Soldier No More

The malice became triumphant, and then abruptly vanished, leaving only a pure smile. 'But do not despair, Captain—you are the true hunter, the honourable hunter, not like my late husband and his friends with their shotguns in the forest—

you are the original hunter.'

The original hunter? For once her strange but impeccable English must have deserted her, decided Roche.

She observed his confusion. 'You are going to the Tower tonight, to the orgy?'

The original hunter's confusion only became greater. 'To stay with David Audley?' The original hunter managed to nod to that.

'Good. So there you will meet another Jew—Professor Stein of Cambridge University—'

The nuance of contempt in her voice snapped the hunter's confusion. 'Colonel Stein, you mean, Madame?'

Colonel Stein?'

'Late of the Israeli Air Force.' Roche heard his own voice sharpen with outrage. 'And late of the Royal Air Force, DFC—

Distinguished Flying Cross, Madame. Professor Colonel Stein

—yes?' He wasn't going to put up with that any longer, and she wouldn't help him if she despised him.

Her lips compressed into a thin line, puckering the wrinkled skin round her mouth with lines of displeasure. 'He is a friend of yours?'

He gave her the wry-boyish-English-gentleman's smile, as dummy5

near as he could resurrect it, instinct encouraging him to stake all he had left on it. 'I shalln't know that until I've met him. Maybe he is—maybe he isn't.' He shrugged. 'Does he know about original hunters, this . . . Colonel Professor Stein?'

The frown disappeared, and the displeasure too. She gazed at him sardonically. 'As a matter of fact, he does. He is an authority on them.'

The penny dropped inside Roche's memory. Stein was an expert on paleolithic art and this region was famous for its prehistoric remains. 'Ah— the cave painters.'

She shook her head. 'The cave painters were not hunters, they were priests—their pictures were hunting- magic, to help the hunters.'

'Indeed?' Roche was mightily relieved to be out of recent history and safely in prehistory.

'So I am told.' The old-witch malice flashed. 'Obviously you are not an expert in such matters, but only in bastides!”

'Among other things.' He bowed. 'But you see me as an ancient hunter, nevertheless?'

'Ancient—of course! How foolish of me, Captain!'

'Original will do. It's the 'true and honourable' I don't quite understand, Madame.'

'It is simple. The hunters of today in these parts kill small game with big guns—my late husband's gun room is still full of them. But ten thousand, twenty thousand years ago in dummy5

these same parts . . . along this ridge and in the valleys below . . . they hunted big game with spears tipped with flint

— and the lions and tigers hunted them at the same time.'

Yes, thought Roche grimly, and being human, or nearly, they probably hunted each other too! Though, being poor savages, they only killed each other for the pot, not to keep the red flag flying or the world safe for democracy . . .

'I see.' But she was still playing with him, and she had been doing that for long enough. 'So I am the hunter and the hunted. And you have concluded that simply by looking at me?'

'And listening to you, Captain. It seems to me that so far we have both been agreeably open with each other, up to a point.

From which we may further conclude that we each want something from the other, would you not say?'

The old—witch! But what could she possibly want?

'Fair enough, Madame.' And what had he to offer? 'I won't. . . how shall we say? . . . trifle with Lady Alexandra's affections?'

' 'Trifle'?' She savoured the word. 'You think you could?'

'I don't see why not. They'd be worth trifling with.'

'You would do better with Gillian.'

'She wouldn't have me.'

She nodded. 'Yes—she's a clever child. But you are not here for that.'

dummy5

'How do you know that?'

'Because I have been expecting you. Or someone like you.'

What? Someone . . . like me?'

'Of course. This is my territory, Captain—my ridge, my valleys, my villages. Since a child—my territory . . .