Chapter 9 THE BRIDGE

It was several minutes before Lucia saw him again; he was lying flat, a little to one side of the road, and he was very still. She waited, hoping against hope to see him move, and fighting against the horrible thought that filled her mind.

"He is dead," she exclaimed, terrified, "and they are moving; and the bridge!"

Without another thought she got up and very carefully started down the descent, her mind concentrated on the bridge. She did not attempt to go to the road, but kept to the shelter of the rocks, and a little to one side of the fire. The shells were bursting all around her, but she was above the range of the guns, and comparatively safe.

She hurried as fast as she could, but it was hard to keep the direction, in all the noise and blinding flames. She did not dare to look towards Cellino, or think what that hideous column of smoke might mean.

At last she reached the river, and the bridge was in sight a little distance ahead. It was an old stone bridge, and wide enough for men to walk four abreast. At that point the river was very wide and the bridge was made in three arches. It looked very substantial, and Lucia stopped, suddenly terrified by the thought that she did not have the slightest idea how or where to blow it up.

She looked about her as if for inspiration. She found it in the moving line of men just visible far above in the mountains.

The Austrians! They were advancing, and the sudden realization of it brought out all her courage and daring, and intensified the hatred in her heart.

"They shall not cross our bridge," she shouted defiantly, and raced ahead regardless of the rain of shot and shell.

But when she reached the bridge she stopped again, helpless and completely baffled. The wall rose above her high and impregnable. A little farther along, the window of the convent seemed to be ablaze with light. The church had been struck, and Lucia could feel the heat of the flames from where she stood.

The North Gate seemed miles away, and she turned to the convent. She knew there was a door that gave on to the river bank, and she ran forward. She found it and pushed frantically against it. It was locked, the only other opening being a window higher up.

Lucia looked at it in despair. It was her only chance. The glass had been smashed by the impact of the bursting shells and lay in broken bits under her feet. She could just reach the ledge with her hands, and the stone felt warm. The wall was rough and uneven, and after a struggle she managed to find a foothold and pulled herself up. The jagged glass still in the casement cut her hands, but she did not stop to think about it. Once inside she ran along the dark corridor and up the few steps that led to the first floor. The big iron doors were open, and she caught her first sight of the town.

The convent was just outside, and on the road that led south a great stream of people carrying every size of bundles, was hurrying along. Lucia recognized some of them, but the faces she most longed to see were not there.

She turned away, for the sight seemed to drain all her courage, and she longed to run after them, but the memory of that moving mass of soldiers made her true to her trust, and she hurried through the convent, calling for aid.

At the farthest door she discovered several of the sisters hurrying about and trying to clear the big ward filled with wounded soldiers. They had been brought in that morning, and some of them were very ill indeed. The sisters were carrying them out on improvised stretchers. Those who were able to stand up staggered along as best they could by themselves. Lucia saw one boy leaning heavily against the door, and ran to him.

"Roderigo Vicello!" she exclaimed, when she looked up at him.

Roderigo swayed and would have fallen if she had not supported him.

"I can not go," he said weakly. "I am too tired, and I want to go. I have watched her out of sight, but I am too tired to follow."

Lucia looked at him intently. It seemed to her impossible that a man, and a soldier, could bother to think of a girl at such a time. She took his arm firmly and shook him.

"Do you know how to blow up a bridge that is mined?" she demanded excitedly.

"Yes, pull out the pin," Roderigo replied, "if it is a time fuse," he spoke slowly and painstakingly.

"Pin?" Lucia exclaimed impatiently, "I don't understand, you will have to come. Listen, the Austrians are just a little way off across the river, they must not cross the bridge."

Roderigo was alert at once. The light came back into his eyes and his body stiffened.

"What are you saying?" he demanded. "Do you mean, they are coming from that side?"

"Yes," Lucia exclaimed, "there is no time to spare; hurry, I will help you."

She put her strong, young arm about his waist, and by leaning most of his weight on her shoulder he managed to crawl along. Lucia was half crazy with impatience, but she suited her step to his, and helped him all she could.

At last they reached the lower door. She opened it hurriedly and the bridge was in sight, but so were the Austrians. They were so near that what had seemed one solid mass now resolved itself into individual shapes. To Lucia it seemed as if a great sea of men were rushing down upon them.

The exertion from the walk made Roderigo sway, and just before they reached the bridge he fell forward. Lucia crouched down beside him, and begged and pulled until he was on the bridge.

"Now where is it? Tell me what to do," she begged, "see they are almost here."

With a tremendous effort Roderigo pulled himself to the edge of the bridge and located the mine. In a voice that was so weak that Lucia could hardly hear it he gave the directions. Lucia obeyed.

"When will it go off?" she demanded. "Will we have time to get away?"

Roderigo shrugged his shoulders.

"You will," he said. "Run as fast as you can, I don't know how long it will take."

Lucia did not wait to argue. She caught him under his arms and dragged him back to the convent as fast as she could.

Roderigo had given up all hope, but as they drew nearer to the door of the convent, the wish to live asserted itself, and he got to his feet and ran with Lucia. They did not stop until they were safe on the road beyond. The last inhabitant of Cellino was out of sight, and it seemed as if they were alone.

They waited, Lucia supporting Roderigo's head in her arms.

The explosion came, there was a crash, and then a great shaking of the earth. Lucia listened, her eyes flashing.

"Wait here," she said to Roderigo, "I will return at once." She ran hurriedly back to the convent and down again to the door.

The old bridge was ruined. Great pieces of it were torn out and had fallen high on the banks. The center span was entirely gone, and the river, broad and impassable, ran smoothly between the jagged ends.

Lucia did not stand long in contemplation of the scene before her. She hurried back to the road. A sister was beside Roderigo, and Lucia went to her.

"It is not safe back in there," she said, pointing to the convent. "A shell may hit it."

The sister nodded.

"It hardly matters," she replied quietly. "No place is safe. We will take him there; he is too ill to be carried far."

Lucia agreed, and between them they carried the unconscious Roderigo back to the ward and laid him gently on one of the beds.

Sister Francesca turned back the cuffs of her robe and began doing what she could. As she worked she talked.

"We were all ordered to leave," she said; "but when we were well along the road I turned back. It seemed so cowardly to go when we were most needed. The rest thought that by night the Austrians would be in possession, but I could not believe it."

She was a little woman with a soft voice and big blue eyes, and she spoke with such gentle assurance that Lucia felt comforted.

"They will not come to-night," she said, "for the bridge is down, and our troops will surely be able to force them back."

Sister Francesca nodded.

"I hope so. At any rate, there will be wounded and my place is here."

At the word "wounded," the vivid picture of the smoke-choked valley, the shell explosion, and the still form of the Italian soldier flashed before Lucia's mind.

"What am I doing here?" she said impatiently. "There are wounded now and perhaps we can save them."

She did not offer any further explanation, but slipped out of the big room and hurried back to the road once more.

The sun had set and twilight gleamed patchy through the clouds of smoke. It was still light enough to see, and Lucia hurried to the gate. The first sight that she had of Cellino made her stop and shudder. The church was in ruins, and every pane of glass was broken in the entire village. In their haste the refugees had thrown their belongings out of their windows to the street below, and then had gone off and left them. Great piles of furniture and broken china littered the way, and stalls had been tipped over in the market place.

No one stopped Lucia; the town was deserted. She ran hurriedly across to the North Gate, afraid of the ghostly shadows and unnatural sights. At the gate a splendid sight met her eyes.

From the convent she had only seen the Austrians, the wall had cut off her view of the west. But now she commanded a view of the whole field, and to her joy the Italians were advancing as steadily from the west as the Austrians from the east. They would meet at the river, and at the memory of the bridge Lucia threw back her head and laughed. It was not a merry laugh, but a grim triumphant one, and it held all the relief that she felt.

But, splendid as the sight before her was, she did not stay long to look at it. Below, somewhere in the valley, the Italian soldier of the shining white teeth and the pennies was lying wounded, or dead, and nothing could make Lucia stop until she found him.

The heavy artillery fire had let up a little, and the shells were not quite so many.

Lucia started to run. She had made up her mind earlier in the day that if she moved fast enough she would escape being hurt. She unconsciously blamed the slowness of the Italian soldier for his injury. She passed her cottage half-way down the hill. It was still standing, but a shell had dropped on the little goat-shed and blown it to pieces. One of the uprights and the door, which was made of stout branches lashed together with cord, still stood. The door flapped drearily and added to the desolation of the scene.

Lucia did not stop to investigate the damage, but hurried ahead. She was afraid the light would fade before she reached the wounded soldier.

At the end of the road in the bottom of the valley she was just between both sides, the shells dropped all about her and she stood still, bewildered and frightened.

The high mountains on either side made sounding boards for the noise, and the roar of the guns seemed to double in volume.

"Lie down!"

A voice almost under her foot made her jump, and she saw the Italian soldier. She did as he commanded, and he pulled her towards him.

He was very weak, and when he moved one leg dragged behind him. He tried to crawl with Lucia into the shell hole close by. She saw what he was doing and did her best to help. When they finally rolled down into the shell hole, the man groaned.

Lucia could feel that his forehead was wet with great drops of perspiration. She found his water bottle and gave him a drink.

"What's happened?" he asked, speaking close to her ear.

Lucia told him as much as she knew.

"Then the bridge has gone?" There was hope in his voice.

"Gone for good. They can never cross it, and our men are just over there."

"How can I get you back?" she asked. "The convent is so far away."

The soldier shook his head. "You can't. We are caught here between the two fires, it would be certain death to move. What made you come back?"

"To find you," Lucia replied. "I could not come sooner, there was so much to do. I even forgot you, but when I remembered, I ran all the way and now I am helpless."

"Don't give up," the Italian replied. "You must have courage for both of us, for I am useless. My leg has been badly injured by a piece of shell, and I cannot even crawl."

"Then there is nothing to do but wait for the light," Lucia was trembling all over. "Oh, what a long day it has been!"

"But the dawn will come soon," the soldier tried to cheer her, "and then perhaps the stretcher-bearers will find us. If they do not-"

"If they do not, I will find a way to take you to the convent," Lucia replied with sudden spirit, and with the same determination that had resulted in her blowing up the bridge, she added to herself:

"He shall not die!"