It was six in the morning of the following day. From the eastward came a blaze of glorious sunshine; the rain had ceased about midnight; the blue sky overhead was cloudless; shadows strange and darkly defined fell to the westward from rock and tree; the Morava was glowing in golden light; but by its margin lay the battle-field with all its horrors—a place that no sunshine could brighten.
Cecil was roused from sleep by Captain Mattei Guebhard, who announced that General Tchernaieff required his presence at head-quarters forthwith.
'For what purpose?' asked Cecil.
'How can I tell!' was the sulky rejoinder; 'you will learn when you get there.'
The truth is, that this Mattei Guebhard, who was—justly, as events proved—cold in the king's service, had been unhorsed in one of the charges on the previous day, and had come a little scurvily out of the action, having failed to rally or reform his troop; thus, though he dared not to sneer at Cecil, he was jealous of the honours he had won, but never could have conceived how little the ex-Cameronian valued them.
There is perhaps more hate at first sight in this world than there is love at first sight; and somehow Mattei Guebhard felt a curious hatred of Cecil, who was aware at the same time of having a most decided repugnance of him. Yet they exchanged cigars, and picked their way across the battle-field, where the dead were being buried in trenches; the peasantry were stealing arms and whatever they could lay hands on; where the scared vultures were hovering, angry and expectant, overhead; and where all the hedgerows, hollows, and ditches were, as usual in every battle-field, strewed with those mysterious scraps of papers, that are the sport of the passing breeze.
What they are, no one cares to inquire, not even plunderers and burial parties, who fling them contemptuously aside, after searching the pockets and other repositories of the slain. They may be only Orderly Room reports, and parade returns; but too frequently they are the last letters from mothers and sweethearts, or wives—letters full of love and prayerful tenderness, to those who can peruse them no more.
It was the first general action that Cecil had ever been in, and the field to him looked awful, in the sweet bright morning sunshine; and the idea occurred to him, that if it be true—and we cannot doubt it—that to the Creator the fall of a sparrow is not a matter of indifference, what must that of a human being be? Yet, there they lay in thousands, butchered, hacked, and in some instances torn out of the semblance of humanity, by cannon shot and shell.'
'Here we are!' said Guebhard, gruffly, cutting short his reflections.
In a tent, round which a lancer guard was posted, dismounted, and leaning on their horses, with some staff-officers about him, Tchernaieff was seated at a table, and was in the act of sealing a long and official-looking blue envelope. Close by lay the body of a favourite staff-officer, for separate interment. A sheet covered it, and the dull outline of the profile, and the up-turned feet, showed plainly and ghastly to the eye. A veteran soldier, of great experience, and much stateliness of manner, he received Cecil politely and cordially, shook his hand, proffered his handsome silver case of cigarettes, and then said,
'To business.'
A portion of the letter was to the effect, that he had appointed Cecil to serve on his staff, as an extra aide-de-camp, vice Colonel MacIver, popularly known as 'Tchernaieff's Scotchman,' who had joined the Russian army at Kischineff; and his first duty in his new capacity was to be the bearer of despatches to Belgrade; and Cecil bowed, and muttered his thanks and gratitude.
'This packet contains my report of the battle,' said Tchernaieff, with military brevity, rising to end the interview ere it was well begun; 'the casualty lists, and, more than all, my plan for our further operations, if approved of, by his Majesty the King.'
Guebhard's face was a study for a painter as he heard all this, in the background, with hawk-like eyes, and ears that quivered, so intently did he listen.
'You will take the road by Resna and Paragatin,' said the General, speaking pointedly and emphatically; 'speak to none on the way; save for what you want—food and fresh horses; let no one join you on any pretence, or attempt to turn you from your path. Here is the route chalked out for you, the seven towns through which you have to pass, ere you reach Belgrade. Remember and be wary, as I have found you brave and trustful.'
'Take this ring,' said Count Palenka, coming forward, and drawing a valuable Russian diamond from his finger: 'I cannot give you gold medals or crosses like the King or his excellency the General; but I may insist upon your wearing this, as a personal gift from myself—the gift of gratitude for a life gallantly saved at great peril.'
Flattered by the high trust so suddenly reposed in him by Tchernaieff, Cecil, for the first time since he had set foot on Servian soil, felt his heart fill with something of the fire of his wonted ambition; but he knew not that he was selected, as a stranger, for this perilous and important duty; and still less, perhaps, did he know that there was a rival and pretender to the throne of Servia, in the person of Prince Georgeovitch, who had scouts, adherents, and secret supporters everywhere.
He looked at the war-map, with which every staff-officer was furnished, and saw that the distance between Belgrade and the temporary head-quarters of Tchernaieff (who next day was to begin his march to Alexinatz) was, in all, about a hundred miles, as the crow flies, through a wild, disturbed, and rather lawless country, by steep, rough, and heavy roads; yet, if tolerably well mounted, he hoped to perform the duty, and overtake the army, in four days at the latest, and this he said laughingly to Pelham and Stanley as he bade them adieu, and, quitting the camp, disappeared on the road to Resna.
The army advanced ten miles to Alexinatz, where a daring alerte, culminating in a regular foray, was given to the Turks within their own lines; but several days passed on, and became weeks, without Cecil re-appearing at head-quarters. He left few behind him to surmise as to the cause of this—still fewer to regret him, though all believed that he must have been cut off on the way—but how?
'I shall be deuced sorry, if that poor fellow comes to grief,' said Pelham; 'he seemed a gallant soldier, and every inch a gentleman. Curiously reticent about his antecedents, though; he laughed seldom, and when he smiled, did so as if smiles belonged to his past rather than his present life; but that he was an army man was evident—he had all the cut of it.'
'Had—don't talk in the past tense yet,' replied Stanley; 'he told us he had been under fire in India.'
'Has left the service under a cloud, perhaps—was the scapegrace of the family, probably. My family has one: I was that evil spirit in mine.'
'Any way, I do wish we had him back.'
The two Englishmen eventually offered a handsome reward in Austrian ducats for some intelligence regarding their missing comrade; and it came, vaguely, to the effect that two wood-cutters, three weeks back, had seen a mounted officer, answering to the description of Cecil, attempting to ford the Morava near Palenka, about forty miles off, and struggling with its current just as the sun went down, an event in these lands followed by instant darkness.
'Near Palenka?' said Captain Guebhard, with a frown, and then a cunning smile, as if questioning himself.
'Did he fairly cross?' asked Pelham.
'Who can say?' replied Guebhard; 'and if so, why has he not returned?'
'Were the bodies of a man and horse found in the river?'
'The wood-cutters said no; but I'll ride to Palenka and make inquiries, if Tchernaeiff accords me leave,' he replied, turning away.
'Why is he so solicitous in the matter?' observed Pelham; 'his dislike of our absent friend has been pretty apparent to me.'
'The devil only knows his object; but I don't like his smile.'
'With his cunning black-beady eyes and bistre-hued visage, this Guebhard reminds me of a half-nigger fellow who was gazetted to the Dragoon Guards, when I was in them before joining the Coldstreams. We were anxious to get rid of him; but he was sly as old Nick, slippery as an eel, and cautious as a lawyer. At last one evening we all came to mess with our faces painted copper-colour or black, and with huge stick-up collars, to the astonishment of the waiters and of him too; but he took the hint, and sent his papers in to the Horse Guards next day.'
So Cecil's fate remained as yet involved in mystery.
But that Guebhard did get leave 'to search' was evident, as the two Englishmen saw him quitting the camp soon after, attended by two or three mounted Montenegrins, melo-dramatic looking cut-throats, armed with rifles, pistols, and yataghans, clad in tattered garments with sandals of cow-hide, unkemped, unwashed, black-bearded, and ferocious in aspect.
'By George!' said Pelham, 'I should not like my safety to be looked after by such fellows as these!'