Rostov lay back down on his bed and thought with some pleasure. ‘Let him sort it out. He’s got his hands full now. I’ve done my day’s work and I can have a lie-down. Marvellous!’ Through the wall he could hear someone else speaking. It was Denisov’s valet, Lavrushka, a clever rogue if ever there was one, and he was going on about some wagons and biscuits and oxen he’d seen while he’d been out scouting for provisions.
Then he heard Denisov’s voice outside disappearing into the distance as he shouted, ‘Second twoop! To horse!’
‘I wonder where they’re off to,’ thought Rostov.
Five minutes later Denisov came into the hut, clambered on to his bed still wearing his muddy boots, lit his pipe angrily, rummaged through his things to find his riding-whip and sabre, and turned to leave the hut. When Rostov wanted to know where he was going he said vaguely and angrily that he had something to do.
‘Let God be my judge in this – and our gweat Empewor!’ said Denisov as he went out. Outside, Rostov could hear the hoofs of several horses splashing through the mud. He didn’t even bother to find out where Denisov was going. Warm and cosy in his corner, he soon fell asleep, and it was early evening before he emerged from the hut. Denisov was still out. The weather had cleared. Near the next hut two officers and a cadet were playing a form of quoits, with much laughter as they drove big radishes for pegs into the soft muddy ground. Rostov joined in. In the middle of a game the officers suddenly saw some wagons driving up, followed by more than a dozen hussars riding their skinny horses. The wagons trundled up with their hussar escort and stopped at the tethering rails, where they were immediately surrounded by more hussars.
‘Hey, look! Denisov needn’t have worried,’ said Rostov. ‘Fodder at last!’
‘I’ll say!’ said the officers. ‘The boys are going to like this!’ Just behind the hussars came Denisov, still on horseback and accompanied by two infantry officers, all of them busy talking. Rostov went forward to meet Denisov.
‘I’m warning you, Captain,’ one of the officers was saying, a thin little man, visibly angry.
‘Well, I’ve told you – I’m not giving them up,’ answered Denisov.
‘You’ll answer for this, Captain. It’s outrageous – stealing vehicles from your own side! Our men haven’t eaten for two days.’
‘Mine haven’t eaten for two weeks,’ countered Denisov.
‘It’s daylight robbery! You’ll answer for it, sir!’ repeated the infantry officer, raising his voice.
‘Will you stop pestewing me? Eh?’ roared Denisov, roused to fury. ‘I’m wesponsible, not you. And buzz off you lot while you’we in a fit state to do so!’ he shouted at the officers.
‘All right then,’ cried the little officer, refusing to be intimidated or to ride away. ‘This is thieving, and I’m telling you . . .’
‘Go away, damn you, move, at the double, while
‘All right, all right,’ said the officer ominously. He turned his own horse away and trotted off, jolting in the saddle.
‘Dog on a fence! You’we a weal dog on a fence!’ Denisov called after him, this being the most insulting thing a cavalryman can say to an infantryman on horseback. He rode over to Rostov and roared with laughter.
‘Gwabbed all this fwom the infantwy! Supewior stwength!’ he said. ‘Can’t let the men die of starvation!’
The wagons that had just rolled up had been intended for an infantry regiment, but when he found out from Lavrushka that the wagon-train was unescorted, Denisov and his hussars had seized everything by brute force. Plenty of biscuits were issued to the men, and they even shared them with other squadrons.
The next day the colonel sent for Denisov, and, covering his eyes with open fingers, he said to him, ‘This is how I see it. I know nothing, and I don’t propose to take any action. But I advise you to ride over to HQ and sort things out with the provisions people. If possible say what stores you’ve had and sign for them. If you don’t and they’re put down against the infantry, it’s bound to come out, and it could have a nasty outcome.’
Denisov left the colonel and went straight to HQ, genuinely keen to follow his advice.
That evening he came back to his hut in a terrible state; Rostov had never seen his friend like this. He was gasping and speechless. When Rostov asked him what was wrong, all he could do was whisper and croak, mouthing incoherent expletives and threats.
Alarmed at the state he was in, Rostov told him to get undressed, have a drink of water and send for the doctor.
‘Me! Court-martialled for wobbewy! Give me a dwink of water. Well, let them twy me! I’ll win! I’ll get them, wotten swine! I’ll tell the Empewor! Get me some ice,’ he kept saying.
When the regimental doctor arrived he said it was essential to bleed him. A deep saucerful of black blood was extracted from Denisov’s hairy arm, and only then was he in any state to tell them what had happened.
