Love Conquers War Page 7

“The trouble in that instance was a lady called Lola Montez,” Rudolph replied, “but I see that you have not neglected your history lessons.”

  “It is a mistake to visit a country and know nothing about it,” Tilda responded demurely.

  “That is what I thought when I went to England,” Rudolph said, “but I found your history very complicated and sometimes exceedingly dull.”

  “Do you speak English?” Tilda asked.

  “I do,” he replied in English, “but not as well as you speak German.”

  He had a faint accent, but his words were perfectly produced.

  “But it is very good!” Tilda exclaimed.

  “You flatter me!” he answered.

  “As you flattered me when you said I was cool and calm.”

  “I thought you behaved extremely bravely in very difficult circumstances.”

  “Thank you,” Tilda said, “but what are we going to do now?”

  “Quite frankly I don’t know,” Rudolph replied.

  “We shall have to do something.”

  “Well, one thing is quite obvious and that is that we cannot return to Munich.”

  “But I must!” Tilda exclaimed, “You don’t seem to understand – ”

  “I do understand,” Rudolph contradicted her, “but you must be sensible. To go back at this moment would be either to encounter the students, who are attempting to purge the City of foreigners, or even worse, to explain to the Police why we have ‘borrowed’ their wagon.”

  Tilda gave a little sigh.

  “Then what do you suggest we do?”

  “I think we must find an inn and stay there for the night. Tomorrow things may have quietened down and you at any rate will be able to go back to Munich.”

  “If you drive very much further away from the City,” Tilda said practically, “It will either be on my feet or riding one of these horses!”

  He laughed.

  “It is certainly a problem!”

  Tilda was looking ahead and now in the distance she saw some lights.

  She thought they must come from a cottage but then realised that the lights were actually on the road.

  “There are lights ahead of us,” she said to Rudolph.

  He drew in his horses and pulled them to a standstill.

  “I might have had the sense to remember,” he said in a low voice, “that when there is rioting in the City the Police barricade the roads.”

  “You mean – we cannot go any – further?”

  “I mean that to do so would be to ask for handcuffs.”

  He stared ahead at the lights and then looked at the road where they had come to a standstill.

  It was narrow with trees growing right down on to the very edge of it.

  He pulled the horses to the right and Tilda realised that he was trying to turn them.

  “It’s going to be very difficult to turn round here,” she said.

  “I know that,” he answered. “Look back and see if there is anyone coming.”

  It was difficult to do so, but by half-hanging out of the front of the wagon Tilda could still see the lights in the distance.

  She suddenly realised that, if she had seen the Police, they would have seen them. There were two lights on the front of the wagon and those watching would undoubtedly have noticed them approaching.

  “I think it’s all right,” she said doubtfully.

  But, as Rudolph struggled to back the horses and bring them forward again, she gave a little cry.

  “There is someone coming! Two men on horses!”

  She heard Rudolph swear beneath his breath and then with a great deal of difficulty, bumping over the edges of the road, he forced the wagon round.

  He brought the whip down on the horses’ backs, but now they were tired and, although they jerked forward, the wild speed with which they had left Munich was lacking.

  “Try to look round and tell me what you can see,” Rudolph asked in a voice of authority.

  Hanging on tightly to the side of the wagon for fear she might fall into the road, Tilda did as he asked.

  “They are still some distance away,” she said, “but coming nearer.”

  “There is only one thing we can do,” Rudolph said, “I am going to slow down the horses and I want you to jump out.”

  “I am not going to leave you,” Tilda said in sudden fear, “I cannot be left here – alone.”

  “I will come with you. As soon as you reach the ground, scramble up the side of the hill keeping in the shadow of the trees.”

  “Promise – you will – come too,” she pleaded in a breathless little voice.

  “I promise.” he answered. “Do as I tell you. It is our only chance.”

  He pulled in the horses as he spoke and, when they were moving more slowly, he said to Tilda,

  “Now – jump!”

  She did as he ordered and found herself sprawling on the grass at the roadside.

  “Run!” he shouted.

  Picking herself up, she started to run up the side of the hill, moving between the tree trunks.

  She thought that Rudolph had broken his promise as the wagon pulled away and she was aware that he was whipping the horses into greater speed.

  Then, as she stood apprehensively beside a tree trunk, she heard him scrambling up behind her.

  He reached her side and took her hand in his.

  “Come!” he said. “The sooner we get out of here the better!”

  ‘Do you think they will have seen us?’ she wanted to ask, but he was moving so quickly it was impossible for her to speak.

  He dragged her up the side of the hill and they had gone some distance when Tilda heard the sound of horses’ hoofs and a man s voice.

  “They must have seen us,” Rudolph said. “I hoped that they would follow the wagon.”

  He started to climb higher.

  Now there were rocks and stones on their path, which hurt Tilda’s feet. Once she half-fell and in saving herself grazed the palm of her hand on a rock.

  It was then that she heard a voice behind them shout,

  “Stop! Stop or we shoot!”

  Rudolph heard too and climbed ever quicker.

  The trees were planted closer together and the shadows seemed dark and impregnable.

  ‘They cannot see us,’ Tilda told herself consolingly. ‘I am sure they cannot see us.’

  “Stop!” the Policeman called again.

  Now there was a pistol shot, which seemed to echo eerily through the woods and round the mountains coming back to them with a booming sound.

  “Come on!” Rudolph said. “We will be out of their range in a moment.”

  Tilda was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up with him.

  His legs were so much longer than hers and besides the stones slipped beneath her feet so that time and time again she only just saved herself from falling.

  It was then that two pistol shots rang out one after another and Rudolph gave a hoarse cry.

  “They have hit you?” Tilda asked anxiously.

  “Yes, curse it!” he answered, “In the leg.”

  He hobbled a few more steps and then leant against the trunk of a tree, his face towards the mountain. Tilda knew that the Policemen below would now not be able to see him.

  She crouched down beside him on the ground looking up apprehensively.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Are they still behind us?” he enquired.

  It was impossible to see what was happening through the trunks and the boughs of the trees.

  Listening, Tilda could no longer hear the sound of horses nor of pursuers climbing up behind them.

  In fact there was silence.

  Then far away below she heard the clatter of hoofs on the road.

  As she listened, she had held her breath and now it escaped in a deep sigh of relief.

  “They have gone,” she whispered.

  Rudolph did not answer and after a moment she said in a frightened voice,


  “Are you – all right? What shall we – do now?”

  “I think I am right in believing that there is a village not far from here,” Rudolph replied. “We had better try and reach it.”

  Tilda was about to protest that any encounter with people might prove dangerous.

  Then she realised that not only was he wounded but there was a cold icy wind blowing down from the mountaintops.

  For the moment she was warm not only from climbing up the hillside but also because she was wearing Rudolph’s coat.

  He was only in his shirtsleeves and, because it was a white shirt, it had been a target for the Police.

  “You are right,” she said. “We must find a village. Rest your arm on my shoulders.”

  She thought that he was about to refuse and then he did as she suggested and they turned to walk not any further upwards but in a straight line along the side of the hill.

  After a few moments she realised that Rudolph was dragging his leg.

  Then he started to hop.

  “You cannot go very far like that,” she said.

  “What is there ahead?” he asked.

  “I can see nothing at the moment,” Tilda answered.

  They went on a little further and she realised now that it was agony for Rudolph to keep going.

  She could see in the moonlight his mouth set in a firm line and she could feel his arm on her shoulders growing heavier and heavier.

  Unexpectedly the trees began to thin a little and a moment later Tilda gave a cry.

  “There is a house!” she said. “A house right in front of us!”

  “I hope I can make it there.” Rudolph said, “If not, you will have to fetch someone to help me.”

  “I am sure – you can manage it.”

  Again he was hopping on one leg and dragging the other behind him.

  Although the house was not far away, it seemed to her to take an immeasurable amount of time before they finally reached it.

  It was very small and, unlike most Bavarian houses, only a bungalow.

  In the moonlight she could see it was painted white with a black roof. There were two window boxes on either side of the front door filled with flowers.

  Rudolph supported himself against the side of the house.

  “Knock!” he urged her.

  There appeared to be no knocker and Tilda rapped sharply with her knuckles on the wooden door.

  There was no answer and she looked around the side to find a window.

  She peered through it and saw as the curtains were not drawn that she was looking into a small kitchen.

  She went back to Rudolph.

  “I don’t think there is anyone at home.”

  She knocked again, then tried to rattle the handle in case that would attract attention.

  To her surprise the door opened.

  She walked in and found, as she had seen through the window, a small kitchen with a sink, a table and two chairs, a stove in one corner and a primitive range where the owner obviously cooked.

  ‘Perhaps they have gone to bed,’ Tilda thought to herself.

  There was only one door leading out of the kitchen.

  She knocked, but there was no reply and she opened it.

  Again the windows were uncurtained and in the moonlight she could see a large bed occupying almost the whole room.

  Whoever the owner might be, he was away from home.

  It was important now, Tilda knew, to see to Rudolph’s wound.

  She went back to find him still leaning against the wall, but his eyes were closed and she could see even by the moonlight that there was an unnatural pallor to his skin.

  “Come inside,” she said, “there is no one here. I can look at your leg.”

  As if it was too much effort to argue, Rudolph put his arm across her shoulders and let her lead him into the bedroom.

  She helped him down onto the bed and she had the feeling that once he stopped walking it would be impossible for him to go on again.

  As he took his arm from her shoulders, she saw that there was a candle standing by the bed and beside it a box of matches.

  She picked them both up in her hand and crossing the room pulled the curtains.

  There was always the chance that the Police might still be in the vicinity and to see a light flare out in the darkness would make them suspicious.

  She went into the kitchen and pulled the curtains there too and then she closed the front door.

  Putting the candle down on the table, she lit it and as she did so she saw there were two more on a shelf.

  She lit these from the first candle and took two back into the bedroom.

  Rudolph was sitting forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

  Tilda set the candle down on the floor beside him and with difficulty stifled the exclamation of horror that rose to her lips.

  He had pulled down his stocking and there was blood pouring from the calf of his leg. Blood had also seeped onto the floor in a crimson pool.

  With an effort she forced herself to remember what she had learnt about wounds.

  It was her mother who had insisted that Tilda should have lessons in bandaging before she left England.

  “You are travelling right across Europe,” she had said. “There are certain to be minor accidents on the way and, if you do not know how to treat them, it will be impossible for you to tell other people what to do.”

  She did not add, although Tilda knew she was thinking of it, that there had been recently many anarchist attempts on reigning Monarchs.

  An assailant had years ago fired a pistol at Queen Victoria. The Prince Consort had behaved with conspicuous bravery and shielded her body with his.

  The year before there had been an attempt on the life of William I of Germany.

  There were always incidents of some sort or another and Tilda found herself hoping that, if she and Prince Maximilian were attacked either by men with pistols or by bombs, she would behave bravely and he would not be ashamed of her.

  She thought now that her training would be put to good use.

  The first thing obviously must be to remove the woollen stocking that Rudolph was wearing and which was already soaked with his blood.

  ‘I must have something to put it in once I have taken it off,’ Tilda thought sensibly and went back to the kitchen.

  She found a basin and then looked around for some towels.

  ‘Perhaps I can tear one into strips and make a bandage,’ she told herself.

  She wished now that she had paid more attention to the lessons in bandaging, which she had found boring and at times, when the instructor was explaining the arrangement of the arteries in the body, complicated.

  She looked around the small kitchen.

  There were some cloths by the sink that had obviously been used for drying the plates and dishes, but she knew that these would be unhygienic.

  Then she saw that there was a tall white cupboard in one corner of the room. Perhaps there would be clean towels of some sort there.

  She opened it and found herself looking at a shelf on which there were quite a number of bandages, cotton wool and towels of different sizes and materials.

  ‘This is lucky!’ she thought.

  She wondered if the owner of the house was a nurse or a guide who escorted those who climbed the mountains.

  Tilda had heard that the guides always carried bandages as well as brandy.

  Taking all she would need from the shelf, she went back to Rudolph.

  There seemed to be more blood than ever on the floor.

  “I have to try to stop your leg from bleeding,” she said.

  “I am sorry to be such a nuisance,” he replied rather hoarsely.

  She undid the heavy brogue shoes he wore and drew the first one from his uninjured leg.

  She thought as she did so that as soon as she had bandaged his wound he must lie down.

  It was hard to think coherently, but somehow she mana
ged to act slowly so as not to hurt him.

  She took off the other shoe, drew the blood-soaked stocking from his leg and put it in the basin.

  She vaguely thought that she ought to wash the wound, but there was no reason why it should be dirty and it had been bleeding so freely that any dirt must have washed away.

  Now she could see that the bullet had caught him sideways and had seared its way across his calf.

  She was almost sure that it was not lodged inside but had merely cut its way along the flesh. But she was not experienced enough to be completely certain.

  She did know, however, that Rudolph would be feeling weak not only from the pain but also from the loss of blood.

  She made a pad as she had been taught to do and with some difficulty bandaged it into place.

  She knotted the bandage in front hoping that the pad would prevent any more blood from pouring down his leg, knowing that if the leg should bleed any more it would leave a terrible mess on the bed.

  She looked round and saw on the floor beyond where Rudolph had left a pool of blood that there was a rough mat, such as the peasants made for themselves, of coarse red and blue wool.

  Tilda picked it up and laid it on the bed where his feet would rest.

  As was to be expected in Bavaria, there were no blankets, but there was a feather eiderdown, a düchent, as it was called in German, which was both warm and light.

  Tilda pulled it back.

  “You must lie down,” she said to Rudolph. “You will be far more comfortable. Can you lift your leg onto the bed or would you like me to help you?”

  “I will manage,” he answered her.

  But in the end she had to help him and he lay back with a little sigh against the pillows.

  She saw then that for the moment at any rate no blood had seeped through the pad and the linen she had bandaged him with.

  With a towel she mopped up the blood on the floor as best she could and carried the basin into the kitchen.

  It looked unpleasantly gory and she thought with a smile that it was a good thing she was not squeamish like many of her contemporaries who reputedly fainted at the sight of blood.

  As she put the basin in the sink, she remembered that the only way to remove bloodstains was with cold water.

  She filled the basin from a jug that she found standing on the floor. It looked frighteningly red and she turned away from it with a little grimace of disgust.