Harvest of War (7 page)

‘Agreed. And I respect your scruples. I shan't come and look over your shoulder, but I'll look forward to seeing the results in a month or two. You might do worse than begin by painting this place.'

‘I should like to do that,' Tom agreed. ‘But I'm afraid very few of the pictures will be as . . . as pastoral as this.'

‘I'll leave that to you,' Rawlinson said. ‘You'd better have this sketch pad back, and I'll get someone to show you your room and you can get down to work.'

Halfway to the door, Tom turned back. ‘Excuse me, sir. May I ask how you came by my sketch book?'

‘It was passed on by your colonel. But I believe the originator of the idea was a friend of yours. Malham Brown, was that the name?'

Winter came early to the mountains of Macedonia, as Leo had predicted. There was no rapid breakthrough of the kind Sasha had envisaged. The Bulgarians and their Austrian allies held the high ground and were determined to defend it, but the Serbs were not going to be denied this time. Ridge by ridge and mountain peak by mountain peak they forced the occupiers back. Supported by their French and British allies they hauled their guns up icy slopes and along snow-choked valleys, and at night they dug holes in the snow for shelter. And as they pressed forward, the Red Cross field hospital followed, setting up tents where they could find level ground or taking over the remains of buildings in the shattered villages. The personnel were a mixture of nationalities. The doctor in charge was a Frenchman named Pierre Leseaux; the chief nurse was a Scot, and under her were a Canadian, an Australian, two French girls and Leo.

As the weeks passed Leo was left in no doubt about her pregnancy. She was forced to let out the waistbands of her skirt and breeches and her uniform tunic no longer met over her stomach. Fortunately, she had equipped herself with a voluminous sheepskin coat before leaving Salonika and as she was huddled into that against the biting cold for most of the time her condition passed unnoticed for a while. She suffered very few of the ailments common in pregnancy, apart from a mild nausea first thing in the morning – a fact that she put down to having far too much to do to think about her own health. But this state of affairs could not last and one evening Patty, the Canadian, laid a hand on her arm.

‘Leo, I know it's none of my business but you can't hide it any longer. You're pregnant, aren't you?'

‘Yes, I am.'

‘You shouldn't be here, working like this, in your condition.'

‘I don't see why not. I'm perfectly healthy.'

‘But suppose you had a fall or something. You could miscarry.'

‘Well, I'm sure if that happened Doctor Pierre would be perfectly capable of dealing with it.'

‘That isn't the point, is it? Or don't you want this baby? I mean, please don't think I'm judging you, but you're not married. Is that what this is all about?'

‘No, it isn't!' Leo exclaimed, stung out of her calm. ‘I want this baby very much – and so will its father, when he finds out.'

‘When he finds out? Leo, is he out here, fighting? Is that why you're here?'

‘Yes. But the fighting can't go on much longer. Not in the depths of winter.'

‘I hope you're right. But I still think you should go back to Salonika.'

The following day Leo had a very similar conversation with Dr Leseaux, but nothing could persuade her to go back. Even to herself she could not explain why. She knew that for the sake of the child the safest place for her to be was in Salonika, and if Sasha knew what was happening he would certainly order her to go back; but some obstinate streak in her make-up made her determined to carry on and at the back of her mind always was the thought that if he were to be wounded she would be on hand to care for him.

On November the ninth the allied forces took the heights above the town of Bitola, forcing the Bulgarians to evacuate it. Leseaux's first action was to take over the hospital, where they found Bulgarian casualties, who had been too weak to go with the retreating army, left to fend for themselves. There were a few local nurses who had stayed at their posts during the occupation and others who came forward to volunteer as soon as they heard that the Bulgarians had gone, but with their own casualties to care for as well as the Bulgars the medical team was stretched to the limit. For several days Leo had no opportunity to enquire after Sasha, though she knew from reports brought by their own wounded that he was still alive and unhurt, somewhere in the mountains that surrounded the city. On some barely conscious level, she was relieved that their meeting was delayed. When she first realized she was pregnant she had looked forward to telling him and imagined that his delight and excitement would mirror her own, but now she recognized that the timing was far from opportune.

She had little time or energy to explore, but what she saw during brief forays in search of supplies surprised her. She had expected to find a small, dusty provincial town but now discovered a city of remarkable contrasts. North of the River Draga, the old Turkish town was a jumble of narrow streets crowding round two impressive mosques and a traditional covered market. To the south were broad boulevards lined with elegant houses, whose classical façades were ornamented with pretty balconies. Many of them bore plaques proclaiming that they housed the consulates of various foreign nations.

When Leo remarked on that fact to Leseaux he looked up with a smile. ‘I know. Like you, I had never heard of Bitola but I have been talking to one of our Serbian friends. He told me that not so long ago this was the third largest city in southern Europe, after Constantinople and Salonika. It was an important crossroad for trade, you see. The Roman Via Egnatia passed through on its way to northern Europe, and another important route going from the Adriatic to Constantinople crossed it here. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries it was so important that many nations felt it necessary to have consulates here – hence the elegant buildings. And it was a cradle of Orthodox Christianity. When the Turks arrived there were so many monasteries in the surrounding hills that they gave it the name Monastir.'

‘And now it's almost deserted, and being smashed to pieces,' Leo said. ‘I wonder if it will ever recover.'

Bitola was under constant bombardment from Bulgarian artillery and from German planes. By Christmas there was scarcely a building in the city undamaged and even the hospital had been hit. With snow blocking the mountain passes it was impossible for supplies to get through from the south and rations began to run short. Working twelve-hour shifts on inadequate food, Leo's health began to suffer. Looking at herself in the mirror, on the rare occasions when she had time, she saw a haggard face with hollow cheeks, and sticklike arms and legs protruding from her swollen belly. She began to dread her encounter with Sasha more than ever.

Christmas passed, both the Western one and the Orthodox. Then one evening she was folding sheets in the tiny storeroom when she heard his voice behind her.

‘Leo! Here you are! I've been searching for you.'

She put down the sheet she was holding and turned slowly to face him. For a split second she saw the happy anticipation on his face, then it faded to consternation and finally to anger.

‘My God! What are you doing here in that condition?'

Leo took a deep breath. She longed to throw herself into his arms but the expression on his face froze her to the spot. ‘My job,' she replied quietly. ‘Like you.'

‘Like me? The difference is I am not carrying a child!' They gazed at each other in silence for a few seconds. Then he went on: ‘How long have you known?'

‘Since . . . since just after you left Salonika.' It was only a small lie.

‘And the child is due when?'

‘I'm not sure. A month, six weeks . . .'

He made a gesture of incomprehension. ‘What were you thinking of? How could you risk yourself, and the baby?'

‘I wanted to be near you.' Her voice was shaking. ‘And I hoped the campaign would be over much sooner . . . before the worst of the winter. I thought by now we would either be in Belgrade, or back in Salonika.'

He shook his head in disbelief. Then, at last, he came close to her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘You must go back.'

‘I can't. Not until the spring comes. All the roads are closed. But I am in the right place, you see. This is a hospital, and Doctor Pierre is very competent . . . if he should be needed.'

‘A hospital in a town that is being shelled every day! In a town that is running out of food! How could you be so stupid?'

Tears scalded her eyes. She moved to him and laid her head against his shoulder. ‘Don't be angry, Sasha. I want you to be glad, for both of us. We are going to have a child . . . our child.'

‘A child born out of wedlock,' he said. He did not draw back, but neither did he fold her in the embrace she craved.

She looked up at him. ‘What does that matter? We are going to be married, one day.'

‘One day. But that could be months, even years away. And the child is due long before that.'

‘Why should we care? It doesn't matter to us.'

‘But it will to other people. Even when we are married, to some people it will still be a bastard.'

The word struck her like a blow in the face. She drew back and stared at him.

He sighed deeply. ‘I am responsible. This is my fault. I must take my share of the blame.'

‘Don't look like that,' she begged. ‘We should be rejoicing.'

He gazed at her bleakly. ‘You have been completely irresponsible. You are risking your life, and the child's. I am afraid I can see very little to rejoice about. I'm sorry, I cannot . . . cannot . . .' He faltered, then turned about and left the room.

She called after him but he did not respond. She would have followed him, but her legs gave way under her and she sank down on to the pile of sheets and wept.

All the rest of the day she waited, expecting to hear his voice or his footsteps, convinced that when he had time to think he would come back and apologize and comfort her. But he did not come, and the next morning she learned that he had left at dawn to rejoin his troops.

The days passed and Leo continued to work at her usual tasks in spite of pleas from her colleagues to rest. Work was the only way she knew to stop herself brooding over her last conversation with Sasha. Then one day Dr Leseaux came into the ward where she was helping to serve the midday meal and drew her aside.

‘It's bad news, Leo, I'm afraid. A message has just come in to say that Sasha has been wounded. We don't know how badly, but I am leaving immediately to fetch him. Try not to worry too much. It may be something relatively minor . . .'

‘Where is he?'

‘Lavci. It's a village in the mountains, a few miles away.'

Leo was taking off her apron. ‘Give me two minutes. I'll get my coat.'

He shook his head. ‘No, you are in no condition to go out there in this weather. Wait here, and we will bring him back to you.'

Leo shook her head. ‘I'm coming with you.'

He frowned. ‘Leonora, I forbid you to risk yourself like this. Stay here.'

Leo's jaw set. ‘You are not in a position to give me orders. If you refuse to take me with you I shall follow on horseback.' Then, in a different tone: ‘Please, Pierre. We parted on bad terms. I must see him again. I couldn't bear to wait here, in case . . .' She left the sentence unfinished but they both knew what she meant.

He made a gesture of surrender. ‘Very well. But wrap up warm . . .'

‘I'll be back in a moment.'

It had snowed all morning and the oxen drawing the ambulance wagon plodded fetlock-deep, their breath steaming in the cold air. It seemed to Leo that they were scarcely moving up the narrow mountain road and she began to wish that she had carried out her threat and taken to horseback, though a residual thread of common sense told her that it would have been foolhardy in the extreme in her advanced state of pregnancy. The slow pace was driving her to distraction and she longed to seize the goad from the driver's hand and thrash the unresponsive beasts into a greater effort. Beside her, Patty, the Canadian nurse, took her hand and squeezed it.

‘Try to keep calm. I'm sure his men are looking after him. We'll be there soon.'

As the wagon rocked and jolted Leo became aware of an intermittent pain in her abdomen. She wondered vaguely what she might have eaten to cause it.

The winter evening was closing in as they came to a small village in a steep-sided valley. All along the route they had heard the sound of the guns drawing closer but with darkness falling the firing had stopped and camp fires were beginning to flicker around the outskirts. The air smelt of gun- and wood smoke. As the wagon drew up in the village square the door of the largest house opened and a man, whom Leo recognized as one of Sasha's officers, came out. Leseaux jumped down and the man crossed quickly to meet him.

As she clambered clumsily down from the wagon, Leo caught snatches of their conversation. ‘Wasted journey . . . mortally wounded . . . had to leave him . . . overrun by the enemy . . . too late anyway . . .'

She slid down to the ground and as she did so the pain in her stomach returned with a violence that convulsed her. ‘What are you saying?' she gasped. ‘Where is Colonel Malkovic?'

The officer turned and she saw the shock on his face as he recognized her. For a moment he seemed unable to speak, then he blurted out: ‘There was nothing we could do. I'm sorry. The colonel is dead.'

Leo stared at him and said the first thing that came into her head: ‘He can't be! I'm carrying his child.' Then the pain came again and she doubled over with a choking cry.

Leseaux gripped her shoulders. ‘
Mon dieu!
Is it the child? Are you in labour?'

She gazed into his face helplessly. She had nursed men in all sorts of conditions but her knowledge of the process of childbirth was almost non-existent. ‘I don't know . . . I . . .' Then another spasm of pain swept through her.