THE MONASTERY OF ST. BASIL THE LEPER
He gave an order to the soldiers, and the barrier was removed, then he
struck a match and lit a flare which burnt a dazzling red flame for half
a minute.
"A signal," said Malinkoff, "probably to notify our capture."
A few minutes later, with a soldier on either footboard, and the officer
sitting beside the chauffeur, the car sped through the night, checking
only before it came to the cross-roads which Malinkoff had sought for.
Turning to the left, the car swung into a road narrower and less
comfortable for the passengers.
"I wonder if they will catch our brave friend," said the girl.
"They will be sorry if they do," replied Malcolm dryly. "Cherry will not
be caught as we were."
Ahead of them and to the right apparently, on a hill by their height, a
dozen fires were burning, and Malinkoff judged that the camp they were
approaching was one of considerable size. He guessed it was a
concentration camp where the Reds were preparing for their periodical
offensive against the Ukraine. It must be somewhere in this district
that the Polish Commissioners were negotiating with the Supreme
Government--an event which had set Moscow agog.
An eerie experience this, riding through the dark, the figures of the
soldier guards on either footboard gripping to the posts of the car.
Bump, bump, bump it went, swaying and jolting, and then one of the
guards fell off. They expected him to jump on the footboard again, for
the auto was going at a slow pace, but to their surprise he did not
reappear. Then a similar accident happened to the man on the other
footboard. He suddenly let go his hold and fell backwards.
"What on earth----" said Malcolm.
"Look, look!" whispered the girl.
A foot and a leg had appeared opposite the window, and it came from the
roof of the car. Then another foot, and the bulk of a body against the
night.
"It's Cherry!" whispered the girl.
Swiftly he passed the window and came to the side of the officer, whose
head was turned to the chauffeur.
"Russki," said Cherry, "_stoi_!"
"Stop!" was one of the four Russian words he knew, and the chauffeur
obeyed, just at the moment when the car came to where the road split
into two, one running to the right and apparently to the camp, the other
and the older road dipping down to a misty valley.
The Red officer saw the gun under his nose and took intelligent action.
His two hands went up and his revolver fell with a clatter at the
chauffeur's feet. Deftly Cherry relieved him of the remainder of his
arms.
By this time Malcolm was out of the car, and a brief council of war was
held.
To leave the man there would be to ask for trouble. To shoot him was
repugnant even to Cherry, who had constituted himself the official
assassin of the party.
"We shall have to take him along," said Malinkoff. "There are plenty of
places where we can leave him in the night, and so long as he does not
know which way we go, I do not think he can do us any harm."
The Red officer took his misfortune with the philosophy which the
chauffeur had displayed in similar circumstances.
"I have no malice, little general," he said. "I carry out my orders as a
soldier should. For my part I would as soon cry 'Long live the Czar!'
as 'Long live the Revolution!' If you are leaving Russia I shall be
glad to go with you, and I may be of service because I know all the
latest plans for arresting you. There is a barrier on every road, even
on this which you are taking now, unless," he added thoughtfully, "it is
removed for the Commissary Boolba."
"Is he coming this way?" asked Malcolm.
"You saw me fire a flare," said the man. "That was a signal to the camp
that you were captured. The news will be telegraphed to Moscow, and
Boolba will come to sentence the men and take back his wife."
He evidently spoke in the terms of his instructions.
"What road will he take, little soldier?" asked Malinkoff.
"The Tver road," said the man. "It is the direct road from Moscow, and
we shall cross it very quickly. At the crossing are four soldiers and an
under officer, but no barricade. If you will direct me I will tell them
a lie and say that we go to meet Boolba."
"We're in his hands to some extent," said Malinkoff, "and my advice is
that we accept his offer. He is not likely to betray us."
The car resumed its journey, and Cherry, who had taken his place inside,
explained the miracle which had happened.
"I saw the first lot of soldiers we passed," he said, "and when the car
stopped suddenly I knew what had happened. I took off my boots and
climbed on to the roof. I only made it just in time. The rest was like
eating pie."
"You didn't shoot the soldiers who were standing on the footboard, did
you?" asked Malcolm. "I heard no shots."
Cherry shook his head.
"Why shoot 'em?" he said. "I had only to lean over and hit 'em on the
bean with the butt end of my gun, and it was a case of 'Where am I,
nurse?'"
Half an hour's drive brought them to the cross-roads, and the four
apathetic sentries who, at the word of the Red officer, stood aside to
allow the car to pass. They were now doubling back on their tracks,
running parallel with the railroad (according to Malinkoff) which, if
the officer's surmise was accurate, was the one on which Boolba was
rushing by train to meet them. So far their auto had given them no
trouble, but twenty miles from the camp both the front tyres punctured
simultaneously. This might have been unimportant, for they carried two
spare wheels, only it was discovered that one of these was also
punctured and had evidently been taken out of use the day on which they
secured the car. There was nothing to do but to push the machine into a
field, darken the windows and allow the chauffeur to make his repairs on
the least damaged of the tubes. They shut him into the interior of the
car with the Red officer who volunteered his help, furnished him with a
lamp, and walked down the road in the faint hope of discovering some
cottage or farm where they could replenish their meagre store of food.
Half an hour's walking brought them to a straggling building which they
approached with caution.
"It is too large for a farm," said Malinkoff; "it is probably one of
those monasteries which exist in such numbers in the Moscow Government."
The place was in darkness and it was a long time before they found the
entrance, which proved to be through a small chapel, sited in one corner
of the walled enclosure. The windows of the chapel were high up, but
Malcolm thought he detected a faint glow of light in the interior, and
it was this flicker which guided them to the chapel. The door was half
open, and Malinkoff walked boldly in. The building, though small, was
beautiful. Green malachite columns held up the groined roof, and the
walls were white with the deadly whiteness of alabaster. A tiny altar,
on which burnt the conventional three candles, fronted them as they
entered, and the screen glittered with gold. A priest knelt before the
altar, singing in a thin, cracked voice, so unmusically that the girl
winced. Save for the priest and the party, the building was empty.
He rose at the sound of their footsteps, and stood waiting their
approach. He was a young and singularly ugly man, and suspicion and fear
were written plainly on his face.
"God save you, little brother of saints!" said Malinkoff.
"God save you, my son!" replied the priest mechanically. "What is it you
want?"
"We need food and rest for this little lady, also hot coffee, and we
will pay well."
Malinkoff knew that this latter argument was necessary. The priest shook
his head.
"All the brethren have gone away from the monastery except Father
Joachim, who is a timid man, Father Nicholas and myself," he said. "We
have very little food and none to spare. They have eaten everything we
had, and have killed my pretty chickens."
He did not say who "they" were, and Malinkoff was not sufficiently
curious to inquire. He knew that the priests were no longer the power in
the land that they were in the old days, and that there had been
innumerable cases where the villagers had risen and slaughtered the men
whose words hitherto had been as a law to them. A third of the
monasteries in the Moscow Government had been sacked and burnt, and
their congregations and officers dispersed.
He was surprised to find this beautiful chapel still intact, but he had
not failed to notice the absence of the sacred vessels which usually
adorned the altar, even in the midnight celebration.
"But can you do nothing for our little mama?" asked Malinkoff.
The priest shook his head.
"Our guests have taken everything," he said. "They have even turned
Brother Joachim from the refectory."
"Your guests?" said Malinkoff.
The priest nodded.
"It is a great prince," he said in awe. "Terrible things are happening
in the world, Antichrist is abroad, but we know little of such things in
the monastery. The peasants have been naughty and have broken down our
wall, slain our martyred brother Mathias--we could not find his body,"
he added quickly, "and Brother Joachim thinks that the Jews have eaten
him so that by the consecrated holiness of his flesh they might avert
their eternal damnation."
"Who is your prince?" asked Malcolm, hope springing in his breast.
There were still powerful factions in Russia which were grouped about
the representatives and relatives of the late reigning house.
"I do not know his name," said the priest, "but I will lead you to him.
Perhaps he has food."
He extinguished two of the candles on the altar, crossing himself all
the while he was performing this ceremony, then led them through the
screen and out at the back of the chapel. Malcolm thought he saw a face
peering round the door as they approached it, and the shadow of a flying
form crossing the dark yard. Possibly the timid Father Joachim he
thought. Running along the wall was a low-roofed building.
"We are a simple order," said the priest, "and we live simply."
He had taken a candle lantern before he left the chapel, and this he
held up to give them a better view. Narrow half-doors, the tops being
absent, were set in the face of the building at intervals.
"Look!" he said, and pushed the lamp into the black void.
"A stable?" said Malinkoff.
He might have added: "a particularly draughty and unpleasant stable."
There were straw-filled mangers and straw littered the floor.
"Do you keep many horses?"
The priest shook his head.
"Here we sleep," he said, "as directed in a vision granted to our most
blessed saint and founder, St. Basil the Leper. For to him came an angel
in the night, saying these words: 'Why sleepest thou in a fine bed when
our Lord slept lowly in a stable?'"
He led the way across the yard to a larger building.
"His lordship may not wish to be disturbed, and if he is asleep I will
not wake him."
"How long has he been here?" asked Malcolm.
"Since morning," repeated the other.
They were in a stone hall, and the priest hesitated. Then he opened the
door cautiously, and peeped in. The room was well illuminated; they
could see the hanging kerosene lamps from where they stood.
"Come," said the priest's voice in a whisper, "he is awake."
Malcolm went first. The room, though bare, looked bright and warm; a big
wood fire blazed in an open hearth, and before it stood a man dressed in
a long blue military coat, his hands thrust into his pockets. The hood
of the coat was drawn over his head, and his attitude was one of
contemplation. Malcolm approached him.
"Excellenz," he began, "we are travellers who desire----"
Slowly the man turned.
"Oh, you 'desire'!" he bellowed. "What do you desire, Comrade Hay? I
will tell you what _I_ desire--my beautiful little lamb, my pretty
little wife!"
It was Boolba.