Love Storm (23 page)

Alex sat up late that night making plans with Ivan.

They brought out maps and searched for possible routes Zena might take at Vladikavkaz, where the railroad ended.

"We'll check at each stop to see if she's been sighted, but at least this time I think we're going in the right direction. She'll have to hire a carriage to post from Vladikavkaz to Gumuk. It shouldn't be difficult finding her trail at Vladikavkaz. How many exquisite, auburn-haired beauties are hiring hacks to Gumuk? Christ, I hope she's all right. Damn foolish of her to attempt a trip like this alone."

Ivan smoked on immovably, only raising one brow ironically.

"All right," Alex admitted as he noted the skeptical brow, "so it's all my fault, And you don't have to say 'as usual'," Alex grinned.

Thirty-four hours later they arrived at the end of the railway line, Vladikavkaz. The Caucasus range lay to their south. There it stood, a snow-streaked rugged wall of pale, misty, violet gray, like a thin veil between Europe and Asia. Beautiful, majestic, gloriously grand, and in its rocky defiles and remote, isolated valleys and byways, awesome and dangerous.

Zena's flight south had been uneventful, devoid of all the possible dire perfidies envisioned by Alex, since directly from Moscow Zena had made the acquaintance of a hearty, old peasant woman who was traveling to visit her son garrisoned in Grozny. This bluff, vigilant duenna had effectively rebuffed any improper overtures by men daring enough to attempt conversation with Zena.

Vladikavkaz was reached safely and securely. The old woman bargained frugally for the cleanest, sturdiest telega, horrified at Zena's suggestion for hiring an expensive carriage. Zena, in a hot-tempered pique over Alex's wooing of Amalie, had helped herself to the gold in his study, so she was quite amply supplied with funds. Call it compensation for your child I carry in my belly, she had brooded resentfully when she left. She hadn't told Alex about the child because it wouldn't have mattered to him. Illegitimate heirs meant nothing to a man like him. He had many. His feelings for her wouldn't have changed for the sake of an infant, an infant after all illegitimate. There was Alex's damn family honor, regardless that he mockingly scoffed at the notion.

The hot blaze of indignation at her treatment had sustained her at first, curbing the helpless, hollow desolation that threatened to engulf her. But the anger and resentment had abated as the days progressed, and try as she might, Zena couldn't conjure up the old rankling spleen.

Despite courageous resolutions to dismiss thoughts of Alex from her mind, the anguish and pain of loving him and missing him remained. Would she ever be able to forget him?

The old woman made them both quite comfortable in the rope seat slung between the bare, wooden sides of the primitive vehicle. She traveled with the usual bundles of supplies to ward off the discomforts of a long journey: food, comforters, a small samovar, and cooking pots. She even had a brightly colored canary in a cage, which she intended as a present for her son.

They were now bouncing and jolting at a rapid pace over the rough post road to Grozny. The day was warm and beautiful. March in the south meant blossoming spring.

The son certainly didn't take after his plump, dumpy mother, and Zena immediately understood the reason for the mother's adoration. At Grozny Lieutenant Vlastov met them in undress uniform but managed nevertheless to suggest
a
gentilhomme très comme il faut.
If the mother's tales were to be trusted, this brilliant, handsome young blade was thoroughly spoiled, but he turned out to be warm and natural, not a bit arrogant or overbearing. He hugged and kissed his plump little mama, then turned to bow to Zena with extremely well-bred style. Neither Lt. Vlastov nor his mother wished to hear of Zena continuing south that same afternoon, but she insisted, so the lieutenant courteously procured a carriage and a guide for Zena. "You're sure you won't stay?" he asked wistfully as he helped her into the
calèche.

"Yes, I'm certain. Thank you for your kind invitation, but I must make all speed to my grandfather's village."

Madame Vlastov bustled up and offered a well-meaning but lengthy list of advice, after which Zena began her long journey to Gumuk, where the post road ended.

Each mile took her farther away from Alex, and she mourned her loss; she huddled in a corner of the carriage and was oblivious to the beauty of the passing scenery.

Late evening of the second day she reached Gumuk, where they stayed the night.

In the morning her Lezghian guide, Ma'amed, greeted her as she exited the small house in which she had slept. He was a tall, hook-nosed, very thin old man of perhaps sixty with a kindly expression despite his harsh features. He knew some Russian, so he and Zena were able to communicate in phrases and short sentences. Yesterday, with a Lezghian interpreter, Lt. Vlastov had given complete instructions. He was to guide Zena to her grandfather, Iskender-Khan. Ma'amed was familiar with the location of Iskender-Khan's aul and equally familiar with the formidable influence of this powerful mountain chieftain. Although Russia nominally ruled in the Caucasus, once removed from the garrison towns on the main post roads, the law of Russia ceased to command. Mountain law, the adat, prevailed in the highlands, and wealthy, noble chieftains like Iskender-Khan in their strongholds ruled as absolutely as any feudal king.
⁴
Patriarchal law and the power of the princes and elders stood for more than the countless orders issuing from the great palace in Tiflis, where the Russian viceroy of the Caucasus dwelt.

Zena was dressed in a buff twill riding habit, which wasn't too practical on the mountain pony that carried the usual high-pommeled and cantled, padded Caucasian saddle. Undeterred by etiquette in this remote village, she hoisted up her skirts, placed her left foot in the high stirrup, and sprang into the saddle. Arranging her voluminous skirts sedately to cover her legs, she was ready to start out.

The small party left the main road to strike off westward. Their path lay directly toward the double-peaked rocky ridge at the base of which the town of Gumuk was situated. The narrow road was by no means bad, and it meandered up one narrow, grassy valley after another for about an hour. Villages were generally in view for that first hour, built on a site more or less inaccessible on one side, generally on the brink of a precipice.

By degrees the valley grew narrow until it formed a regular defde rhrough which a stream rushed, with perpendicular cliffs on both sides, forming a grand and imposing scene—a spectacular combination of rock, wood, and water in stern and wild splendor.

Although it was the year 1899, the slave trade of the Caucasus that had been carried on for a thousand years still flourished.

As Russia had subdued the Caucasus, the commerce in human lives had been declared illegal. Under Russian dominion the yearly payment of human tribute to the Sultan of Turkey and the Shah of Persia ceased, but the demand for women and boys from the Caucasus persisted in the harems of the East.

Outwardly the slave trade no longer existed, but actually it thrived more than ever. The entrepreneurs in this extremely lucrative business were simply more cautious now, since exile to Siberia for life was the penalty if caught. Needless to say, the new hazards meant the prices went up accordingly. The actual trade didn't suffer at all, as it was a serious undertaking, organized and conscientiously cultivated; only the buyers suffered, for the prices soared higher and higher.

As Zena and her guide struck off from Gumuk onto the mountain trail, their direction was noted carefully by the leader of a band of brigands (Abreks) as he sipped his sweet tea slowly on the veranda of a small lodging.

When Alex and his party reached Vladikavkaz it was ten o'clock at night. One tired droshky driver dozed at the station. He was hired to drive Bobby and the nursemaids to the hotel.

Alex would have preferred starting out immediately after arranging for Bobby's care at the hotel, but Ivan had reminded him sensibly that the people they must question in regard to Zena were all sleeping and to set off pell-mell in an unknown direction was witless.

Alex agreed. Of course, Ivan was right. One couldn't drag every hired driver out of bed that night and question whether a beautiful, auburn-haired woman had engaged their telega. For one brief, arrogant moment Alex thought, Why not? He could indeed do exactly that; he could wake up the local police inspector or hie him from some party and have his men question every driver in town. It took the utmost of stern self-control to withstand the temptation to carry out that plan.
Merck!
He hated wasting any more time. Zena already had a two-day start on him, and now he was wasting another night. He wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight anyway, as he missed Zena by his side.

He was right. The night was spent tossing and turning. Before the first streaks of dawn appeared, he was dressed and pacing the floor. As soon as decency allowed, he woke Ivan. While Ivan roused the trackers, Alex bid his adieus

to Mariana, placing a kiss on the sleeping brow of her young charge.

"Whatever you need, ask the manager. I've left instructions for your wishes to be observed. If there's any trouble at all, send telegrams to all the garrisons between here and Akhti, and they'll see that I receive the message."

After the men had eaten breakfast, the little town began to stir. Everyone spread out to begin the search for the driver who had carried Zena south.

When the men returned with their results, Alex was relieved to hear Zena was apparently traveling with an old woman. Their destination had been Grozny.

The telega driver had mentioned their being met by an army officer. He was unfamiliar with the officer's name or rank. The old woman had called him Grisko, that's all he knew. The information relayed to Alex made the driver several hundred rubles richer.

Alex and his men were in Grozny by two o'clock. Immediately Alex presented himself to the commander of the garrison. Colonel Chiev was all civility and cordial aid when he heard the Kuzan name. Three officers with the Christian name Grisko were under his command, but only one had a recent visitor from Moscow.

Alex was given directions to Lt. Vlastov's villa on the outskirts of town.

When Alex rode up to the villa, dusty, hungry, and fatigued, he took in the splendid palace at a glance and strode up the steps with mixed feelings. He was of a mind to beat Zena if she was friendly with this lieutenant, while alternately, he would be relieved if this were the end of his search.

Alex was ushered into the drawing room and had no more than a two-minute wait before the elegant lieutenant made his entrance. Alex glowered as his eyes swept the brilliantly arrayed officer from the tips of his polished, handmade riding boots to the top of his sparkling epaulets and well-coiffed head.

Approaching rhe frowning visitor, Lt. Vlastov politely bowed and inquired affably, "What can I do for you, Prince Alexander?"

"I came for Zena," Alex answered shortly.

"Ah!" the fair-haired man exclaimed softly. This jealous-eyed aristocrat was the answer to the
mademoiselles,
firm desire to leave immediately. "I'm sorry, she's no longer here," he answered.

"She
was
here?" Alex growled menacingly.

"Zena accompanied my mother south but continued on to her grandfather, I believe," the lieutenant replied calmly.

"When did she leave?" Alex harshly inquired.

"Two days ago. I assure you, she was most anxious to resume her journey. I was able to recommend a very reputable guide for her."

"Two days ago," the prince snapped.

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"Thank you. Good day." Alex turned unceremoniously and strode out of the room. His precipitous departure may have appeared rude, but it would have been far ruder to have smashed the handsome lieutenant in the jaw, which was precisely what his Kuzan temper was recommending. Only his mother's past admonitions on approved behavior had in this instance saved the lieutenant from a thrashing. "Count to ten, Sasha darling," she had counseled, "and your temper will cool." Luckily for the lieutenant, when Alex reached the number
ten
he was halfway down the entrance hall.

The
mademoiselle
had seemed vaguely melancholy, Lt. Vlastov mused after his visitor left. Would she be pleased or displeased by the illustrious prince's pursuit?

Alex's party was on the road to Gumuk in a few minutes. The band of trackers, grooms, and magnificent blood stock turned heads as they thundered down the post road. Alex led the troop, traveling at a suicidal speed.