends, and what happens at the ends of his empire are two different things,’ said Miriam bleakly. ‘Remember who stand at his side: the martinet Arakchayev; the shark Speranski. What does he hear from them? That things are quiet in Bialystok, his new province. Quiet! The quiet of death. Remember this tonight, gentlemen. It is a great concession on the part of this group that they have agreed to receive you. Listen, and say nothing.’
As dusk was falling, they left even the semblance of a track behind. A man had emerged, silently, from the great darkness of the forest, to guide their little party. Voices hushed; they could hear the creak of runners on snow, the crack of a branch giving way under its load.
‘Have you noticed that our four strays are back?’ Jan asked Glynde quietly as Miriam spoke to their new guide.
‘Yes, looking pleased with themselves. I take it we are no longer being followed.’
The outlaws’ camp lay low, in the hollow carved by a tributary of the River Bug, black forest close around it. ‘Little fear of their smoke being seen,’ said Miriam. ‘You will be welcome, for my sake. And for my sake, be careful what you say.’
‘I’m afraid I’ll say nothing to the purpose,’ Glynde told her. ‘Since I speak no Polish, no Lithuanian, only Russian.’
‘I’d not speak that.’
But they were made immensely welcome and dined lavishly on river fish, venison and bear steaks washed down with the strongest vodka Glynde had ever tasted. ‘They certainly have friends in the village,’ he said sleepily to Jan as they fell on to the beds made of fresh fir branches.
What waked him? Still pitch dark. A sense of danger. Instant. Immediate. He rolled over. Roused Jan. ‘Quick! Wake up! Something’s happening.’ And while Jan grumbled slowly awake, he was rousing the other men in the big hut.
Outside, a hint of dawn light in the air, the outlaws hurrying to accustomed places at the stockade. The leader silently handed him a gun. ‘They must have surprised our lookout. Can you use it?’
‘Yes.’ He had always been a brilliant shot. Now, peering down the sights of this unknown weapon, he saw the light was just beginning to seep into the clearing. Mist and snow made everything strange, fantastic, a scene from a tale of witchcraft. But ahead, something moved. His finger on the trigger was instinctive, automatic. A dark shape fell forward into the snow, vanished. After that, it was just a mad repetition. Miriam, handing him a loaded gun; another movement, another shot, another death?
It seemed to go on for ever; was probably over quite soon. His right hand was stiff and ice cold; Miriam was chafing it. ‘They’re on the run. They didn’t expect such a reception.’
‘Who?’
‘Ah.’ She smiled at him brilliantly. ‘If we only knew that! Lucky for all of us you are such a good shot, Mr. Rendel.’
‘Lucky your friends stood firm. Tell me, Miriam, can you believe this is a coincidence?’
‘No.’ She met his eyes squarely. ‘I agree with you. But, I promise you, my men took care of our two followers.’
‘So, there was another?’
‘I think so. And I am sure they will try again. We are moving off at once. Find Mr. Warrington, would you, and tell him?’
Jan was binding up the wounds of one of the outlaws who had been hit by the random fire of the attackers. ‘All I’m good for,’ he said ruefully. ‘I’m no shot! If it had come to hand to hand, I hope I’d have given a good account of myself.’
‘Thank God it didn’t,’ said Glynde. A scream, suddenly cut short, from outside the stockade. ‘They must be finishing off the wounded.’
‘Kinder than to leave them to a slow death in the snow.’
‘I suppose so.’ Rejoining Miriam, he found her deep in talk with the chief outlaw. ‘They were Poles,’ she turned to him bleakly. ‘They’d been t
old we were Russians.’
‘Who by?’
‘That’s the question, isn’t it? And so many possible answers. By someone who hates one of us, that’s sure enough. You, or Mr. Warrington, or even me. Enough of my people at Vinsk would be glad to be rid of me. We’ll probably never know, but we’re taking no chances. We’re starting at once, leaving the others to move their camp. I lost two of my men, I’m sorry to say, but my friend here is lending me two.’
‘He’s a good friend to do so.’
‘We all help each other these days.’
Except when you are accidentally killing each other. But he kept the thought to himself, brooding silently as they started out over trampled, blood-stained snow, about the disastrous muddle that was Poland. Might his son, got so strangely, really prove a rallying point? Hard to believe, but something infinitely worth fighting for.
Miriam’s secret road took them among the foothills of the River Bug and was rough going indeed. ‘It makes what’s gone before seem like child’s play.’ Glynde was helping Miriam across the channel of what must be a stream in summer, now frozen solid under a treacherous layer of new snow. ‘It’s gallant of you to bring us.’
‘I’m enjoying it! My father brought me up as the son he never had. We used to do this journey together. When I grew up, it was hard to turn into a woman. Took a while to see I could still fight his fight for Poland.’
‘He fought?’
‘Metaphorically. Being a Jew, he was not eligible for the army. He fought with his wits; with his money. There are more ways of winning a battle than charging the enemy’s guns, Mr. Rendel.’
‘Yes, but first you must decide who is the enemy. And who your friends. Don’t trust the French too far, Miriam. May I call you that?’
‘What else? It’s all the name I have. It’s liberating, being Jewish, Mr. Rendel. And – thank you for your warning – I trust the French only a little more than I do the Russians. But I hate them a great deal less. Does that answer you?’
‘Completely.’ It was a silencer too.
They were back on what passed for the main road two days later when they saw a mounted party approaching. There was a moment of intense anxiety as they rode nearer across the waste of snow, then: ‘It’s Wysocki,’ said Glynde, who was riding beside Miriam, while Jan brought up the rear.
That’s a relief.’ Miriam turned to him. ‘Mr. Rendel, before we meet them, may I give you a word of advice?’
‘Do.’
‘Trust no one,’ she said.
Warned by an advance messenger from Wysocki, the Princess sent for Jenny. ‘I shall receive him in state. He deserves it after coming so far, and through such dangers. Imagine their being attacked in that wild border country, and his saving them by his sharp shooting. Did you know he was such a shot, Jenny?’
‘No. Why should I? But he fought at Valmy.’
‘All those years ago? Fancy that! Best tell Casimir. He must be there when I receive Mr. Rendel, and I want no nonsense about his welcome. It’s to be enthusiastic, tell Casimir, and if you can’t count on the rest of the little boys, keep them away.’
‘You mean to receive him publicly as your son’s tutor?’
‘Well, of course. That’s why I sent for him, after all.’
But did you tell him? She could not ask it. Instead: ‘But, Princess, do you mean to receive him publicly as Mr. Glynde Rendel, or under whatever alias he may have used for his travels?’
‘His dangerous travels.’ The Princess obviously liked this idea. ‘I shall receive him as Mr. Rendel. He comes, after all, with Monsieur Talleyrand’s blessing.’
‘Monsieur Talleyrand is in disgrace with Napoleon.’
‘Nonsense. Your news is out of date. The Austrian marriage was always Talleyrand’s project. With it, he’ll be reestablished. He’s too clever a man for Napoleon to do without for long. And anyway, I told Stanislas Potocki and my cousin Josef that I’d sent for an Englishman to see to my son’s education, and they both approved the idea. Better than any other nationality, they said, in the circumstances. A stroke of genius, Josef called it. Characteristic, he said.’
And what will Mr. Rendel say? Poor Glynde. Jenny kept quiet.
Chapter 26
The Princess received them in her mirrored entrance hall, as she had the Prince all those years ago, and Glynde was torn between thinking this the best of omens, and wishing that there had been a chance to tidy himself, to remove the disfiguring beard. It was all happening too fast, too publicly. Hands helped them out of furs and wadded coats as they moved forward to where Isobel stood on the fourth step of the wide stairway, a gleaming figure all in white, with a sparkle of diamonds.
‘Miriam!’ She came down to meet her, kissed her ceremonially on both cheeks, with just a perceptible moment of hesitation at the pockmarked one. ‘This has been gallant of you. I thank you, for myself and for my son. Casimir, make your bow.’
So far, all Glynde’s attention had been for Isobel. Now he was aware of Jenny, standing a little back and to the right of the stair’s last twirl of gilded balustrade, the boy beside her. A handsome child, well grown for his age, he had the Princess’s brilliant dark eyes under the close cap of thick, curling black hair. He was stepping forward now, very much in command of himself, to greet Miriam in French as fluent as his mother’s.
‘And my two good friends!’ The Princess held out a hand to each. ‘Mr. Rendel, Mr. Warrington, welcome back to Rendomierz. I cannot tell you what pleasure it gives me to see you here. And after such dangers encountered for our sakes! Casimir, you will not remember Mr. Warrington and Mr. Rendel, but they are old friends. Good friends of your father. If only he were here today.’
There was a little murmur among the crowd around her as those who understood French crossed themselves. While the boy made his bow first to Jan, then to himself, Glynde was very much aware of Jenny’s hovering presence just behind him. She had changed, he thought, more than the Princess had. She looked smaller, her face thin under the neat crown of braided hair. Every inch a governess, poor girl. And she looked anxious, too, presumably concerned over her charge’s behaviour.
The Princess was handsomer than ever, even more the great lady than he had remembered her, immensely in command. Now she was bringing Jenny into their charmed circle. ‘You’ll not have forgotten my beloved Miss Peverel,’ and so on to the rest of her little court, grouped on either side of the grand stairway. Bowing, greeting old and new faces, saying the proper things, he began to feel like a figure in some masquerade, or fairy-tale ballet. Had he come all this way, risking death at sea, the Tsar’s secret police, the savagery of the other night’s attack, only for this?
But what else had he imagined? Had he really expected her to hold out both hands to him, greet him as her lord? Absurd. She had sent for him and he had come. Later, there would be time to talk. And now she was putting an end to the oddly formal little scene: ‘You must be exhausted, all of you. You too, Leon, but before you rest yourself, I know you will see our valued guests safely to their quarters. We will meet again for dinner. Casimir,’ her voice was suddenly sharp, a note Glynde had not heard before, ‘come here.’
Through all the business of the introductions, Glynde had been aware of Casimir’s eyes upon him: a steady, somehow disconcerting scrutiny. The boy had been moving forward, about to speak to him, when his mother’s command stopped him. Just behind him, Jenny Peverel looked more anxious than ever. Something was up, but what? Fantastic, mad to imagine that any hint at a possible relationship between him and Casimir could have got out here at Rendomierz. He had looked in vain for any trace of himself in the boy, was glad of the strong likeness to the Princess.
Leon Wysocki was speaking to him. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘let’s go.’ Time to talk later, when he looked and felt himself again. ‘I’m for the Turkish bath, aren’t you, Jan?’
‘I most certainly am.’ Jan was a complete pirate with a week’s growth of beard and dark curls beginning to spring wirily back afte
r their long confinement under a fur hat.
As Wysocki led them up the street by the stream, Glynde automatically turned towards the house they had occupied before. The house with the tunnel. His blood stirred. Perhaps the Princess was waiting to send for him tonight.
‘No, Excellency, not that one,’ Wysocki shepherded them forward. ‘The Pani Peverel lives there, now she is in charge of the boys. I am afraid it will be a little further for your Excellencies to get to the bath. The boys have the first houses in the street, you see. They and their tutors.’ And as if to confirm this, they heard a great howl of childish mirth from the house they were passing.
‘Boys?’ asked Glynde. ‘What boys?’
‘But, Excellency!’ The man looked entirely astonished. ‘The little boys! Her Highness’s school.’
‘A school? The Princess?’ Glynde’s amazement mirrored Wysocki’s.
‘Her Highness will doubtless tell you about it herself.’ Something odd about the man’s tone? ‘But here is your house, Excellencies. And Jadwiga awaiting you. I hope you will find everything to your satisfaction.’
‘A school?’ Glynde faced Jan across the living-room of the little house that was the duplicate of the one they had occupied before. ‘The Princess running a school?’
‘You can bet your boots that Jenny Peverel really runs it,’ said Jan. ‘We’d better get shaving, Glynde, if we’re to be fit for the Princess’s dinner table.’
‘Yes. You’re right.’ He was impatient to get to his own room. Dismissing the voluble Jadwiga, he paced it eagerly, looking for the remembered signs of an entrance to the tunnel. And finding none.
When they reached the Princess’s salon, they found her as they had before, leaning on the big pianoforte, listening to Monsieur Poiret play Haydn. It might have been a replay of the scene eight years ago except that Jenny Peverel was there instead of Marta, still looking anxious, but surprisingly elegant in demure grey satin. And Jan had surprised him by appearing, formidably handsome, in formal evening rig of breeches and silk stockings. Jan had changed; no doubt about that. In the old days, Glynde had been the unquestioned leader of the two; now, from time to time, he was disconcerted to feel that Jan was – what? Bearing with him, perhaps even patronising him a little?
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