“I see.”
Bernard stood up, finding the sanctity of the chapel overpowering. He led the way out into the nave, then headed for the fresh air outside. There he stood, all disguise and caution thrown to the winds. It had always been his great weakness, that impatience, Julien thought. It will kill him one day.
“You are being unusually vain, if I may say so,” Bernard said quietly. “You, on your own, are civilizing the Germans and the reptiles they have brought to power here. Are you sure it goes only one way? What if they corrupt you, rather than you civilizing them? Are you ready to risk that possibility? Two years ago, would you have denied anybody the right to publish their magazines, print their books? Even thought of it? And now you do it every day and say you are doing it to protect civilization. And they have lost; you know it as well as I do. They lost the moment they attacked Russia and declared war on the Americans. It is only a matter of time now.”
“And when they are defeated,” Julien replied, “it won’t be because of your efforts. It will be because of the English and Russian and American armies. An act of sabotage here or there will make no difference. It will just make things worse for those who live here. And you will be caught and shot.”
He nodded. “I know. Someone was sent here before me. We think he survived six weeks before he was captured. He accomplished nothing, as you say.”
“So now you come. Why?”
He smiled. “Because I was ordered to. Because these people are in my country and they shouldn’t be, and because the government has been stolen by mediocre gangsters. Someone has to fight them; you’re not going to.”
“Very noble, but I don’t believe you. When did you ever do something because it was right? You do things because you get pleasure out of them.”
“At some stage, probably within three months, I shall be captured, possibly tortured, certainly shot. You think the prospect gives me pleasure?”
“Yes.”
Bernard paused, then laughed. “You’re right, of course. Partly, anyway. It’s the challenge of survival, of doing something. Do you know, I intend to beat the odds? I intend to be there to watch the Americans or whoever march in. And when that’s done, there will be accounts to settle, you know.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No. It’s a fact. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to moderate the rage of those less forgiving than I am.”
“Another threat?”
“A warning, this time.”
“You’ll be doing the same as I am now, then.”
“In a sense. But I shall be on the winning side. And, I might add, on the right one.”
They were walking down the steps and across the
“How is little Marcel?”
“Older. More lined. More short-tempered.”
“As are we all. Are you still on good terms with him? Still friends?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Sooner or later,” he said, “I will need to sound him out. He may be contemptible, but he is not stupid, and he is supposed to control what administration is left around here. An empty title, to be sure, but better than nothing. I would like you to be the conduit between us.”
“Your messenger boy?”
Bernard considered this. “Basically, yes. I trust you, he trusts you. Neither of us trusts each other. He might listen to you even if he refuses to listen to me.”
“Are you serious?”
“I thought it would appeal to you. You have always tried to keep the peace between us; now you can do it on a grand scale. If I can reach some sort of understanding with him, then there will be a greater chance of holding things together when the Germans withdraw.”
“If.”
“When. It may take three years, it may take ten, but sooner or later they will be destroyed. My task is to make sure we do not destroy ourselves in the process. So at long last Marcel and I will have a common purpose. I would prefer to have him shot; and he would no doubt be happy to do the same to me. But we will need each other, and eventually he will realize it. I want him to know what to do when he does come to that conclusion.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes,” he said. “Nothing else. Well . . .”
“What?”
“I’m working on my cover story, something which means I can travel often, and without attracting notice. I cannot have a job, as that would mean too many people being involved and having to conceal my journeys. I have to be my own employer, doing something which will account for my income at the same time. So, my dear, I’m going to be an art dealer.”
He bowed solemnly. It was so unexpected, said with such panache, that Julien burst out laughing in surprise. “You?” he said incredulously. “An art dealer? Never say this war doesn’t have its comic side, then.”
Bernard grinned back. “I know. It’s not something which will come naturally. But apart from my incapacity, it’s a perfect occupation, although I have to do it properly to be convincing. I need artists to provide me with pictures, put on a little exhibition or two, invite people, make a show. I also need the names and addresses of painters scattered throughout Provence so I can always say I am visiting them when I am on my travels. They will be in no danger. To them I really will be Paul Masson, dealer in art, struggling to make a living in times of trouble. When I am arrested and they discover who I am they will be as surprised as anybody. Will you help? I’ll need names of painters, that sort of thing. Anything will do. Good, bad, or indifferent. It makes no difference.”
“I’ll give you some names. And I’ll ask Julia. She’ll know some others.”
“She’s still here?”
Julien nodded. “She’s safe.”
“No, she’s not. She’s not safe at all. There are rumors coming through to London about what the Germans are doing.”
“What rumors?”
“That they are killing as many Jews as they can. I don’t know whether it’s true, and I imagine it must be exaggerated, but certainly if she is caught she’ll be sent to a camp in the east.”
“I’ve tried. But it’s not so easy, you know. You couldn’t help, could you? Get her out?”
He shook his head. “I’ve my own people to look after.”
Julien shrugged. “She probably wouldn’t go anyway now. She’s convinced herself she’s safe. She’s in the Italian zone, after all, and the papers she made herself are better than the real ones.”
“Made her own papers? How?”
“She forged them. She is remarkably good at it.”
Bernard thought about that for a moment. “So in theory she could produce dozens of them?”
“Why do you ask?”
He paused, and looked carefully at Julien. “A deal. If she will make false identity papers for, say, a couple of dozen people, then I will get her out of the country when they’re delivered.”
“That’s friendship, is it?”
“It is these days.”
“I’ll ask.” Julien turned on his heel and walked away.
THE ARRIVAL AT the barbarian court was well prepared. Three days before the main part of the delegation arrived, Manlius sent ahead couriers to alert King Gundobad and ensure a dignified reception. A lengthy message and a portion of the gifts—the books and the manuscripts pillaged mainly from Manlius’s own library—went as well, to emphasize that this was no mere favor seeker who was arriving. They halted for the night a few hours away, set up camp, and sent more messengers, so the king’s emissaries could come out to prepare the final arrival, check who was coming and the magnitude of the delegation, and make all the final arrangements so that no one was unnecessarily offended in the early stages.
