of being plunged once more into danger. His place was at the Count's
side; if the Count continued to expose them both to all the terrors and
horrors of this barren and hostile land, then Gino knew that he could
no longer continue.
His nerves were trampled, raw, exposed, his nights troubled with dreams
from which he woke sweating and trembling.
He had a nerve below his left eye that had recently begun to twitch
without control. He was fast reaching the end of his nervous strength.
Soon something within him might snap.
'Please, my Count. For the good of all of us you must all curb your
impetuosity.' He had touched a responsive chord in his master. He had
voiced precisely the Count's own feelings, feelings which had over the
last few weeks' desperate adventures, become deep-seated convictions.
He struggled up on one elbow, lifted his noble head with its anguished
brow and looked at the little sergeant.
'Gino,' he said. 'You are a philosopher.'
'You do me too much honour, my Count.'
'No! No! I mean it. You have a certain gutter wisdom, the
perceptions of the streets, a peasant philosopher.' Gino would not
himself have put it quite that way, but he bowed his head in
acquiescence.
'I have been unfair to my brave boys,' said the Count, and his whole
demeanour changed, becoming radiant and glowing with good will,
like that of a reprieved prisoner. 'I have thought only of myself my
own glory, my own honour, recklessly I have plunged into danger,
without reckoning the cost. Ignoring the terrible risk that I might
leave my brave boys without a leader orphans without a father.' Gino
nodded fervently. 'Who could ever replace you in their hearts, or at
their head?'
'Gino.' The Count clapped a fatherly hand to his shoulder.
'I must be less selfish in the future.'
'My Count, you cannot know how much pleasure it gives me to hear it,'
cried Gino, and he trembled with relief as he thought of long,
leisurely days spent in peace and security behind the earthworks and
fortifications of Chaldi camp.
'Your duty is to command!'
'Plan! said the Count.
'Direct!' said Gino.
'I fear it is my destiny.'
'Your God-given duty.' Gino backed him up, and as the Count sank down
once more upon the cot, he fell with renewed vigour upon the injured
shoulder.
'Gino,' said the Count at last. 'When last did we speak of your
wages?'
'Not for many months, my Count.'
'Let us discuss it now,' said
Aldo Belli comfortably. 'You are a jewel without price. Say, another
hundred lire a month.'
'The sum of one hundred and fifty had crossed MY
