“What is it, boy?” asked Max, and sniffed the air. “Smell something different, do you?” He raised his face into the bora wind and sniffed again; only very gradually did his nose catch what Taras’s keener sense had detected: it was the smell of fresh meat being cooked.
Almost immediately, Max guessed the true fate of the dead Przewalski’s horses: the Germans had taken them back to the kitchens in the big house so that they might eat the meat for dinner. The worst part of it was that the smell was succulent and delicious and opened up a hole in Max’s stomach as he suddenly realized just how hungry he was. It had been quite a while since he had eaten meat. Game was always thin on the ground in winter.
Max swallowed uncomfortably and stared at Taras.
“Well, go and get some grub if you want,” he told the dog. “I shan’t stand in your way or even blame you. There are some who say that horse meat is very tasty, but I shan’t ever eat it myself. I don’t think I could swallow the stuff even if I wanted to. I tell you, dog, it would stick in my throat and choke me.”
A little to the old man’s relief, Taras stayed put and then followed him back to the humble cottage. They were still en route when Captain Grenzmann overtook them on the back of Molnija.
“Good morning, Max,” he said. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
“I’ve seen better.”
Max kept on walking, and with a quick, expert squeeze of his legs, Grenzmann urged Molnija a few paces ahead, then turned the stallion in front of the old man and his dog so that they were obliged to stop.
“Max, hold up there,” said Captain Grenzmann. “Wait a minute, please. Where are you going?”
“Home,” said Max dully.
“Yes, of course.” Grenzmann jumped down off the horse and then drew the reins over his head. “Well, stay a minute, please. If you will.”
“Say your piece,” grunted Max.
“I’ve missed you this last couple of mornings. In the stables. We both have.” Grenzmann patted the horse’s flanks. “Haven’t we, boy? I was never much of a groom, you know. I’ve almost forgotten what you’re supposed to do. It’s not the same without you there.”
“Well, there’s no great mystery about that,” said Max. “I expect you know very well why I haven’t been there.”
“Yes, I suppose I do. But look here, Max, I didn’t have much choice in the matter. Not after my superiors in Berlin made up their minds. I tried to explain this to you the other day. I’m just a captain, not a general. And I don’t make policy decisions in such matters. I just execute them.”
“It makes no difference what you are, out here,” said Max. “You’re the man in charge.” He shrugged. “And it seems to me that we’ve always got a choice. I think that’s what makes us human. Any man who says he hasn’t got a choice about something might as well admit that he’s not much better than Molnija here, with a bit in his mouth and a saddle on his back.”
“Molnija?” For a moment, Grenzmann looked puzzled. “Oh, you mean Lightning, don’t you? I didn’t say, did I? Yes, I’ve renamed this horse. In the circumstances, I thought that was appropriate.”
Max frowned. “I can’t say I hold with giving animals new names any more than I hold with killing them for no good reason.”
“Look here,” said Grenzmann. “Please don’t take that lofty tone with me. I rode out here to make sure that there are no hard feelings between us. In the same spirit of conciliation, I should like to invite you to come to dinner tonight.”
“To eat my own dead horses? I don’t think so, sir, thank you kindly.”
“Max, Max.” Grenzmann sighed. “Be reasonable. We could hardly let all that fresh meat go to waste. There’s a war on, don’t you know? Good meat is in shortage. There are people in this part of the world who are starving. Besides, horse meat is much better for you than beef or pork. Did you know that? Back in Germany, we make a very popular sausage—Rosswurst—out of horse meat.”
“If you’ll forgive me for saying so, Captain, it’s my sincerest hope that you and your men are soon back in Germany, eating some of that delicious-sounding sausage.”
And with those words, Max walked away, followed closely at his heels by Taras.
Captain Grenzmann mounted the stallion and came after the old man.
“Well, I’m very sorry to disappoint you, Max, but I don’t think this is going to happen; at least not for a while longer anyway. My battalion is cut off from our own lines, you see. By the Red Army. We’re encircled in this reserve of yours. And until our own forces can break through to us, we’re stuck here at Askaniya-Nova. Perhaps until the spring. So you’ll have to put up with us for a while longer.”