by Holly Green
He gave her one of his rare smiles. ‘So I saw. But courage and self-sacrifice should be rewarded. I won’t insult you by offering you money, but perhaps something as a keepsake …?’
He crossed to a chest which stood at the side of the tent and opened it. It took him a few minutes to find what he was looking for. Then he turned towards her and held out a small dagger with a beautifully enamelled hilt. ‘It’s a toy, of course, not much use in a fight, but it is sharp so have a care.’
She took it from him with a hand that shook slightly. ‘It’s beautiful. I shall treasure it.’ She looked up and met his eyes. ‘A keepsake, as you said.’
For a moment his gaze held hers and she saw a small frown form on his brow, as if he was troubled by an elusive memory. It passed in a second and he turned away.
‘You can go now. Thank you again for what you did.’
She went to the tent flap but, as she reached it, he said, ‘There may be times when I need a Turkish interpreter. I may send for you again.’
Leo caught her breath. ‘If there is anything I can do, sir, you have only to ask.’
He nodded dismissal and she went out into the dark.
Leo said nothing about the incident to Victoria and Luke when they returned. She was certain that Victoria would tell her she was mad to think that her deception could go undetected for very long. In her more sober moments she knew that that assessment was probably correct, but common sense was overridden by the feeling that she had embarked on an adventure that she must see through to the end. She spent the next two days in a ferment of anticipation, wondering if and when Malkovic would send for her. Sometimes she asked herself why she was so anxious to see him again. He had behaved rudely when they first met, she reminded herself. He was condescending and arrogant. Yet the very knowledge that he was present in the camp and might send for her at any moment made the air electric with excitement.
The call came on the second afternoon. Leo was busy stitching a bayonet wound in a man’s shoulder when she looked up to see the young Lieutenant standing over her.
‘The colonel wants you.’
Irritation at the brusqueness of the request kept her excitement under control. ‘I’m busy, as you can see. Please tell the colonel that I will come as soon as I have finished here.’
He hesitated, unused to having his superior officer’s orders questioned. He looked down at what Leo was doing and she saw him blanch. He said curtly, ‘Very well. I will tell him. But he does not like to be kept waiting.’
Leo finished the stitching, applied a dressing and settled her patient as comfortably as was possible in the circumstances. Then she washed her hands and, seeing that Draganoff was occupied, slipped out and headed for the Serbian tents.
She was prepared for Malkovic to be angry with her but in the event he looked up from the maps he was studying and said simply, ‘Ah, you’re here. Come in. I want you to help me interrogate a prisoner.’ He strode to the tent flap and called to someone outside to bring in the prisoner, while Leo grappled with a sudden sense of unease. ‘Interrogation’ had a brutal sound. Suppose the prisoner had been maltreated, or that she might be expected to witness and condone ill-treatment?
To her relief, when the Turk was brought in, there was no sign that he had been harmed. He was a big man, with a flamboyant moustache and flashing dark eyes. It was apparent from his uniform that he was an officer and he carried himself with a haughty dignity that proclaimed a strong sense of his own importance. Malkovic rose to greet him and the two men saluted each other with formal courtesy.
Malkovic lifted the wine bottle. ‘Ask him if he would like a glass of wine.’
The Turk did not need her translation. His head went back and his nostrils flared as if he had been insulted. ‘He is a Moslem, sir,’ Leo said hastily. ‘Alcohol is forbidden by his religion.’
Malkovic struck the heel of his hand against his brow. ‘Of course. How foolish of me. Ask him if he would care for a drink of water.’
The offer was accepted, the water brought and the Turk drank thirstily. Malkovic offered him a chair and the interrogation began. He wanted to know which regiment the prisoner belonged to, where they were stationed, what condition they were in. Did they have adequate supplies of ammunition? Where they expecting to be reinforced in the near future? How many of their men had deserted? To every question he received the same response. ‘I will tell you nothing.’
Leo translated faithfully, on tenterhooks lest the continued refusal should spark a violent reaction. But Malkovic maintained the same level, courteous tone throughout the interview, though once or twice he sighed and passed a hand wearily over his face. She began to think that he saw the whole conversation as a waste of time. It was a relief when he brought it to an end and told his men to take the prisoner away.
‘What will happen to him now?’ Leo asked, wondering if he might be passed on to someone less scrupulous in his methods.
‘He will be sent back to Lozengrad with the other prisoners, I imagine.’ He must have seen the relief on her face because he said, ‘You surely did not imagine that I would have him tortured?’
She felt herself blush. ‘No, of course not … except, you hear of terrible things being done in war and …’ Her words petered into silence at the injured look on his face.
‘For one thing, he is a fellow officer and as such to be treated with courtesy. Moreover, I judge from his expression that any attempt to coerce him would be futile. He is one of those who cannot be browbeaten. But—’ he turned back to the maps on his table ‘—it is a pity that I could get nothing out of him. There are things we need to know, and time is running out. There are rumours of an armistice, but before that is signed we must know what the condition of the enemy is. If he is weak, running out of ammunition, depleted by sickness or desertion, then it is worth making a final push which could carry us through to Constantinople; and we do not want an armistice agreement before that happens. On the other hand, if he is expecting to be reinforced and preparing for a counter-attack, then a quick agreement will allow us to hold on to gains that we might otherwise lose.’ He sat drumming his fingers on the table, lost in thought, and Leo shifted uneasily, not sure whether she should stay or go. Abruptly, he looked up and seemed to become aware of her and she realised that he had been talking to himself rather than her. But now a new expression came into his face, as if a decision had been reached. He got up and came towards her.
‘You are a resourceful and courageous lad. How would you like to join me in an adventure?’
Leo swallowed. ‘An adventure, sir?’
His face was animated and she saw a different man. The sardonic sophistication had been discarded and he appeared years younger, excited by the prospect of action.
‘Listen. When it gets dark I am going to make an attempt to infiltrate the Turkish trenches. The two lines are so close that our saps are within feet of theirs. It would take hardly any time to break through from one to the other. Then, I should be able to get close enough to pick up some intelligence, even if it is only soldiers’ gossip. It might give us an idea of morale, if nothing else. But I need someone with me who understands Turkish. Will you come?’
Leo felt dizzy with fear at the prospect. But he had called her courageous and she would not disappoint him. ‘Tonight, sir?’
‘No. I need time to prepare the ground. Tomorrow night. Be here when dinner is finished. Can I rely on you?’
‘Yes.’ She did not know as she spoke whether her courage would hold till then, but she nodded and said again, ‘Yes. I will come.’
He grasped her shoulders and pressed down on them briefly. ‘Good lad! Off you go, now. See you tomorrow.’
She went out into the night with his touch still tingling in her shoulders.
Chapter 12
Victoria and Luke came back later that day and as they walked up from the road Luke’s arm was round Victoria’s shoulders, but Leo made no comment. She had difficulty keeping her mind on the conversati
on over dinner and at bedtime Victoria said, ‘Leo, is everything all right? You seem to be miles away.’
‘Oh, it’s just this place, that’s all,’ Leo said. ‘You know, the mud, the noise of the guns …’
‘Then swap with me,’ Victoria urged. ‘You know you only have to say. It’s your turn for a bit of a break. It’ll do you good to get away.’
Briefly the tantalising prospect hovered before Leo’s imagination. Tomorrow night she could be safe in Lozengrad, instead of facing unknown dangers in the Turkish trenches. But she knew that she could never accept the offer. Whatever happened, she was going with Sasha Malkovic and the thought came to her that she would follow that man anywhere if he called her, though she could not, for the life of her, explain why. ‘No, really,’ she replied, ‘I’d rather stick it out here. Thanks for the offer, but I’m sort of settled here, and I’m learning a lot. I’ll be all right. I’m just tired, that’s all. Let’s get some sleep.’
There was little sleep for her that night and the next day she had to struggle to keep her mind on her work. By dinner time her nerves were strung so tight that she could not eat. She presented herself at Colonel Malkovic’s tent while he was still finishing his meal.
He looked up and wiped his mouth. ‘You’re early, good. Here—’ he rose and threw her a bundle of clothes from the chest ‘—put these on. You’ll never pass for a Turk in those English tweeds.’
Leo stared at the bundle in her hands. If she was forced to strip in front of him her secret would be discovered at once. She had sometimes wished for the kind of magnificent bosom that made some of her friends look so splendid in a low-cut evening dress but now she was glad that several weeks of sparse food and hard work had pared her figure down until her breasts hardly created a curve in her chemise, and she had long ago abandoned her stays. Nevertheless, without her tunic and breeches it would be obvious that she was not a boy. To her relief, he moved to the rear of the tent, where a curtain hid the sleeping quarters.
‘I must change too. Be quick, I shall not be long.’
In fumbling haste she took off her clothes and pulled on those he had given her. They were made of rough brown serge, the kind of garment that might be worn by an ordinary soldier on either side, and she shuddered as she saw that the back of the tunic was stained with blood and realised that it had probably been taken from a corpse. She had just finished when Malkovic returned, dressed in a similar costume. He looked her over, then beckoned her to a corner of the tent where the bare earth was exposed.
‘Rub some mud on your face. That fair complexion will shine like the moon.’
She obeyed and he smeared mud on his own cheeks and brow. Then he threw a uniform cloak over his disguise and handed her a similar one.
‘Now, you know what I am looking for. Any hint of weakness, any suggestion of a retreat; or on the other hand any sign of reinforcements or a planned attack. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
As he led the way out of the tent the sentry outside came to attention and Malkovic said, ‘If anyone wants me, I am sleeping and not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He beckoned and Leo followed him into the darkness. The rain had stopped at last and a crescent moon appeared fleetingly through the cloud wrack but the main light came from the innumerable fires that dotted the camp. Once a sentry shouted a challenge but Malovic answered, ‘Colonel Malkovic, on my rounds,’ and the sentry saluted and let them pass. Before long, they came to the first trench and climbed down into it. Leo had grown used to the smell in the dressing tent, but the stench here was of a different order and she put her sleeve across her face. The bottom of the trench was ankle deep in water and they waded along for what seemed to her a considerable distance. As they got nearer to the front line, they passed men clustered in little groups in dugouts burrowed into the side of the trench and then men on guard duty and others dozing on the fire-step. One trench led to another until Leo lost all sense of direction. Eventually, Malkovic led her up a side turning and came to a stop where a sapper waited, armed with a small lamp and his entrenching tool. Beside them, was the dark opening of a tunnel.
‘All quiet?’ Malkovic asked.
‘Haven’t heard a whisper since yesterday,’ was the response. ‘We’ve dug as close as we dared. It’ll take no more than a minute to break through.’
‘Right,’ Malkovic said. ‘Lead on.’
With a flutter of rising panic, Leo saw that they were going to have to crawl into that black hole. The sapper went first, Malkovic followed and Leo, clenching her teeth to suppress a whimper of distress, went after him. The tunnel was no more than three feet high, shored up at intervals with baulks of timber, and too narrow to turn round in. Panic threatened as she realised that it was impossible to go back. Since Malkovic’s body blocked most of the light from the sapper’s lamp Leo was left in almost total darkness, able to see only the soles of his boots ahead of her. The ground under her hands and knees was sticky with wet clay and her nose was filled with the stench of damp earth.
They crawled for what seemed miles, until Leo’s muscles were throbbing with cramp. Then the moving shape in front of her came to a sudden halt and she almost collided with him. The sapper had come to a stop at a point where the roof was slightly higher and was holding up his lantern. ‘Still!’ Malkovic whispered. ‘No sound!’ Leo froze, straining her ears.
At length, the colonel whispered, ‘Go ahead,’ and the sapper struck the side wall of the tunnel with his entrenching tool. The noise seemed so loud that Leo felt it must carry to the Turkish trenches but at last there was a sound of falling earth and a blessed draft of cool air reached her face. The sapper worked for a moment or two longer, then wriggled out of the way and Malkovic squirmed through the hole he had made. Thankful to be out of that living grave, Leo followed.
They were in another trench, as wet and foul-smelling as the previous ones, but Leo assumed that they were now on the Turkish side of the lines. At that thought the full realisation of her own foolhardiness struck her. If they were to be captured, how long would she be able to sustain the illusion that she was a boy? And once her true sex was discovered what fate might await her? She tried to comfort herself with the recollection of the honourable and dignified behaviour of the Turkish officer she had helped to question. Surely, he would treat a woman with respect. But how long would it be before she was handed over to someone of his rank – if ever – and what might she have to suffer at the hands of the common soldiers before that? For a moment she was tempted to confess the whole deception to Malkovic, but already he was leading the way along the trench and she had no option but to follow. At a junction with a second trench he flattened himself against the wall and peered round. Leo could hear the low mumble of distant voices but after a moment Malkovic straightened up and moved swiftly and soundlessly across the junction and into the shadows beyond. Leo followed, getting a glimpse as she did so of Turkish soldiers sitting and standing along the other trench in similar attitudes to the Bulgars they had passed on the other side.
They moved on, away from the front line, along what Leo knew enough to recognise as a communication trench leading back to the area where the reserves were quartered. There was enough light from the stars to see a short way ahead, but the trench was deliberately built with frequent bends and dogs’ legs, to prevent attackers from having a clear view. Suddenly, from beyond the next corner, Leo heard the sound of voices and the tramp of feet. A company of soldiers, marching in single file, appeared round the bend and bore down on them. Malkovic flattened himself against the side of the trench and she did likewise, but there was no way of avoiding the oncoming troops. The officer leading them stopped.
‘I’m looking for Mehmet Pasha. Am I heading the right way? How do you find your way around this rabbit warren?’
The question was addressed to Malkovic, who simply shook his head and shrugged. Leo answered, ‘Yes, straight on.’
&
nbsp; The officer jerked his head at Malkovic. ‘What’s the matter with him? He should know dumb insolence won’t be tolerated.’
Leo pointed her finger to her temple and rotated it, in the universal sign implying that her companion was an idiot. The Turk gave a brief grunt of comprehension and beckoned his men forward.
The file of men tramped past them, until one halted by Leo. ‘What are conditions like in this shithole? As bad as they make out?’
‘Pretty bad,’ Leo agreed. ‘Just arrived?’
‘Yes. But we won’t be here long. We’ll soon send the infidels packing.’
‘Insh’allah!’ Leo responded piously.
Someone further back shouted, ‘What’s the hold up? Get a move on!’ and the man grinned and nodded and plodded on.
Leo leaned against the side of the trench and realised her legs were shaking. Malkovic touched her arm and jerked his head in the direction they had been walking. He led on until the trench turned another sudden corner and they almost fell over three men slumped together in attitudes of sleep. One of them roused himself and muttered, ‘Who’s that? Mind your feet, can’t you?’ Malkovic froze and looked at Leo and she said softly, ‘Sorry, brother. Go back to sleep.’ The man grunted and settled back and Leo followed the colonel until they came to a wider trench running a right-angles. At intervals along this light spilled from dugouts burrowed in the trench wall. They could hear voices and there was a smell of cooking and tobacco smoke.
Malkovic stepped aside and gestured Leo forward. She crept closer to the first opening and listened, but the conversation going on inside was just the sort of soldiers chat that she had heard many times in the Bulgarian camp: complaints about the food; gossip about wives and girlfriends; dirty jokes. She shook her head at the colonel and moved silently to the next opening.
Peering cautiously round the corner she saw a small space, roughly roofed with straw matting, in which half a dozen soldiers were smoking and playing backgammon. Malkovic looked at her and cupped his hand to his ear in a pantomime of listening. She pressed herself against the side of the trench, as close to the entrance as she dared, and strained her ears.
