Curtis felt the girl brush against his sleeve, and looked down at the pale oval of her face. When the light flashed its endless signal again, he saw the twin reflections in her dark eyes.

  `What do you wish me to do?’

  ‘You will stay aboard when I go ashore with the captain. I hope I shall not be long.’ He wondered why he was telling her all this, but he realized that since she had joined him on the poop, he had ceased to worry about what he had to do.

  He saw her bared teeth.

  `I said that you would be a man to make plans ! I was very right, yes?’

  ‘I don’t like this, Ralph!’ Duncan interrupted hoarsely, as the dark shadow of the land seemed to grow out of the night itself. `How can this joker know where he’s goin’?’

  Curtis shrugged. `Well, it’s too late now, Steve. No turning back.’

  Duncan grunted and made his way forward to check the mooring lines.

  Curtis could almost feel the weight of the land, which grew darker and larger and more menacing with each second that passed. Already he could see the faint arm of the bay reaching out on the port beam, and even the wind had lost them, muffled perhaps by the hidden hills and cliffs ahead.

  The captain took over the wheel and peered watchfully over the rail as the ship glided evenly through the calm water. Everyone was silent, and conscious of the lap of water against the hull and the clank of chain as the captain eased the wheel a spoke one way and then back.

  The girl gasped and involuntarily gripped Curtis’s arm, as without warning, the white hull of an anchored boat loomed out of the night and passed eerily: down the Ametisa’s side.

  The captain spun the wheel and jerked the lever at his side. The engine died away into an uneven neutral, and they heard the swish of water under the stem as the schooner turned slightly in her course and dodged another moored vessel.

  He grunted. `Even less boats here than when I came before!’ His tone was almost conversational and showing nothing of the strain of piloting the schooner into an unlighted cove amongst anchored fishing boats.

  Curtis smiled, and was conscious of the fact that Carla Zecchi had not removed her hand from his arm. I must be mad, he thought. To think about her now, when at any moment we may be picked up in a searchlight and shot to pieces.

  A thin grey finger of jetty loomed up practically under the bowsprit, and as the captain put the engine astern, and a rope fender was dropped between the hull and the crumbling stonework, one of the seamen vanished over the side and could faintly be seen running towards a stone bollard, dragging behind him the huge eye of the ship’s head-rope.

  Curtis felt a vague sensation of anticlimax, as another man secured the ship by the stern and the captain allowed the engine to shudder into complete silence.

  The schooner creaked and groaned against her fenders and the seamen stood in a group by the rail, staring curiously at their homeland.

  _’Well, signore? Here we are. No soldiers, an’ no Fascisti!’ He laughed. `Now we go ashore, eh?’

  Curtis felt Carla’s hand slide away, and watched her as she walked to the rail. She was looking up at the dark shapes of the hills, only faintly visible against the starred pattern of the sky.

  He drew Duncan aside and tried to see the expression on the man’s face. `You’ll stay here as we arranged, Steve,’ he began slowly, `and make sure that nobody gets ashore. I’ve told the mayor to co-operate with you, so you won’t have to use any force.’

  `Have you any idea what you hope to do out there?’

  ‘The captain and I will have a scout round and see if we can find a doctor. He says he’s got plenty of contacts hereabouts, and I imagine from what he says, that the locals are a pretty independent lot. It’s obviously true that the Jerries have left here, they’d never allow such a slipshod sort of security!’

  `Can’t I come with you? I hate the idea of bein’ cooped up with all these jokers!’

  `Now we’ve already settled all that.’ A slight hardness crept into his voice. `If anything goes wrong, you’ll be in charge, so you must be ready to act accordingly!’

  The captain ambled over to them and gestured towards the jetty. One of his men was holding what appeared to be a glistening snake above his head and grinning broadly.

  `The fresh water, signore! She is connected to the jetty by that hose!’

  Curtis sighed with relief. `Get cracking on that, Steve. Have the tank filled up, and I’ll get going for a doctor.’

  Sergeant Dunwoody saluted stiffly in the darkness. `You off, sir?’

  ‘Yes. My Number One’s in charge now. Keep all our people off the deck, and see that all the hatchways remain covered. You can take the Schmeisser yourself, Sergeant, and station yourself up by the fo’c’sle.’

  He turned back to Duncan, relieved to be moving. `So long, Steve. I’ll try not to hang about!’

  There was a sudden disturbance by the aft hatch, and Signor Zecchi ran excitedly across the deck.

  `What is the meaning of this, Lieutenant? Where are you going? I insist on going with you!’

  Duncan growled warningly, but Curtis raised his hand calmly. `Please be quiet! I came back to the coast as I promised. For the wounded, not for you, you understand?’

  The man swayed and half stepped towards the darkened rail. `But this is an outrage! I must get ashore now!’ He dropped his voice to an unexpected tone of pleading. `I will not make any trouble.’

  His daughter moved to his side. `It is all right, Papa! You must not get excited.’

  Curtis was aware that the captain was waiting impatiently by the rail. `I must go,’ he said shortly. `No one goes ashore without my permission, and that’s final!’ He nodded to the girl, and followed the captain on to the jetty.

  The feel of the rough stones beneath his feet made him falter and glance back at the indistinct shape of the little schooner, but a hand pulled at his arm and the captain muttered urgently. `Come! It is nearly two of the clock. We must hurry!’

  They stumbled along the jetty’s hundred yards and began to climb up a narrow winding roadway, the surface of which was pitted and scarred with wheel-ruts and deep pot-holes.

  Overhead they heard the drone of high-flying aircraft, and Curtis glanced up in time to see the shadow of one flit across the moon like an evil bat.

  Bombers, he thought breathlessly, as his boots tripped and stumbled across the road. Perhaps they were British planes, and the idea gave him an unreasoning comfort.

  They climbed in silence, Curtis keeping his eyes on the road, or on the broad, sweat-stained back of the Italian captain.

  The village was even poorer than the one he had already seen, and he was amazed at the flimsy, rough-boarded hovels which were hunched on the side of the hills, overlooking the inlet. A dog whined dismally in the distance, and once Curtis thought he heard a child cry out briefly in one of the dwellings. Nets and various oddments of fishing gear, all crude and much repaired, lay heaped between the low rooftops, and they had to climb and duck over several piles, before the captain could find his way on to the main road through the village. There were no motor vehicles of any kind to be seen, and only once did Curtis see any building constructed of concrete.

  He stopped dead in his tracks and pulled the captain close. The building was smooth and grey, with small black slits for windows.

  `Hold it!’ he gasped. `That’s a pillbox, a gun-mounting, or something!’

  With something like a swagger the captain walked over to the concrete emplacement and kicked it with his shoe. He chuckled. `See? Empty, like their promises! They have all left, I tell you!’

  They hurried on, and Curtis wondered what the captain might have said if some Germans had come out of the pillbox to see who was knocking at such a late hour.

  `Ah ! There it is!’

  Curtis almost collided with the little man, as he halted and pointed ahead.

  `For one second, signore, even I was beginning to think I had lost my way!’

  The small church was almost invisible against the hillside, and only the small bell-tower broke its dim craggy outline.

  They passed around the low side, and the captain pointed at a small extension at the rear.

  `I must see the priest, you understand. Only he can help us.’ He peered at Curtis with sudden eagerness. `You trust me,

  signore?’

  Curtis nodded wearily. `Go ahead. But how d’you know it’s the same priest who was here before?’

  He shrugged. `I do not. But we will try caution, and if that fails, we will try the revolver!’

  He motioned Curtis back into the shadows of the church, and then began to pound gently on the door.

  In the stillness of the night it sounded like a gun being fired, and Curtis tore his eye from the captain to look back along the roadway. There was only the pillbox, white in the moonlight, to remind him where he was, and but for the distant murmur of the sea, he could have been anywhere.

  A light flickered beneath the heavy door, and Curtis heard the captain speaking softly through a small grille which was suddenly lighted by a lantern from within.

  A chain clattered, and the door was opened slowly to reveal a tall, thin figure in the traditional black robe of a priest. His features were thin and yellow against the raised lantern, and the sparse hair on his narrow head stuck out above his ears like little tufts of white feathers.

  The captain grinned with obvious relief. `It is Father Bernucci! We are saved!’

  Curtis felt the man’s deep-set eyes watching him, as the captain rattled off a lengthy explanation, with many gestures at Curtis and towards the sea.

  The old man nodded slowly and beckoned them both inside.

  It was cold inside the unlighted porchway, and it was with amazement that Curtis found himself being ushered into a low beamed room, lit by candles and by the cheerful flicker of a dying fire. The walls were lined with old, leather-bound volumes and several faded pictures, and the plain, stoneflagged floor was comfortably decorated by two long woven mats.

  The priest continued to question the captain, as he added a log to the fire and then laid cheese, wine and a dark loaf on the carved table.

  Curtis sank into the high-backed chair and drank the wine with quiet relish. He was aware of the fatigue which hovered just behind his eyes and the difficulty he had in focussing on the long-stemmed glass in his hand.

  The priest sat stiffly on a bench facing him, his bony hands resting in his lap. A large crucifix swung from his neck and glittered in the candelight.

  Curtis felt his eyelids drooping. Another squadron of bombers droned overhead, or perhaps it was the same group going back, their evil work done and their youthful crews returning to their beds.

  The priest suddenly spoke, his voice soft and husky, and his English so perfect, that Curtis was startled into attention.

  `I have listened to Fausto Macchia, and I think I understand what has happened.’ The old eyes rested on Curtis’s uniform in a brief appraisal. `You are an enemy of this country, but,’ he lifted a finger as Curtis leaned forward, `I think it will not be so for long. Be that as it may, I will help you, and at once.’

  `That is most kind of you, Father. The wounded soldiers need proper attention, and more than I can give them.’

  `If you had not come ashore like this, how many of them might have died?’ The eyes were unwavering.

  The captain interrupted with a laugh. `Less than half! Yet the lieutenant here has risked his own life and everyone else’s for the sake of those few!’

  `I was not prepared to take such a risk, that’s all,’ Curtis answered simply.

  `Quite so, my son. It is strange what war will do to us as individuals. In war, the young often feel they have no real mission, and yet,’ he fingered the gold cross thoughtfully, `perhaps you at least, have been allotted your task to perform.’

  He wrote slowly on a sheet of paper, and when he had finished, he glanced at Curtis, his eyes enquiring. `You would like to see what I have written? It is a message for my friend. He is the doctor.’

  `I trust you, Father.’ He found that he meant it. `Will there be any Carabinieri on the roads tonight?’

  The priest smiled sadly. `They have been conscripted into the army. They left this morning!’

  He handed the message to the captain. `Take this to the doctor, Fausto. You know his house.’

  The captain tucked it into his shirt. `Have you still got your old bicycle, Padre?’

  The priest nodded. `Take it, Fausto. It will help to remove some of the signs of good living from you.’

  The captain picked up his cap and walked to the door. `This will not take long, Lieutenant. I shall be back to the ship with the doctor within an hour!’

  `Right. I’ll find my way back there now, and have the wounded prepared for immediate treatment.’

  He took the priest’s dry hand. `And thank you, Father, for everything.’

  `For everything?’ The priest cocked his head on one side. `For the help, do you mean? Or for the faith?’

  He was still smiling as Curtis stumbled out into the darkness and started to feel his way down the road to the village and the sea.

  10

  D U N C A N sat uncomfortably on the stone bollard opposite the schooner’s bows and stared into the shadows at the far end of the jetty. An unlit cheroot hung from one corner of his mouth and his hands lay spread across his knees. Occasionally he looked across at the ship, as an unusual noise or movement caught his attention, but otherwise he remained wrapped in his own concentrated thoughts.

  It seemed ages since the skipper had gone up towards the silent village, although he knew that it could- not have been more than half an hour or so. At first, he had driven the Italian sailors like mad to get the water tank filled, and he had kept the others occupied with boiling water and preparing the more seriously wounded for inspection. He shifted his buttocks angrily on the cold stone. It was damned unlikely that any such doctor would be available. More likely a couple of platoons of Jerry soldiers.

  The corporal, his head wrapped in a balaclava, crossed the jetty, his studded boots clinking on the stones, and halted beside him.

  `Give you a break, sir?’ The man stared over Duncan’s shoulder with practised eye.

  `Fair enough.’ Duncan stood up and stretched. `I’ll go and give the ship a shake-up!’

  He climbed over the gunwale and walked carefully to the hold. Removing the canvas which hid the lights beneath, he lowered himself into the too-familiar place, which to him had become a symbol of suffering and discomfort.

  The girl was there he saw, and with Taylor was busy with one of the wounded. It was damned odd, the way that she and the skipper looked at each other.

  Taylor glanced up and grimaced. He had washed his hands and arms free of engine filth, and compared to his body, they gleamed with unnatural whiteness under the lamplight.

  `Skipper back?’ he asked shortly.

  Duncan shook his head and took a dirty dressing from the girl. He threw it quickly into a pail, aware of the sickly smell which seemed to pervade the hold.

  Carla Zecchi sat back on her haunches and blew a loose strand of hair from her face. ‘I am getting stiff!’ She tried to smile, but the tiredness was too strong for her. `I wish we had just one more helper.’

  Duncan grunted. She probably meant Ralph, he decided. `Well, perhaps the doctor will come,’ he said. `But we must be ready for the worst.’

  `You’re a cheerful one!’ Taylor covered the soldier with a blanket and stood up. `You’ll ‘ave me in stitches, you will!,

  ‘I am sorry about Ian.’ She looked at both of them anxiously. `It was a strange thing to do.’

  Duncan could see that she wanted to ask him something, but his face remained impassive.

  `I s’pect he wanted to stretch ‘is legs, miss!’ Taylor said, and moved across to the next man. He stooped down, his sharp eyes moving despairingly from the bandages on the soldier’s legs to the expression of glassy concentration in his eyes. He grinned. “Ere, mate, let’s ‘ave a look at yer. Doctor’s comin’ to fix yer up!’

  The soldier moved his white lips and a thin stream of saliva ran down his chin.

  `What the hell d’you want to tell the poor joker that for?’ Duncan hissed down at him, his eyes hard. `You’ll do him no good if the bloke doesn’t arrive!’

  Taylor continued to grin at the soldier. “E’ll come,’ he said softly. ‘Skipper’ll get somebody.’ Under his breath he added, “E’s got to!’

  Duncan stood up and cursed as his head collided with a beam. He was now so much on edge that he felt he had to be doing something.

  `I’m goin’ on deck to have another prowl round,’ he said. `This hangin’ about is drivin’ me up the creek!’

  As he swung round to leave the girl caught his arm, her eyes steady with resolve. `I should like to speak to Ian, please. I think it might help. He must be very worried about all this.’

  Duncan shrugged. `Suit yourself. I don’t suppose Ralph’d mind. And in any case, I’m in charge at the moment!V

  ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind anyway,’ she answered softly. `And thank you.’

  Taylor watched them go. `Can’t do any more ‘ere till we get some more dressin’s,’ he called, `so I’ll keep an eye on things ‘ere!’

  `You’ve been a wonderful help,’ she said. `You understand these men.’

  Taylor moved his feet uncomfortably. `That’s right, miss. Proper Florence Nightingale I am!’

  It seemed even darker on deck, and the moon had moved behind the hills at the back of the village.

  They climbed down the aft hatch and the soldier outside the cabin door yawned and nodded companionably.

  `How are you, digger?’ Duncan peered at the man’s bandaged hand.

  `Could do, wiv a drink, sir.’

  `Nip off an’ have one then. We shall be down here for a bit.’

  The hatch closed and Duncan reached out for the key which protruded from the lock on the cabin door.

  `Want me to come with you?’ His tone was gruff, but the uneasiness was clear to her.

  `I wish you would. It would make things easier for all of us.’ D uncan swallowed and slammed open the door with unnecessary violence.