Jervis’s heart bounded, and he cocked his head to listen.

  The German acted with sudden frenzy. He leapt across the storeroom and kicked the Italian viciously in the groin. With a scream the man fell against Jervis, knocking him into a heap on the deck. As he fell, his head struck against the door-post, and he was only dimly aware of the gun being wrenched from his hand, and the terrified scream of the girl, as the German dragged her up the ladder, the gun covering his retreat.

  Jervis staggered weakly to his feet, aware of the stamping feet across the deck, and the captain’s excited voice. The police officer moaned softly on the deck, and Jervis slammed the door shut before he dragged himself up the ladder.

  The captain shook his arm and peered into his face. `What I appen? That German has gone up the jetty! You let him escape?’

  Jervis hung weakly to the rail. `I know! I know! I’m going after them!’

  Without waiting for a reply, he broke into a run. He hadseen the German’s uniform gleam momentarily at the end of the jetty, before disappearing round to the right, towards the village.

  His fear was forgotten and he was so overwhelmed by what had happened, that he could only think of it being the final proof of his weakness. He was not even aware that he was unarmed, and as his footsteps thudded along the cobbled jetty, he was filled with the desire to revenge himself on the German, as if by so doing he could drive away some of the shame which was his.

  He paused briefly at the foot of the old stone stairway at the end of the jetty and looked up towards the village. The overhanging hills masked any outline he might have been able to recognize, but as he watched he heard the girl cry out, her voice shrill with terror, and all the more -chilling because of its apparent nearness.

  `Go back! He is going to shoot!’ Then there was a sharper cry, and silence.

  Jervis sucked in his breath and started to climb the steps. For once, he thought, there was no clear way out, and no one to turn to. It would only be a gesture, he knew, and any second would bring the bullet from the darkness which would end everything. He prayed that it would be quick.

  From the cliff road above the cove, Curtis watched the figures below him, his brain cold and clear in spite of the unexpectedness of the scene, which was made more unreal by the pale patches of moonlight and the dark, passive background of the water.

  The German and Jervis, in their identical drill uniforms, were quite clear, but as he watched the third figure pinned down behind the low stone wall at the top of the steps, his inside twisted with unexpected anguish.

  Duncan licked his lips. `What the hell are we goin’ to do?

  Ian’s comin’ straight up those steps. He’ll never stand a flamin’ chance!’

  They heard the girl cry out, and Curtis moved quickly to the edge of the road. `Come on!’ Then cupping his hands, he yelled, `Stay where you are, Ian ! We’re coming down!’

  Jervis heard the sudden voice booming and echoing amongst the rocks, stood still on the steps, his fists clenched to his sides, and a cold relief flooding through his quivering body. He closed his eyes but felt the tears wet against his cheek. He was no longer alone.

  Slithering and stumbling down the rock-strewn slope, Curtis kept his eyes on the German. When he had called out, the man had swung round involuntarily, shocked by the threat behind him. He recovered himself in an instant, and without another glance at Jervis, he pulled the girl to her feet, and before Curtis had even time to guess his intention, thrust her backwards over the wall. She gave a short scream and vanished. Curtis remembered clearly the long steep flight of rough stone steps and choked back a sob of pain and fury. The German had gained the lower road and was running strongly and easily towards the village.

  Once Curtis’s feet landed on the road he summoned up all his strength and, aided by the overwhelming madness within him, he ran purposefully down the middle of the track, the pistol tight in his hand. The white uniform vanished as if the German had disappeared into thin air, but as Duncan and Taylor panted up behind him, he waved them to a halt and stared narrowly at the pale hump of concrete that he had seen earlier.

  `He’s in that pillbox,’ he said. His voice was flat and devoid of emotion.

  Duncan tried to see his face. He guessed what was passing through Curtis’s mind. He had known him long enough to appreciate what he was suffering.

  `What’ll we do?’ Taylor dragged his feet uneasily and glanced down at the dark sheen of the cove.

  Duncan spoke with soft pleading. `Come on, Ralph. Let’s leave him! We can’t force our way in there. He’d pick us all

  off. Let’s get back to the ship an’ get the hell outa here!V

  ‘He’s in there all right.’ Curtis spoke half to himself. `He knows we can’t get in after him, and yet we can’t afford to leave him behind. He’d have every damned German he could find after us!’

  `But we must go!’ Duncan persisted. `We shall have to chance it!’

  Curtis faced him squarely, his eyes gleaming. `Yes, you would chance it, wouldn’t you? Bash on, and hope for the best!’ He dropped his voice suddenly. `Well, I’m not like that. I’ve got so far, and if you think I’m going to let that murdering bastard stand in my way, you’d better get back to the ship and wait for me there!’

  Duncan was silent, appalled by the change which had come over Curtis.

  `The grenade, George! Give it to me!’ Curtis held out his hand and felt the serrated sides of the bomb warm on his palm.

  He ran across the road and pressed himself against the tall side of the pillbox. He could faintly hear the German moving about inside, and lifting his head he called out sharply.

  `Come out with your hands up!’ He did not know if the man understood or not, but he heard him laugh, the sound amplified by the tomb-like interior of the emplacement, and seconds later a shot crashed from one of the narrow weaponslits and whined angrily across the road.

  Curtis pressed his back against the wall, his eyes on the moon. He knows he’s safe, he thought. We can either stay here and wait for him to come out, or go away and leave him to fetch help. Either way we’re finished.

  He didn’t look down at the grenade as he gripped it in his right hand. He removed the pin and threw it from him.

  Across the road Duncan heard the metallic rattle of the pin on the roadway and felt suddenly chilled by the finality of the sound. `He’s goin’ to do it!’ To himself he said, it’s because of the girl.

  Curtis released the lever on the grenade and seemed to feel it come alive in his hand. With two seconds to spare he spun round and lobbed it through the nearest weapon-slit.

  He heard a grunt of surprise change to a spine-chilling scream, before the weapon-slits blossomed into fiery red eyes and the muffled crash of the grenade reverberated around the hills, flinging stone splinters and a choking cloud of dust across to where Taylor and Duncan watched in shocked silence.

  Curtis stepped into the road and walked briskly towards the cove. Over his shoulder he said, `Start the engine, George, we can’t hang about here if there are patrols about!’ To Duncan he merely remarked. `Pity about the noise!’

  Curtis hardly remembered speaking to either of them, and had to force his legs to remain steady as he approached the edge of the steps.

  At once he saw a small group around her body at the bottom of the steps, Jervis’s white uniform, the ghoulish shape of the priest, and the short figure of the doctor.

  Carla Zecchi’s body looked small and child-like, and for once Curtis did not care what the others thought as he dropped on to one knee and felt her cold hand in his.

  The doctor smiled unexpectedly. ‘Ver’ good girl. She safe!’

  ‘I broke some of her fall.’ Jervis’s voice died away as Curtis slid his arm under her shoulders.

  She opened her eyes, as if she had been expecting him. She said one word. `Father?’

  Curtis shook his head, and she sighed heavily and closed her eyes.

  Duncan jerked his head at Taylor and Jervis.

  `Stand by to shove off! Skipper says we must sail at once!’

  They looked down at Curtis’s bowed head and the girl’s black braid across his arm and moved slowly away.

  The doctor smiled. `She will be O.K. But a bit painful, eh?’

  Father Bernucci stood up, and to Curtis appeared gigantic and all-powerful. `She can stay with me, my son. I will hide her. No one will know about her, or who she is.’

  Curtis looked down at the soft, relaxed face, and remembered what had still to be done. Their real danger might still

  be ahead, and yet the thought of leaving her behind seemed an even greater risk.

  There was a distant rattle of gunfire, and the doctor shuddered and ran towards his car.

  The priest shrugged. `That may be many miles distant.’ His fine old head was raised to the stars, and Curtis thought he looked like a saint.

  `Nevertheless, Father, I think it might be unwise to risk leaving her here.’

  As if in answer, the girl’s arm moved up slowly like a ghost and hung weakly across his shoulder.

  The priest nodded gravely. `Maybe it is better.’ He rested his hands on them for a moment and, as another burst of firing awakened the echoes, he gathered his robe around his thin body and started off along the road. Once he called back, but Curtis could not hear his words.

  Gently, and with infinite care, he gathered her up in his arms and walked slowly towards the pale shape of the Ametisa. Her hair was warm against his cheek and as he looked at her he saw a tear on her cheek, although she seemed to be smiling.

  A tiny silver light caressed the horizon and the moon seemed to shrink away from the dawn’s threat, but Curtis was unwilling to notice either as he stepped carefully on to the deck and made his way aft to the cabin.

  The lines snaked aboard and with an urgent flurry of foam the huge screw churned the mud and sand from the bottom of the cove, as the little ship tore herself eagerly from the jetty and tacked round smartly towards the sea. The fishing boats bobbed and faded behind her, and the cove was soon lost in the gloom, but above, on the high cliff road beside the smoking pillbox, the priest watched them go. He saw the sails shake out and climb easily into place, and saw the ship heel over, like a sea-bird spreading its wings. Then she was gone.

  He thrust his hands into the folds of his robe and, with the crucifix swinging against his chest, he plodded towards his church.

  11

  AN ITALIAN seaman emerged from the fo’c’sle and walked stiffly to the lee rail, a bucket of scraps dangling from his hand. He sniffed the keen breeze, and without effort emptied the bucket over the side. For a moment he watched the rubbish twist and dance in the eddies of the bow-wave and then turned his lined face to the empty horizon, his lips pursed into a silent whistle.

  Duncan stopped his restless pacing across the poop and watched him with dulled eyes. He felt strangely relieved when the man had returned to the fo’c’sle, and by keeping his back to the stooped helmsman, he was able to retain the impression of isolation. A stronger breeze ruffled the water, which in the early morning light had the solid surface of old pewter, and the sails boomed hollowly and made the slender vessel cant over even more on to her side, so that the hissing water creamed close to the dipping rail.

  Duncan noticed none of these things, and merely stared vacantly at the sweeping bowsprit.

  His eyes were tired and gummed up with strain and weariness. He no longer relied on his natural resistance to the elements, and it took conscious effort to refrain from shuddering each time a plume of spray spattered across the damp planking and doused his face with stinging salt.

  He glared moodily around the ship, taking in the taut rigging and the worn billowing squares of the sails. The schooner had become part of their lives. In fact it had drawn all of them to its own service. They were no longer a team, and it even seemed that each of them was trying to keep away from the other.

  He wrinkled his tanned forehead in concentration. It was useless trying to imagine what the future would bring, and the

  past was so mixed-up and confused, that he found it difficult to space out the events into separate periods. He stared fixedly up at the mastheads and cursed aloud. The skipper had been right about him. His mouth drooped as he recalled Curtis’s cold eyes as they stood outside the deserted pillbox. It had been easy before. Routine; an objective; and the savage exhilaration of victory. He flexed his muscles, but it gave him no pleasure.

  A sound behind him made him turn, and he saw Jervis walking slowly from the aft hatch, his dark hair rippling in the keen air.

  Jervis nodded and stood in silence beside him.

  Now that the ship was serenely on her course again, he, too, was aware of the empty feeling of peace with foreboding; a calm spell of unreality, like a ship passing through the storm centre of a typhoon.

  He cleared his throat and saw the seaman at the wheel raise his black eyes momentarily from the compass and stare at him, his face empty. `Everything quiet?’ He did not want to speak, and yet the silence was more threatening than the expression of loss on Duncan’s face.

  `Too damned quiet!’ Duncan moved his shoulders beneath his rumpled battledress, and his stubbled chin rasped against the upturned collar.

  `I haven’t had a chance to speak to you about what happened,’ began Jervis suddenly. `I expect you’re all thinking it was my fault?’ He waited half-defensively for the other man to attack. Duncan did not answer, but merely grunted.

  Jervis hurried on, `I know I was wrong now! But at the time something made me act as I did. I felt out of place.’ He faltered. `How can I begin to explain? I saw the skipper and you acting as if you’d always been doing this sort of thing, and I just knew there was something lacking in me!’

  Duncan sighed. `I shouldn’t give it a thought if I were you. It doesn’t matter any more.’

  Jervis stared at him and felt vaguely cheated. The reply was flat and indifferent, and he did not know how to continue, although every memory was a torment. `Can’t you understand ?’

  `Understand? What is there to understand? It wasn’t your fault. I thought it was at the time, but now … ,’ he paused and looked, down at his boots, ‘I guess it’s just the way it panned outV

  ‘I didn’t measure up to my own standards,’ Jervis persisted.

  Duncan smiled, his eyes strangely sad. ‘All men are equal, I’m told. That doesn’t have to mean they’re all the same!’

  Jervis bit his lip. ‘Oh damn!’ He had seen the round shape of the captain appear above the hatch coaming.

  Duncan grinned at the captain but felt the effort almost cracking his face. He was pleased to see the man, if only to shut Jervis up. He felt irritated and ashamed that Jervis still looked up to him in the same stupid, trusting manner. He was too complicated, too stuffed full of tradition and values. What did they count out here in this damned old scow? He watched Jervis leaning on the rail, his face furrowed as if in pain.

  ‘Buon giorno !’ The captain scratched his stomach and pulled a pair of black cheroots from his shirt. He gave one to Duncan and jammed the other between his thick lips.

  ‘We are making the good time, yes? Soon we shall see a beautiful ship maybe, an’ then we will be safe an’ treated like heroes!’ His paunch shook with merriment. ‘Good, eh?’

  ‘What happens if it’s a German ship?’ Duncan answered sourly.

  ‘I shall tell them you forced me to bring the ship here, an’ maybe they give me the Iron Cross!’ He laughed loudly, and the lookout in the bow turned his head to watch.

  Duncan smiled in spite of the gnawing uncertainty in his bowels. ‘A wooden one, more likely!’

  The surface of the sea was split into long paths of different hues. The horizon was silver, and the grey pewter had given way to streaks of green and dark blue, whilst above, the sun had lost its first watery pallor and climbed steadily and confidently along its well-tried path towards the blue emptiness of the sky.

  Some of the sun’s early warmth seemed to penetrate the dirty glass panels of the cabin skylight and give new life to the dingy carpet and the stained, chipped furniture.

  Curtis sat crouched on the edge of the bunk, his body swaying mechanically at each roll of the hull, his eyes heavy and sore with fatigue and concentration.

  The girl on the bunk lay quite still, and it was some time before he realized that her eyes were open and watching him with quiet tenderness.

  His brain summoned his body to life, and he leaned over her, his tired face anxious.

  ‘Feeling better? Would you like something to drink?’

  He supported her head in his hand and held a glass of wine to her lips. The warmth of her head coursed through his hand and seemed to give strength to his arm. Her head fell back on the rough pillow and she smiled up at him. He pulled the blanket up to her chin, and thought how strange had been the fate which had thrown them together.

  ‘Tell me about it, please.’ Her voice was soft and pitched very low.

  ‘About your fall?’ he asked lightly, knowing what she really wished to hear.

  ‘About my father. How he died.’ Her voice was without bitterness and her eyes were lacking in accusation, the sadness making them instead dark and strangely still.

  ‘Not now, Carla.’ He looked away. ‘Later, when all this is over.’

  Her hand moved from the blanket and found his.

  ‘Did you do it?’

  He squeezed her cold fingers. ‘No. We ran into an ambush. Partisans.’

  Some of the old fire flashed into her watching eyes. ‘The carrion! It is what we can expect now!’ But still the tears did not come.

  `I am sorry.’ he began simply. ‘Things moved too fast. We were powerless.’ He expected her to remove her hand, but it remained in his, growing warmer with the contact. .

  ‘The ship is quiet.’ She spoke softly, and Curtis found he was consciousof the water rippling past the hull and the muted beat of the engine. They might have been alone together in the ship. Alone and at peace.

  `We might be lucky today,’ he said at length. `We might meet a friendly ship. If only we had a radio ! Or if we—’ He stopped as she squeezed his hand.