into the cleft of his milky buttocks that showed coyly above the
waistband of his shorts.
Now the smoothness of his body was spoiled by the ugly red abrasions
and new purple bruises which flowered upon his ribs and blotched his
legs and arms.
He groaned with a mixture of agony and gratification as Gino knelt over
him, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and worked the liniment into
his shoulder. His dark sinewy fingers sank deeply into the sleek pale
flesh, and the stench of liniment stung the eyes and nostrils.
'Not so hard, Gino. Not so hard, I am badly hurt.'
'I am sorry,
my Colonel,' and he worked on in silence while the Count groaned and
grunted and wriggled on the bed under him.
'My Colonel, may I speak?'
'No,' grunted the Colonel. 'Your salary is already liberal.
No, Gino, already I pay you a prince's ransom.'
'My Colonel, you do me wrong. I would not speak of such a mundane
subject at this time.'
'I am delighted to hear it,' groaned the Count. 'Ah!
There! That spot! That's it!' Gino worked on the spot for a few
seconds. 'If you study the lives of the great Italian Generals Julius
Caesar and-' Gino paused here while he searched his mind and more
recent history for another great Italian General; the silence stretched
out and Gino repeated, 'Take Julius Caesar, as an example.'
'Yes?'
'Even Julius Caesar did not himself swing the sword. The truly great
commander stands aside from the actual battle.
He directs, plans, commands the lesser mortals.'
'That is true,
Gino.'
'Any peasant can swing a sword or fire a gun, what are they but mere
cattle!'
'That is also true.'
'Take Napoleon Bonaparte, or the
Englishman Wellington.' Gino had abandoned his search for the name of
a victorious Italian warrior within the last thousand years or SO.
'Very well, Gino, take them?'
'When they fought, they themselves were remote from the actual
conflict. Even when they confronted each other at Waterloo, they stood
miles apart like two great chess masters,
directing, manoeuvring, commanding-'
'What are you trying to say,
Gino?'
'Forgive me, my coUnt, but have you not perhaps let your courage blind
you, have not your warlike instincts, your instinct to tear the jugular
from your enemy ... have you not perhaps lost sight of a commander's
true role the duty to stand back from the actual fighting and survey
the overall battle?' Gino waited with trepidation for the
Count's reaction. It had taken him all his courage to speak, but even
the Count's wrath could not outweigh the terror he felt at the prospect
