The Kindness of Enemies: A Novel (12 page)

Alexander pushed his father’s pistol against Madame Drancy’s back. ‘I am the dreaded warrior, Shamil,’ he shouted.

‘Mon Dieu!’ his governess squealed and dropped the ikon she was wrapping. It shattered on the ground.

‘How dare you, Alexander! Is this a time for games?’ Anna snatched the pistol from him. ‘Apologise to Madame Drancy.’

She accepted his apology. ‘Now that you’re up, you might as well be packing instead of creating mischief.’

He smiled, ‘I will pack my summer hat.’

‘Off you go then,’ said Anna. ‘We are leaving soon. Be sure the flowers on your hat don’t get crushed.’ Afterwards she would think, if I had not cared about the flowers, the silver, the packing, how much time would I have saved? Horsemen at full tilt on the plains and she was giving Lydia her morning feed. Her breasts not as full as they usually were, the milk sensitive to the sleepless night, the disjointed nerves.

Could the trunk take one more tablecloth? ‘Just push it in.’

Madame Drancy kneeling to lock the trunk, held herself still. ‘Can you hear it?’

‘What? No. If we both sit on it, it will close.’

Sitting on the trunk, she heard the unmistakable galloping. Madame Drancy ran to the window, her voice squeaky as a girl’s. ‘They are here! They are here! We must run to the woods.’

Anna was conscious of her own heaviness – baby, Alexander, belongings. ‘No, it’s too late. It’s best to hide in the attic. Fetch Alexander from the nursery.’

Under the low ceiling of the attic, they crouched among the dust and what looked like rat droppings. Anna loaded the pistol and looked out of the window. The shock of the actual sight of them storming the gate – their turbans, some green, some white and patterned; their guns and sabres, their mouths stretched open, war cries in another language, a sense of chaos and tense power. There was Gregov carrying his gun, his familiar cap, white speckled hair, his compact figure, running towards them and shouting, ‘God save us. The Lezgins!’ He stood and fired. Then she saw his body receive the pain of a bullet and slump to the ground. She turned
her head. If they were going to trample him with their horses, she could not watch.

She rocked Lydia while Alexander and Drancy peered out of the small window. The clatter of hooves on the cobbles of the courtyard. ‘Get back, they will look up and spot you,’ hissed Anna.

But that crash was the downstairs door being broken down. They were in the house now and Anna started to buzz with fear and indignation too. This violation of her property; their paws on her furniture, their hooves treading her carpets. Alexander came close to her, pushed his head against her arm. ‘Don’t be afraid. They won’t find us.’

She didn’t need to whisper. It was pandemonium below, glass breaking, the sounds of furniture being demolished, crockery smashed to the floor. So destructive, so destructive.

‘They will loot and leave. What would they want us for? They will take as much as they can and leave.’ She was speaking out loud and she jumped at the sound of the piano. One of them must have slammed his hands on the keys.

That quickening was them mounting the stairs. The voices coming closer, up to the attic. ‘Shush, not a sound.’ But Lydia was whimpering. Anna held her close. Madame Drancy was moving her lips in prayer. The doorknob juddered. A substantial group was at the door. A shout as they started to break it down. Once, twice, the door held for some time. More shouts and the wood cracked. Madame Drancy screamed as the men spilled into the attic.

Anna grabbed the pistol and started to shoot. She was not aiming, just pushing them away, wanting them down and out the door and out the gate and off the estate. A grunt as she wounded one of them. Smoke and the acrid smell of it and their smell too as the pistol was yanked out of her hand.

A Lezgin glared down at her. He had to stoop so that his head would not hit the ceiling. His turban was tight across his forehead, black beard and a snarl. ‘Enough. Not a single man among you and you think you have a chance!’

His Lezgian accent was heavy but she understood what he was saying. She could not, though, grasp the babble of the other men, all speaking at the same time as if making opposing suggestions, the word ‘Chavchavadzes’ chilly and odd in the middle of their sentences.

‘Take them downstairs,’ their leader bellowed.

She was lifted, Lydia and all, and when she resisted was dragged out of the attic, her elbow banging on the door, her toe scraping the floor. A raider lifted Alexander, who kicked and screamed.

‘I’m a French citizen,’ Madame Drancy was shouting. ‘Put me down. How dare you do this to me!’

Lydia was crying too. It took all Anna’s effort and concentration to keep her safe in her arms. Alexander bit his captor on the shoulder. He was punched in return and groaned from the pain. Grunts of laughter from the men. ‘That little devil has sharp teeth!’

‘Don’t fight him, Alexander.’ She was already downstairs, calling up. She was being pulled out of the house. It was as if there were a hundred of them crowded on the stairs. It was not only Madame Drancy and Alexander that they were carrying, but whatever they could loot. Without discipline, without logic, grabbing this and that, armfuls and their clanking weapons. The ludicrous sound of the piano as it was leant upon, fallen over or even used as a foothold. Loud jarring notes among the whoops of triumph. One of them leapt down the side of the staircase as if he were still on the mountains, jumping from boulder to boulder. Anna turned to see the heavy trunk being rolled down from the upper landing. The combined weight of people, goods and weapons brought the whole staircase crashing to the ground.

Dust rose in the centre of the house. Anna gasped at the ugliness of the splintered wood and the rubble, the strangeness of an upper storey that could not be reached. She screamed but her voice meant nothing; her orders, ‘Get out of my house’, did not raise the slightest interest. Nonchalantly, the highlanders picked themselves off the ground amidst grunts and lazy recriminations. In a flash
they were looting again and she was pulled out the front door and into the courtyard.

It too was alien, crowded with their sweaty horses. The cart that carried her favourite armchair had been overturned. The familiar upholstery, the roses and lilac design was smeared with mud and horse manure. In the middle of the courtyard, Anna and her children were thrown in a heap. She examined Alexander’s arm. ‘Move it for me. Good boy.’ It was bruised but unbroken.

‘You are brave,’ she told him. ‘Papa will be proud of you.’ Her own back ached but she scarcely noticed it. One of the sleeves of her dress was torn. She could put Lydia down on her lap but she still clutched her. Around them more highlanders jostled each other to enter the house; those who had already been inside squabbled over their spoils. It was as if this was not Tsinondali any more, this was not the same garden trampled and muddied, this pillaged house not the same house, these were not the same stables, doors wide open, the horses tied up, men and more men swarming all the way to the gate. The men brandished their sabres even though they faced no resistance. No villagers had rallied round, no field-hands, no one.

Madame Drancy was being pulled and dragged between two men who were exchanging curses. One of them held her right arm; the other hooked her left arm over his shoulder and was grabbing her by the waist. A cold understanding seeped through Anna; these two were fighting over Madame Drancy. The tall Lezgin, who had taken the pistol from Anna upstairs, strode towards the scuffle, shashka in hand. He was, Anna guessed, their leader. He bellowed at the two men and they reluctantly let go of Drancy. She was dragged, instead, by her hair and thrown down on the ground next to Anna.

Lydia was whimpering and twisting her head, rooting for her next feed. It came as a surprise to Anna that several hours had already passed since she had last fed her. But yes, it was time again. Lydia started to cry, the distressed wails of a justified
hunger. Here, in the middle of this, Anna must undo her bodice. She crouched behind Madame Drancy and tried to be as discreet as she could. But the Lezgin leader came over and leered down at her. With the tip of his shashka, he pierced the knot her hair was tied in. When it fell on her shoulders, he lifted a strand, the blade now touching her neck, inches above Lydia’s head, perpendicular to Alexander’s neck.

Madame Drancy shouted, ‘Get away, you turbaned monster.’ She leapt up but he pushed her down with his free hand. The blade vibrated against Anna’s cheek.

‘Well, you’re the pretty one, aren’t you?’ He hooked the shashka under the shoulder strap of her dress. It tore with the slightest of tugs.

‘How dare you do this to me! You don’t know who I am.’

He smiled, ‘Oh, but I do know, your Highness. I know it and it is a shame that I am under strict orders. You see, you are precious. Too valuable for a Lezgin like me. Maybe this one will do. If she is worth it!’ He turned to Madame Drancy and with a downward swoop of the shashka tore her dress in half. She was now in her corset and petticoat. She leapt at him, clawing at his face. ‘You butcher, you animal, leave me alone.’

Another highlander, with a bare shaven head, dropped the candlesticks he was holding and cut Madame Drancy across the shoulders with his whip. She fell down crying and huddled against Anna.

The Lezgin squatted down and brought his face level with the two of them. ‘Listen, you are my captives now. Until I take you up the mountains and hand you over, you will obey me. Understand. You will obey every word I say. This is better for you and easier for all of us. So now you sit here, you don’t move and you keep quiet. We have not herded your cattle yet.’

‘You will not get away with this,’ Anna said. ‘There are posts up and down the river and you will be captured. Is it brave to hit women and children? You’re a lowly criminal.’

‘Yes, I’m a bandit. I will be paid when I hand you over. But I’m following orders too. Don’t touch the princess, don’t hurt her children. But if you provoke me, you’ll see the worst side of me.’

He walked away and Anna turned to see that Madame Drancy’s shoulder was badly cut. She comforted her as best she could, her words sounding feeble even to her own ears. Had he really said
take you up to the mountains
? Would there be more of this, more of them? She had thought they would loot and leave, leave them humiliated, leave them hurt but leave without them. She started to fix up her own dress and managed to tie it up with a pin from Lydia’s nappy. Her toe was bleeding. She could not remember when and where she had injured it. If she wanted to change Lydia’s nappy now, how was she meant to go about it?

‘That’s my hat,’ Alexander called out. He ran towards a raider who had just stepped out of the house wearing the straw summer hat. Its flowers, crushed and askew, were dangling over his turban. Anna shouted, ‘Alexander, come back.’ But he darted ahead and managed to reach the man without being stopped. Instead of giving him his hat back, the man pushed him away. It was as if they were two children squabbling. Soon, Alexander was carried back and dumped next to Anna. She rebuked him for endangering himself. ‘They will hurt you, Alexander, they are merciless.’ Tears welled in her eyes. If anything should happen to him … but just thinking about it was unbearable. She hugged him close to her, finding comfort in his shape and the familiar sensation of his hair against her cheek.

‘Look, Mama.’ He pointed at two men who were sitting cross-legged examining their new belongings. One dipped his fingers in white powder and tasted it. It was the chalk from the schoolroom. Another one was licking Anna’s face cream.

‘He thinks it’s food.’ There was wonder in Alexander’s voice. She should laugh too, but the reflex let her down. She stared at their questioning, ignorant faces. What would they deduce apart from the realisation that chalk and face cream were inedible?

‘Grotesque,’ Madame Drancy whispered. She muttered to herself in French.

There were more men now in the courtyard, fewer in the house. Some were already mounted, leading behind them a new horse or cow. The Lezgin approached them. ‘Come on, it’s time to get out of here. Each one of you will ride with a different horseman.’ He reached out to take Lydia away from Anna.

‘No. My baby stays with me. I will not hand her to anyone else.’

There was no expression on his face. ‘Very well. Then you both ride with me.’ He dragged her away before she could even say goodbye to Alexander. ‘Mama, wait for me. Where are you going?’ But already one of the men was hoisting him off.

Anna shouted back, ‘Don’t be afraid, Alexander. I will be with you soon. Don’t fight so that they don’t hurt you.’ She wanted to tell him that David would come and rescue them. Soon. This ordeal would be over and everything would go back to how it was before. Surely David would not allow this to happen to his wife and children. But she was afraid to mention his name in front of the Lezgins. Let them be lulled into thinking that they had succeeded.

She turned to look back at the estate. Her favourite armchair toppled over on the ground, dirty and abandoned. The stables were set on fire, the shimmer of burning grass, pigs out of their pens roaming. Anna closed her eyes when she recognised the lifeless heap that only this morning was the loyal, active gardener; Gregov’s cap and his greying hair.

They rode at a moderate pace towards the river, towards those mountains that hosted the campfires of the past days. The sun was high in the sky; it made her head start to hurt. The cattle of the estate, rounded close together, bellowed and stirred the dust of the road. The gush of the water became louder and there was the Alazani, rushing over the boulders, foaming and deep.

‘Can you swim, Princess?’

She did not answer him.

‘Then hold on tight and keep your baby close to you!’

Everyone had told her that the Alazani was too deep to cross this time of year. David had said so, Gregov had said so. She had believed it and now these riders were patting their horses with encouragement; they were tensing up as if for an adventure.

‘Too deep for
your
horses,’ the Lezgin said. ‘But ours are trained. You will see how they will swim.’