momentary mishap, followed up with a lunge that would have pierced the American right through if he had not made a lightning recover and parried the thrust. As it was the sabre merely glanced across his chest leaving a few bright drops of blood in its wake.
This narrow escape roused afresh all the anger which had seemed momentarily to have deserted Jason. Now it was he who began pressing his adversary who gave ground but not quickly enough to avoid a stab in the fleshy part of the arm. Jason pressed home his advantage and a second, more determined stroke wounded Chernychev in the shoulder. He cursed softly and despite the pain attempted a riposte but the American's sword flashed out a third time and caught him in the chest.
He staggered and dropped to his knees as Jason sprang back. His lips writhed in a brave attempt to smile.
'I have it, I think…' he whispered and fainted.
There was a moment's shocked silence. The cossacks stared down at the tall white figure lying on the ground as if they could not believe their eyes. But it lasted no more than a second. As Marianne sped to Jason with a sobbing moan of relief and he let fall the weapon he had just used with such deadly effect, Aksakov ran to his superior officer.
'Come away,' Marianne gasped breathlessly. 'Come away quickly! It was a fair fight and you won but you must not stay here—'
The young captain finished his examination of the wound and turned to look up at them with a combination of anger and relief.
'He is not dead,' he said. 'And it's as well for you he's not, for I would have had you shot without delay.'
Jason was putting on his blouse but at these words he stiffened and, turning slowly, subjected the officer to a haughty stare.
'Is that your conception of honour in an affair between gentlemen? I was the victor, therefore I am free.'
'The laws governing the duel do not hold in time of war. I shall not kill you because you have not killed him but I am taking you with me. You are my prisoner. The Ataman must decide what is to be done with you. Only the lady may go free.'
'But I don't want to!' Marianne protested. 'Either you free us both or you take us both. I will not leave him.'
She clung round Jason's neck but at a word from the Prince two men stepped forward and detached her forcibly while others overpowered Jason and tied him by the wrists to one of their saddlebows.
When she realized that she was being left alone in the panic-stricken city while Jason was led away to an unknown fate, perhaps even to his death, Marianne burst into uncontrollable weeping. She forgot everything, her reason for being in that place, her desire to reach the Emperor and warn him, even the need to find Arcadius and the others. All she knew was that these wild-looking men, hardly one of whom understood a word she said, were like an unyielding wall about to divide her for ever from the man she loved.
When the men restraining her released their hold to mount their horses again, she ran to Aksakov, who was supervising the removal of his captain, and cast herself at his feet.
'I implore you, take me too! What harm can it do? You will have two prisoners instead of one and I demand to share my friend's fate!'
'That may be so, Madame. But it was expressly stated as a condition of the fight that you, and you alone, should be set free. My duty demands it.'
'And what is freedom to me? You make great play with your duty, sir, yet by arresting the victor in an affair of honour you are contravening its first rule! Oh, I beg of you – you cannot know how much this means to me —'
Jason's voice, sounding strangely cold and distant, interrupted her.
'Be quiet, Marianne! I will not have you humble yourself for my sake. I forbid you to entreat him further. If this officer insists on behaving dishonourably I am not going to make one move to prevent him. Nor will I permit you to do so.'
'But don't you understand, he means to separate us? We are going to be parted, here and now, and they may be taking you to face a firing squad.'
The corner of his mouth lifted a little in his familiar, mocking smile. Then he shrugged.
'That is in God's hands. Think of yourself. You know quite well that you'll come through. You won't be friendless in the city for very long.'
'But I don't want to! I don't want to! I want to stay with you, to share your fate whatever it may be.'
She was striving desperately to reach him and cling to him, even at the risk of being trampled by the horses, but already the squad of mounted men had closed in on him. She uttered a piercing cry, like a wounded animal: 'Jason! Don't leave me!'
Aksakov, too, was lifting himself into the saddle as she turned to him.
'Don't you understand that I love him?'
It was his turn to shrug and he made her a derisory little bow.
'I dare say. But we must abide by the conditions. Your Serene Highness is free – free even to follow us if you wish, although at the risk of being trampled by the crowd and lost without trace.'
With that, paying no further attention to her, the little troop formed up about the wounded man who had been hoisted as comfortably as possible on to his own horse until a conveyance could be found for him and, with the prisoner in their midst, rode off down a side street which, in due course, would bring them up with the body of the retreating army.
Marianne watched them go. In her wretchedness it was even some time before the significance of Aksakov's last words sunk in. Not until the last horse had vanished round the corner of the street did her brain grasp the fact that nothing, as the captain had said, prevented her from following, whatever the dangers involved. As he had just told her, she was free.
The thought of her friends whom she was abandoning with little hope of ever seeing them again crossed her mind briefly but she dismissed it. Her fate was bound to Jason's. She could not and would not have it otherwise. She had to follow him to the last moment, even if that last moment were very close now. After all that she had been through to find and keep him, anything else would be senseless desertion and a betrayal of herself.
She threw back her head and took a deep breath, then set off in her turn along the same way that the cossacks had taken. She had crossed the square and was just entering the street when she saw Shankala.
The gipsy was standing in the middle of the narrow thoroughfare with her arms spread wide as though to bar the way. All through the fight Marianne had not thought of her once, for the girl had an incomparable talent for vanishing into the tiniest patch of shadow and remaining there unseen and unheard. But now she had shown herself and Marianne knew by the grin of hatred and triumph that distorted her brown features that if she wanted to go after her lover it would not be without a fight. Too late, she understood that by pretending, against all probability, to be pursuing the man who had cast her off, the half-wild gipsy girl had all the time been aiming at nothing but the conquest of the master she had chosen for herself and taking him from the woman who might consider him her own rightful property.
Marianne stepped out boldly towards the other woman who, in her blood-red garments, looked like nothing so much as one of those crosses that were once drawn on the doors of houses where the plague had struck. Throwing out her arm in a commanding gesture, Marianne ordered her to let her pass.
'Begone!' she said sternly.
The other gave a shrill, high laugh and then, before Marianne could lay a hand on her to put her out of the way, she had drawn a dagger from her belt. The short blade gleamed for a moment in the sun and then she struck.
With a sound like a groan, Marianne collapsed on to the earth, already trampled by the horses' hooves. Shankala was bending over her, her weapon already lifted again to deliver one final stroke, when a sudden outcry made her look quickly back towards the farther end of the square. Instantly she abandoned her intention and instead ran swiftly after the cossacks.
