He too went on his way. Along came a wagon different from all the previous ones, a German cart pulled by two horses, with what seemed like a houseful of stuff on top. The horses were led by a German, and a splendid brindle cow with an enormous udder was tied at the back. Sitting on feather mattresses were a woman with a tiny baby, an older woman and a young, rather pretty German girl with bright red cheeks. They must have been country people on the move, with a special permit to travel. All the soldiers’ eyes turned to the women, and as the wagon trundled by at walking pace the two younger women were the only subject of conversation. Every face smiled virtually the same smile; every man thought his salacious thoughts about one of them.
‘Hey, pumpernickel’s on the road!’
‘Sell us your missus,’ said another soldier to the German, who was striding on, alarmed and angry but not looking up.
‘Tarted herself up a bit, hasn’t she? Trollops!’
‘Wouldn’t mind being billeted on them, Fedotov!’
‘Seen worse, mate.’
‘Where are you heading for?’ asked the infantry officer, eating an apple and half-smiling as he stared at the pretty girl. The German father shut his eyes as if to say he didn’t understand.
‘Here you are,’ said the officer, offering the apple to the girl. She smiled and took it. Nesvitsky was no different from the rest – he couldn’t take his eyes off the women till they had passed by. When they had gone, they were followed by the same soldiers saying the same things, and then suddenly everything stopped. It was the usual thing – the horses in a company wagon had got themselves into a tangle at the end of the bridge, and the whole crowd had to stand and wait.
‘Why are we waiting? Who’s in charge?’ said the soldiers. ‘Who do you think you’re shoving? Go to hell? Just hang on a minute. Damn sight worse if
As he was looking down at the waters of the Enns flowing under the bridge, Nesvitsky suddenly heard a sound he had never heard before . . . something hurtling towards him . . . something big, and then a great splash in the water.
‘They’ve got our range!’ said a grim-faced soldier near by as he looked towards the sound.
‘He’s just telling us to get a move on,’ said another uneasily. The crowd moved on. Nesvitsky realized it was a cannonball.
‘Hey, Cossack, give me my horse!’ he said. ‘You there, stand aside! Stand aside! Get out of the way!’
With a great effort he managed to struggle to his horse. Shouting non-stop, he began to move forward. The soldiers pulled back to let him through, but soon squashed in on him again, crushing his leg, and those nearest him were not to blame, because they were being shoved even harder from behind.
‘Nesvitsky! Nesvitsky! You, old wogue!’ called a hoarse voice from behind him.
Nesvitsky looked round and there, fifteen paces away, separated by the seething mass of moving infantry, he saw the red-and-black shaggy figure of Vaska Denisov with his cap on the back of his head, and his cloak flung jauntily over one shoulder.
‘Tell ’em to make way, the damned devils!’ roared Denisov, who seemed to be wildly excited. His gleaming, coal-black eyes were rolling, their whites all bloodshot, and he was brandishing his sheathed sword, clasped in a small bare hand as red as his face.
‘Hey! Vaska!’ Nesvitsky called back with delight. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘The squadwon can’t get thwough!’ roared Vaska Denisov with a snarl that bared his white teeth, putting the spurs to his fine black thoroughbred Bedouin. The horse’s ears kept twitching as it brushed up against the bayonets; it was snorting and spattering foam from the bit, its hooves clanging on the boards of the bridge, and it seemed all set to leap over the railings, if only its rider would let it.
‘What’s all this! A wight lot of sheep! . . . Out of the woad! . . . Let me fwough! . . . Stay where you are! You and your damned wagon! I’ll cut you to pieces!’ he roared, actually drawing his sword and beginning to brandish it.
The soldiers, looking quite terrified, squeezed closer together, and Denisov joined Nesvitsky.
‘How come you aren’t drunk today?’ said Nesvitsky, as he rode up.
‘No time to get dwunk!’ answered Vaska Denisov. ‘They’ve been dwagging the wegiment here, there and evwywhere all day. Fighting’s all wight, but God knows what this is all about!’
‘You’re looking very smart today!’ said Nesvitsky, looking at the new cloak and saddle cloth.
Denisov smiled, reached into his sabretache8 and pulled out a handkerchief reeking of scent, which he shoved under Nesvitsky’s nose.
‘Mustn’t get things wong, I’m going into battle! Shaved, cleaned my teeth and put on a bit of scent!’
