The Burning Shore by Wilbur Smith Read Free Book Online

on! she instructed, and the stallion cantered towards the gate at the end of the field nearest the chateau.
    Michael looked back at the smoking wreckage of his Sopwith. Only the engine block remained, the wood and canvas had burned away. He felt a shadow of deep regret at her destruction, they had come a long way together.
    How do you call yourself? the girl asked over her shoulder, and he turned back to her.
    Michael, Michael Courtney. Michel Courtney, she repeated experimentally, and then, I am Mademoiselle Centaine de Thiry Enchante, mademoiselle. Michael paused to compose his next conversational gem in his laboured schoolboy French. Centaine is a strange name, he said, and she stiffened under his hand. He had used the word drole, or comical. Quickly he corrected himself, An exceptional name. Suddenly he regretted that he had not applied himself more vigorously to his French studies; shaken and shocked as he still was, he had to concentrate hard to follow her rapid explanation.
    I was born one minute after midnight on the first day of the year 1900. So she was seventeen years and three months old, teetering on the very brink of womanhood.
    Then he remembered that his own mother had been barely seventeen when he was born. The thought cheered him so much that he took another quick nip from Andrew’s flask.
    You are my saviour! He meant it lightheartedly, but it sounded so crass that he expected her to burst into mocking laughter. Instead, she nodded seriously. The sentiment was in accord with Centaine’s own swiftly developing emotions.
    Her favourite animal, apart from Nuage the stallion, had once been a skinny mongrel puppy which she had found in the ditch, blood-smeared and shivering. She had nursed it and cherished it, and loved it until a month previously when it had died under the wheels of one of the army trucks trundling up to the front. Its death had left an aching gap in her existence. Michael was thin, almost starved-looking under all those charred and muddy clothes; apart, then, from his physical injuries, she sensed the abuse to which he had been subjected. His eyes were a marvelous clear blue, but she read in them a terrible suffering, and he shivered and trembled just as her little mongrel had.
    Yes, she said firmly. I will look after you. The chateau was larger than it had seemed from the air, and much less beautiful. Most of the windows had been broken and boarded up. The walls were pocked with shell splinters, but the shell craters on the lawns had grassed over, the fighting last autumn had come within extreme artillery range of the estate, before the final push by the Allies had driven the Germans back behind the ridges again.
    The great house had a sad and neglected air, and Centaine apologized.
    Our workmen have been taken by the army, and most of the women and all the children have fled to Paris or Arniens. We are three only. She raised herself in the saddle and called out sharply in a different language, Anna! Come and see what I have found. The woman who emerged from the vegetable gardens behind the kitchens was squat and broad with a backside like a percher on mare and huge shapeless breasts beneath the mud-stained blouse. Her thick dark hair, streaked with grey, was pulled back into a bun on top of her head, I and her face was red and round as a radish, her arms, bare to the elbows, were thick and muscular as a man’s and caked with mud. She held a bunch of turnips in one large, calloused hand.
    What is it, kleintjie, little one? I have saved a gallant English airman, but he is terribly wounded-, He looks very well to me Anna, don’t be such an old grouse! Come and help me.
    We must get him into the kitchen The two of them were gabbling at each other, and to Michael’s astonishment, he could understand every word of it.
    I will not allow a soldier in the house, you know that, kleinjie! I won’t have a tomcat in the same basket with my little kitten- He’s not a soldier, Anna, he’s an