Black Sea Horan: On The Road Again

"Rose... Rose!" Thorsten's call woke her up from a deep sleep. He was standing a couple of feet away from the bed, already – or was it still? – dressed in his uniform. "It's time to get up, Rose, we're leaving in a half hour," he told her.

"All right," she yawned. She groggily pulled herself out of the cot and pulled on her boots, washed her face, and put her blue apron on over the old blouse and new skirt she'd found in Odessa to replace the one she'd ripped up for his bandage. When she came out the tent flaps, though, she got a surprise: instead of their little cart, two chestnut horses were tied up to the post.

"I'm sorry," Thorsten told her, "There's no time for the cart this journey – Caesar would never keep up with the cavalry. You'll have to learn to ride quickly, on the road."

"Is everyone going?" It certainly seemed as if the entire camp-cum-village was up and about.

Thorsten nodded. "Two hundred horsemen – and us – to escort the king; the rest of the soldiers follow behind later today. Everyone else will likely wait to see what will happen from there." He looked at her and grinned. "You're probably the only one who got much sleep last night."

She stepped over to the mare's heads, tentatively rubbing their noses, giving herself a moment to get used to the idea.. "Wait a minute. How am I supposed to ride a horse with this long skirt?"

Thorsten cleared his throat apologetically behind her. When she turned, he was holding out a small pile of folded clothes – what looked suspiciously like a uniform. "I hope you don't mind wearing pants. It's only for the journey."

She stared, then laughed helplessly. "Thorsten, fashion has changed in three hundred years." She stepped back and took the clothes from him. "I wear pants every day." And walked back inside the tent to change, leaving him to ponder that concept.

The uniform was a surprisingly good fit; she didn't want to know how he'd managed that or where he'd gotten it, even. It looked used, but it was clean. There was even a small cap, and a leather belt for the trousers – but no rank or unit insignia. "Do I need to start saluting officers?" she asked impishly as she went back out.

Thorsten, giving the tack a final once-over and tightening the girths, glanced over at her – and did a classic double-take. His mouth quirked with suppressed mirth. "If you're not careful, some of these men may start saluting you!"

Pleased at the compliment, and happy that they were apparently past whatever had happened last night, she merely grinned.

She handed him her other clothes, rolled up around her little-used pretty shoes, and he packed them into her saddlebag, then helped her mount, shortening the stirrups to the right length and getting her settled in proper position. Then he looked up at her seriously. "I'm thinking it might be a good idea for me to lead your horse, at least at first, to let you get used to just staying on and not have to worry about controlling her. I picked the best one I could find – she's old and steady, and unlikely to bolt or bounce you around as much as a younger horse."

Rose smiled, a bit shy again, appreciative of the care he'd always taken of her. She touched his shoulder, "Thank you," and his eyes twinkled in response.

^..^

A few hours later, she wasn't smiling. She was groaning. Riding for hours at a stretch at a fast trot your first time out was NOT a good introduction to horseback riding! Rose wasn't sure she'd EVER be able to walk again.

The few times Charles had called a brief halt, she'd literally fallen out of the saddle into Thorsten's arms, and he'd half-carried her over to a blanket to rest on the ground for the few minutes allowed, then fetched her some water and the trail rations being passed around. She drained the water, but couldn't manage the food, so he wrapped it up in a clean handkerchief and showed her how to tuck it under her belt for later. His hand rested on her hair for a moment. "I'm so sorry. I should have looked harder for a horsecart."

Rose shook her head. "I'll survive. People have. And if this is what it takes to fix things, then..."

She didn't ask for the reins all day, deciding that was just too much. There wasn't much saddle to hang on to, and her fingers got as stiff as her legs clinging to the thick leather leading edge. Their mounts were apparently good friends and stablemates; when Thorsten let the lead lengthen a bit, Rose's mare caught up with his and they naturally trotted side by side in the same rhythm. Thorsten offered his arm to Rose at one point, and the extra support helped her get through the rest of that day.

The king's troop made an astonishing sixty miles that first day, calling a halt well after sunset for a brief few hours. Rose just wrapped herself up in a blanket and fell instantly asleep on the hard ground, uncaring. The next morning she was so stiff and sore she could barely move, and it took all her grim determination to get back on board. Thorsten was not the only one who took note; the squad they rode with, a short distance behind the king, took it upon themselves to take extra care of this brave, determined – and pretty – young woman in their midst, offering up an extra blanket to pad her saddle with and sharing sweet raisins. She blinked back unexpected tears at their kindness and goodwill, and her sunrise smile was payment enough.

Early that second afternoon found the Swedes nearing the River Pruth, wondering which way to turn. Charles abruptly held his hand up to signal a halt, and Thorsten, peering ahead, saw the reason: a rider, spurring hard, was galloping towards them from ahead. It turned out to be a messenger to the King of Sweden; he pulled up in surprise when he saw him on the road and not back in Bender.

"Wait here," Thorsten said softly, handing Rose her rein, and she awkwardly held her mare back as he spurred his forward to find out what was going on. Charles quickly read the message, and then gave Thorsten, a few paces to his side, a sharp stare. He refolded the note and handed it across to Thorsten, then spoke a few words to his lieutenants at his side. Thorsten rode back, grinning slightly, as the word filtered back through the ranks.

The long-expected battle had been joined, a few miles to the north, at a place called Stanilesti.

Thorsten fell in beside Rose as they started forward again, reaching for her rein, but she shook her head. "I can manage, I think. What does it say?" she asked nodding towards the folded note.

He opened it and read it quickly. "It's from Poniatowski – Charles's representative to the Sultan. He's been traveling with the Turkish army." Suddenly he swore under his breath, and his countenance turned black. "The Russians were surrounded yesterday, but the Janissaries refused to charge and finish it. The Russian commander sent out an emissary last night with a proposal for a peace treaty." He looked up at her, bleakly. "The negotiations are under way."

Rose felt an icy wind blow right through her, sweeping aside all thoughts of pain or exhaustion. The battle – such as it was – was already over, and the treaty was about to be signed. They might already be too late.

And suddenly, after months of living here in the past, she was almost out of time.