Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 .. (14 page)

"Yes, Highness," Dick bowed, but thought: Why? There are coats of all colors here. It's the men inside 'em that count.

"Vienna swarms with aspirants from all over Europe seeking to serve," Eugene resumed, "yet you, because of the Duke's special recommendation, are one of the very few Englishmen to be accepted. We have Irish, Scots, many French and enough German princelings to form a squadron." He glanced at a paper before him. "Your regiment will be embodied at Raab. You will make it the best in the imperial service. Good fortune, Herr Oberst."

Dick floated out. "I'll end a marshal yet! Damme, if he ain't almost as good as Old John himself!"

But Ram was still too humiliated to reply. He knew that his voice change was a step toward manhood, but why, why had it come just when he'd been speaking to Europe's greatest soldier?

By the time Dick had welded his regiment into good shape, he had garnered a fine string of German oaths and a taste for fine Tokay wines. Though not popular, he was recognized as being a capable commander by his officers, who themselves were a mixed lot: Freiherr Otto von Bohlen, his lieutenant colonel, was a grizzled Austrian veteran, the major was a loud-voiced Bavarian, the cap-

tains were of various nationalities, but experienced, and most of the foreign-born juniors were raw.

In May he was ordered to join the concentrating army at Futak.

Ram, attached to the Colonel's Company, grew more excited the farther the regiment marched. He still had his old copy of AZex-ander, and he hoped that Eugene would drive the Turks back into Macedonia, where Alexander had won his first laurels when not much older than himself. He daydreamed that he, too, was a conqueror, sweeping infidels from Europe, even invading India.

At Futak camp, the army swelled daily as new troops poured in. One morning, while off duty and resting in Dick's tent, Ram heard someone asking in poor German for Hen Oberst Anstruther.

"Please come in," Ram invited the visitor, also in German. "I am Volunteer Ramillies Anstruther, the Herr Oberst's son."

The other, a gangling young man with red hair, smiled genially. "In that case, young sir, let's use English, for I've an idea we'll both feel more at ease in our native tongue. I'm James Oglethorpe, acting as an aide to the prince, and I've a dispatch for your good father."

"English!" Ram was delighted. "I thought me and Father were the only ones here." He held out his hand. "Servant, Mr. Oglethorpe,"

"Aren't you a trifle young to be making a campaign?" the latter wondered, seating himself and stretching out his long legs.

"I served with Father for years in Flanders, and in the late rebellion I was a captain in his regiment," Ram explained loftily.

"Egad, then you're a veteran indeed. And you've the advantage of me in rank, for I was never more than a captain-lieutenant in the Foot Guards. And I'm almost twenty-one."

So a friendship was born. Whenever the aide could spare the time, he and Ram would ride, swim or fence. And Ram was delighted to find that he was by far the better swordsman.

When the grass was high enough for the horses, the campaign began. Dick, riding at the head of his regiment, was utterly happy. This was something like, being part of an army of 80,000 men, instead of chasing a few miserable rebels. A big battle now, with heavy losses of generals, he told himself, and I'll command a brigade.

Soon it was clear that the army was nearing the wide Danube River. Then official news: the goal was Belgrade, a great fortress long

held by the Turks, Prince Eugene, leading a squadron of young nobles, had already crossed the river and seized a bridgehead, despite fire from the city and its high-perched citadel.

Dick's was among the first foot regiments to be ferried across to the peninsula upon which Belgrade stood, and which was formed by a juncture of the Save with the Danube. The place was immensely strong, being protected on three sides by water and having only a narrow land front.

Orders came to dig trenches, link up with troops on the flanks, bring wood for cooking fires, draw rations. The town's guns threw huge stone balls and many of Dick's men died, but the work went on.

Ram handled a mattock with the rest, or acted sentinel with a musket that was still somewhat heavy for him to handle. Once, when returning to Dick's tent, he met James Oglethorpe.

"How goes it, young Ram? Has your regiment suffered much?"

"Not too bad, but a man was cut to pieces beside me." Ram indicated dark blotches on his breeches. "See, his blood." He grinned as a heavy ball soughed overhead. "Whiney, isn't it?" They parted, and for the first time in two days, he could undress.

When Eugene's heavy batteries were in position and bombarding, it seemed certain that Belgrade was doomed. But then the cavalry vedettes were driven in, for the main Turkish army had marched from Serbia to save the city. So now the Austrians were besieged from the south while besieging to the north. Eighty thousand Christians were penned between Belgrade's 30,000 defenders and 200,000 of their fellow infidels. Men's faces grew long. Suppose the bridgeheads were taken and supplies cut off?

With the Austrian camp now being fired upon from both sides, casualties mounted. But, worse, dysentery struck, killing more men than the Turks could. When Eugene himself was stricken, there was near panic. Even the horses, short of fodder, died in hundreds. Under the burning August sun, the constricted camp stank of the dead and the ordure of the living.

Thanks to living in Dick's tent and having well-cooked food and good wine. Ram had thus far escaped the sickness. But he could never escape the miasmic stench of corruption.

One day he stared longingly at the Danube. If only he could

swim off his foulness! Priming two small pistols and belting on his sword, he went looking for Oglethorpe. But the aide was doing double duty in the trenches, replacing a sick officer.

Ram reached the river and looked southward across the lines, above which towered the Turkish camp and works. But there was no activity this day, and the sentinels dozed under the hot sun. His eyes brightened. Between the opposing lines and the southern hills was a small wood on the river bank, a narrow beach under it.

He looked downstream. Surely the bank curved inward, there by the trees? He passed a snoring sentinel and went on warily until the trees loomed above him, their roots exposed by water erosion. As he'd hoped, here was a fine indentation, making a perfect pool and hidden from both the trenches and the Turk-held hills. Making sure no one lurked among the trees, he stripped, placed his sword and pistols handy and jumped in.

Lud, it was cold! The shock sent new vigor through him. He swam downward until he was skimming the scoured bottom, then broke surface, feeling the slow drag of the current. He turned shoreward, lest Turkish picquets be watching from downriver.

Frolicking like a porpoise, the tree tops casting shadows over the ripples he made, he was about to go ashore when he heard a splash. A fellow swimmer? Oglethorpe, after all? A head broke surface, wet hair plastered over eyes and spluttering mouth.

His own mouth gaped open so wide that half the Danube rushed in.

"Carla!"

"Ram! Oh, Ram!" She swam toward him and put a dripping arm on his shoulder. "I saw ye, so I followed. I would have waited, but the water's so nice, just like the canals in Flanders!"

He wanted to cry. Instead, he skimmed his cupped hand along the surface and drove a miniature wave at her.

"Pig!" she screamed, and drove both hands in return. They swam apart, gasping and laughing, then trod water and stared at each other.

"Go and dress," she bade him. "Up on the bank and leave the strand to me."

"Don't want to. My clothes are down there."

" 'Tis not proper," she insisted. "Mine are under the bank too."

"As you will." He tried to sound haughty. He drove a parting wave

at her and went ashore. He squatted briefly to wash mud from his feet and watched her as she swam effortlessly. Carla! It just didn't seem possible.

Carrying his clothes and weapons, he climbed the bank into the wood, choosing a spot where the sun filtered through the leafy branches. The heat warmed his wet skin. Everything was still, save for an occasional gun's belch.

Carla back! What tales they had for each other! Did she still own Battle? Who was Meg's current "protector"? "Hasten, there's much to tell," he called. Spreading his coat as a bed, his tricorn hat as its pillow, he stretched out luxuriously.

"I'm here, dressing," he heard from below. "Don't look."

Why not? he wondered lazily; she's only Carla. But, squinting idly down the length of his body, he grew aware of the sprouting hair at his groin. Strangely embarrassed, he sat up and pulled on his small clothes. Now I'm grown, t'aint meet I should be stark before a girl, he thought. He lay back, eyes closed, until he heard her climbing the bank. She was twisting her wet hair around her head, a garment over one forearm.

"My shift's all wet," she said. "I used it to dry myself."

She'd grown, filled out, her black eyes larger than ever. He rolled on one side, patting a place on the coat. "Lie here. Have ye been in camp since the first? What brought ye here?"

Under a rush of questions, she sat beside him, threw her wet shift to one side and used both hands on her hair. "We came with a sutler's train a month since," she explained. "Mother's taken up with Greek John, who sells Cyprus wine. Oh, lad, 'tis a wonder to see ye again and hear the English tongue."

He told about himself. "I'll ask Father to have Meg's man sell wine to the regiment," he planned. "Then I can care for you."

"No!" she cried, so sharply that he stared up at her astounded. She burst into tears. "Ram, I'm a company woman now. Mother made me—her and Greek John. We're with a Hungarian regiment. Why did ye leave me in Flanders? Oh, I've missed ye sore!"

"There, there," he comforted numbly, patting her.

"I hate God!" she wept. "Oh, the pain of being used by men— Mother takes my earnings and gives them to the Greek—and I scarce knowing a word of their Hungarian when they use me!"

His Carla! It was right enough for foul-mouthed Meg and her tribe, but . . .! "Lass, lass!" he whispered, holding her close.

"Leave me be!" she shrilled, breaking free. "I'd best be going."

"As ye wish," Damn her for a trull if she leaves me, he thought, hurt, and lay back. He closed his eyes resolutely, though he strained his ears to hear her movements.

"Ram." It was the barest whisper.

His lids opened. She was bending over him, her eyes huge and misty. From her bodice top a small object had escaped and dangled from its silver chain. He remembered it, the strange-colored stone she had always worn. And now, as she bent lower, it swung gently just above his nose.

"Ram," she breathed, 'let me lift my skirts to you. I'm clean, as God's my judge! I'll not harm ye, but, oh, I love you so!"

He still stared up, watching her eyes become twin pools of soft darkness. Then he pulled her down to him and their lips met.

There was a roaring in his ears as he felt her tongue probing against his own. He fumbled for her gown, but she broke clear to rise and shake free from it. Dazedly he let his gaze rove upward to rest on the dark mound between her thighs, before sweeping up over her full soft breasts to her parted lips.

She collapsed beside him, tearing at his small clothes. Her arms closed around him, her nails digging into his back as he seized her in return, her whole body blending with his. Madness engulfed him. He wanted to hurt her, to rend and tear her. In their agony, they rolled over until she lay under him.

"Take me!" she half screamed. "Take me fast!"

The dehrium passed, leaving them spent and gasping. Carla— his Carla! She was panting so hard he feared he had hurt her; but then her lips curved into a smile and her eyes were, oh, so soft! Ah, it was a wondrous thing they had done and now, he knew, he was a man indeed. Gradually his breathing eased and he thought back into the past, when they had slept together for so long in the cart. Why hadn't they done this then? Of course, because they'd been too young! But now they were grown, they'd be together always, to sleep on soft rugs in his tent and to share this joy whenever they wished.

Something damply cold was wiping his face. "Oh, but you're

sweaty," she smiled down at him impishly. "There!" It was her shift she'd used. She snuggled against him, their eyes level, their lips touching. Soon a tremor ran through her. "God bless ye, Ram," she whispered. " 'Twas never like this before, never. I feel so cleanl"

"Let's sleep," he murmured drowsily. "Dearest, dearest heart!"

When she closed her eyes obediently, he marveled at her long lashes. Her breasts pressed against him deliciously and he twisted down to kiss each in turn. Then he slept.

He awakened to feel the hardness of the ground, the numbness of his arm beneath her, the coldness of his body. Sun rays no longer dribbled through the trees' limbs.

"We'd best go back," he said, shivering.

She smiled sleepily. "Not yet. Let me lie."

But he began pulling on his clothes. He was buttoning his breeches when a sound made him turn. A face, yellow-brown, its eyes slanting and beady, was peering at him from behind a tree. A Turk, armed with a pistol and a heavy, curved scimitar! Behind him was his fellow, also armed.

"Run, Carla—run!" He flung himself down, groping for his pistols. His fingers closed upon one and he cocked it as he rolled onto his side. He fired.

The first Turk's mouth opened with a screeching yell as he clutched his belly. He lurched forward and fell, his turbaned head not a yard from where Ram lay.

The second enemy was coming. Ram tore his sword from its scabbard and sprang up. This Turk's teeth showed in a terrifying grin as he charged closer, scimitar raised.

Aware his light sword could never parry that terrible curved blade, Ram jumped aside to avoid a blow and at the same time thrust at the man's ribs. A jar went up his arm, and only then did he realize that his assailant carried a small, iron-studded shield. The man slashed downward, snapping Ram's steel as if it were a reed. Carla screamed and Ram spun around, still gripping his bladeless hilt. The Turk had dropped the shield and now held the girl before him as its substitute.