Daughters of War by Hilary Green Page B

surprise, two soldiers rose to their feet and, linking arms, began to move in a slow, shuffling dance. Immediately the gusla began again and other men rose and joined the first two, until they had formed a circle. The pace quickened and the steps became more intricate, but the dance retained an inherent solemnity that seemed in keeping with the mood of the evening. With the ending of the bombardment a great silence had fallen over the camp and the skies had cleared to reveal stars that hung huge and lambent over the frozen plain. Leo looked up and drew a long breath. The discomforts of the journey and the horrors of the day faded and she knew that what she had said to Victoria was true. She would rather be here than in the most luxurious drawing room in London.
    The following morning the general appeared at the entrance to the tent.
    ‘I have good news for you. I have a reply from the authorities in Sophia. Your friends are at Lozengrad – or Kirk-Kilisse, if you prefer the Turkish name.’
    ‘Where is that?’ Victoria asked eagerly.
    ‘I will show you.’ The general advanced to the table in the centre of the tent and unrolled a map. ‘Here is Adrianople. And here is Lozengrad, to the east and slightly north, about sixty kilometres away.’
    ‘They are not at Chataldzha then?’ Leo asked.
    ‘No, as I told you, foreign non-combatants are not permitted so near the front line. But the casualties from Chataldzha are being taken to Lozengrad. I am told that your friends have set up a hospital there.’
    ‘Then we must go and join them,’ Victoria said. ‘Only sixty kilometres. We can be there in an hour in the car.’
    The general shook his head reprovingly. ‘My dear lady, I could not possibly allow you to set off alone. The countryside between here and Lozengrad has been devastated by the war and there are desperate people out there. Who knows what might happen to two unprotected women? You must allow me to send an escort with you. They will not have cars, but you will find that it is impossible to travel fast over these roads.’
    They both realized that it would be foolish to argue, so an hour later they set off in a cavalcade with Georgi Radic and two troopers riding ahead and two more soldiers standing on the running boards of the car. The general had insisted on providing them with a tent, which was strapped on top of the trunk carrying their possessions and food supplies for two days.
    ‘This is ridiculous!’ Victoria muttered as they packed. ‘Anybody would think we were going six hundred kilometres, not sixty. Doesn’t he have any idea how fast a car can travel?’
    They soon had their answer. The roads, if they could be called that, had been churned to liquid mud by the bullock wagons that were the main form of transport for the army. They had not covered more than two miles before the car stuck fast and they were glad of the power of the two burly soldiers to push them out. Another mile further on they stuck again and this time the two mounted troopers had to get off their horses and help. By the time the short winter daylight was fading they had covered less than half the distance and Georgi called a halt by a small copse of trees, whose upper branches had been ripped away by gunfire. The fallen timber was built up into a campfire, the tent was erected and a cooking pot was soon simmering for the inevitable soup. Conversation was difficult, since only Georgi spoke anything other than Serbian, but before long one of the men produced a gusla and this time Leo took comfort in the monotonous drone, which seemed to make the darkness beyond the fire less threatening. When the song finished they said their goodnights and crawled into their sleeping bags in the tent, snuggling together for warmth and comfort, while the men, except for one to keep watch, wrapped themselves in their blankets and lay down around the fire.
    ‘I say,’ Leo murmured, on the verge of sleep, ‘we wanted an adventure. Well, we’ve