Dennis Wheatley - The Ravishing of Lady Jane Ware

When the Sergeant had finished describing the awful scenes of chaos that had taken place during the crossing of the Berezina, it emerged that both he and Roger had been wounded at Marengo, so they talked about the old days for quite a time before settling down for a sleep.

On waking they ate another meal, then hacked all the frozen honey out of the hives and packed it into the cooking pot that Mary always carried. Leaving the farm they followed the course of the river, for most of the time walking along its hard-frozen surface, but where that was too broken by boulders and piled-up floes of ice, taking to the bank. The honey greatly benefited Roger and Mary, putting new energy into them, but the climate remained arctic. Just as the past summer had been exceptionally hot, so this winter was proving exceptionally cold.

For three days, accompanied by the Sergeant, they continued on their way north-westward, travelling mostly by night and, whenever they sighted a village, leaving the river for the woods. During their halts, when they ate their miserably small meals before sleeping through the middle of the day, Roger and Mary said little about themselves; but Gobbet proved a great raconteur and never tired of telling stories about adventures he had had during his many campaigns, He was typical of the old soldiers who had joined up in their youth as volunteers when the young Republic had been in danger of being overrun by the Monarchies. Tough, resourceful and unscrupulous, his language was foul and he was a born looter and lecher. Most of his stories and his accounts of how, when sacking cities, he had raped grandmothers and schoolgirls indiscriminately would have made Mary blush to the roots of her, now, six-inch long hair had she not become accustomed to hearing such talk during her weeks with the Grand Army.

On the fourth evening after they had met Gobbet, they had not been on their way long when, in the distance, they discerned a town; so, in order to go round it they left the river and entered a forest. Darkness fell soon afterwards and, several hours later, they ran into grave danger.

It was not snowing at the time and a now waning moon gave just enough light to see by. Suddenly, among the tree trunks ahead, Roger, who was leading, caught sight of low, moving shadows. Next moment the silence was shattered by a loud baying, and the shadows came bounding toward them. In terror they realised that they were about to be attacked by a pack of wolves.

Many times during the march from Moscow, and in recent weeks, they had heard the howling of wolves and seen them prowling in the distance; but the beasts had never threatened to molest the living, at least as long as they showed they had the strength to defend themselves. That was because, all through the winter, there had been innumerable corpses for them to feed on. But nowthe three weary, half-frozen travelers had left behind the country that had been fought over.

At the first sound made by the pack, the three had come to an abrupt halt. Fortunately they were within a few feet of a big birch tree, the lowest branch of which was within reach. Seizing Mary by the waist, Roger lifted her so that she could easily grasp the branch and swing herself up on to it. With a swift jump, he followed. Gobbet had unslung his musket. Aiming it at the leader of the pack, he fired. The beast leapt into the air, twisted and fell. Instantly the others were upon it, tearing it to pieces. To take his weight off the lowest branch, Roger had scrambled on to another, opposite it and a little higher up. With a blasphemous oath, the Sergeant clambered up between them, into the fork of the tree.

After tearing the dead wolf to shreds, the rest of the pack loped up to the base of the tree and milled round it. There seemed to be between fifteen and twenty of them. After a while they settled down on their haunches. Lifting their heads, so that their yellow eyes glistened in the faint moonlight, every few minutes one of them gave a bloodcurdling howl.

For a time the besieged travelers stared down in dismay, wondering how they could rid themselves of the menacing beasts. Then Gobbet muttered, 'Only thing ter do is to 'ave 'em feed on one another till they can't eat no more.' Reloading his musket he shot another wolf. Within five minutes it had been devoured by its companions.

In the half hour that followed, he shot three more and Roger shot three with his pistol. They, in turn, were torn limb from limb by the snarling pack, and their more succulent parts eaten; but there still remained nine of them and they showed no sign of going away. Giving vent to a spate of curses, Gobbet announced:

'Ain't got no more bullets. Wot fricking luck to 'ave run out. Their bellies must be near full by now. Bet another couple 'ull do the trick. Let that big grey brute 'ave it wiv yer pistol, Colonel.'

Roger had just reloaded, but he had only two bullets left, and he was loath to use them in case they were needed for some other emergency. Then he remembered that Mary was carrying his other pistol, so he called across to her, 'How many bullets have you got, Hipe?'

'I had eight,' she replied quickly. 'But they are in a little bag tied on to the pistol, and when you swung me up into the tree it fell out of my belt. I dropped the cooking pot with the honey, too.'

Turning to the Sergeant, Roger said, 'When we get near Riga and break into a house to get clothes we'll need both weapons, in case we are surprised and have to use them to get away, so I'm against firing the two bullets I've got just yet. We'll wait for another hour or so, in the hope that the brutes will tire of sitting there and leave us to return to their lair and sleep off the big meal they've already had.'

The hour that followed seemed never-ending. Occasionally one of the wolves would whine and prowl round for a few minutes. But for most of the time they were silent and remained sitting on their haunches, staring upward with unwinking eyes. From time to time Gobbet muttered an impatient curse and shifted restlessly, then he committed a terrible act that he had evidently been contemplating for some while.

Suddenly his hand shot out. Seizing the collar of Mary's fur coat, he gave it a swift, violent pull, designed to throw her backwards off her precarious perch, and snarled:

'Boy's no dam' good to us. The brutes can 'ave 'im, an' we'll save 'is rations.'

With a scream, Mary overbalanced and slipped from the branch. But as she fell she managed to catch hold of it. Next second there was pandemonium. Howling, the wolves hurled themselves into a solid mass and began to snap at her feet.

Roger's heart gave a lurch. He still had his loaded pistol in his hand. Yelling, 'You bastard!' he swung it round and fired straight into Gobbet's face.

Had there only been one wolf it would, by then, have buried its fangs in the calf of one of Mary's legs. But, as they leapt at her, they knocked one another aside. The moment Gobbet fell out of the tree, they swerved away from her and fought to get at the human flesh for which they had waited so long. Roger threw himself forward across the now empty fork of the tree and, with his free hand, seized Mary by the wrist. A moment later, sobbing and half fainting, she was hauled back to safety.

He had hardly done so and clasped her in his arms before the wolves had ripped away the Sergeant's clothes and were beginning to eat him. But their eagerness to gorge themselves had abated. They seemed satisfied to have secured a fair sample of the prey they had been determined to feed on. Almost with indifference they gnawed the flesh of Gobbet's limbs, then, as though instinctively obeying a common impulse, wandered off.

It was not until Roger had recovered from seeing Mary in such dire peril and the effort needed to rescue her that he realised that another misfortune had befallen them. As he had thrown himself across the fork of the tree, the two panniers had slipped from his shoulders and fallen to the ground. Anxiously he peered down to see what had happened to them. But the moon was now down, and the light had become so dim that he could make out only the hump that was the remains of Gobbet's corpse.