Soldier No More

'Oh, sanctissima simplicitas— you are a rude barbarian if dummy5

ever there was one, Bradford! Tell him, Stein.'

The target had switched from the Israeli to the American, thought Roche: that was the way they worked, not all for one and one for all, but all in turn against each.

'A. H. Davis!' murmured Stein. 'There was a man for you—a great author!'

'Who published him? What does he write?' Bradford rose to the bait, transformed by the mention of royalties from a cool American into an envious author.

Stein ignored him, looking round the shadowy audience in the Tower at everyone else and settling finally on Roche himself. 'You know A. H. Davis forecast it all—1914 and 1939? He was unbeatable on the Germans: 'They regard it feeble and stupid to get by the sweat of their brow what they can take by spilling their blood'! How's that, eh?'

'It was Tacitus who said that, actually,' Audley disagreed.

'In his Germania.'

'But Davis quoted him deliberately. And that's what history is all about—putting it all together,' said Stein passionately.

'By God! Do you remember that ratty little friend of yours at school, selling us all the classics after Hitler marched into Czechoslovakia? Williams—Williamson? He was always quoting A. H. Davis at us!'

'For God's sake, one of you tell me—who's Botting?' said Bradford irritably.

'He was a schoolmaster,' snapped Audley, turning towards dummy5

the American. 'They all wrote Latin text-books—Latin and Greek— Latin Prose Composition and Greek Unseens and Graduated Latin Selections.'

'Best-sellers?'

'Too bloody right! My Hillard and Botting was the fifteenth impression of the seventh edition, dated 1930. Can you beat that with any of your novels, old boy?' said Audley nastily.

Jilly gave another of her characterislic attention-drawing sniffs. 'Or can you, David?'

'Yes—well, that wouldn't be difficult' Audley took the jibe well. 'There simply isn't much popular enthusiasm for medieval history these days.'

Roche decided to be interested. 'That's what you're working on now?'

Audley nodded. 'That's why I'm here.'

'Here?'

'Yes. I'm putting Ihe final touches to the sequel to my worst-selling book on the defeat of the Arabs by the Byzantines in Ihe 8th century. This one is set at the other end of the Mediterranean. Here, in fact—early Carolingian France.'

Roche ran his early French history through his memory at break-neck speed; this, after all, was one of the reasons why he was here, and he had to justify Sir Eustace Avery's confidence.

'Charles Martel?' That was a safe name lo remember.

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'That's right' Audley seemed pleased, but not surprised any more. 'Battle of Tours—732. It always astonishes me to think that the Arabs got to within a hundred miles of Paris. And if it hadn't been for Charles Martel their next stop might have been the English Channel.'

'They qualify as barbarians—the Arabs?' inquired Slein.

'The Arabs?' Audley sounded shocked.

'His prejudices are showing,' murmured Bradford.

Audley coughed primly. 'The Arabs in Spain used mostly Berber infantry—and in France—and the Berbers were rather barbarous. In fact, they really only went to Spain in the first place to pick up women and food for their Berbers. And one thing led to another.'

'Franco used them in Spain too,' said Bradford. 'They were still barbarous.'

'The French are finding that out in Algeria at the moment,'

said Roche.

'Yes, things don't change, do they?' Audley nodded. 'But, of course, the Arabs had it easy in Spain. The Visigoths hadn't quite succeeded in making a go of it there—nearly, but not quite . . . And they'd persecuted the Jews there—'

'Just another bunch of Krauts on the loose—things don't change, you're damn right!' said Slein bitterly.

'The Visigoths!' exclaimed Lexy with a start.

Everyone turned towards the region of deepest shadow in which she had concealed herself.

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'Lexy, honey—you're awake!' said Bradford. 'The Visigoths?'

'I haven't been asleep.'

'Of course not. But what about the Visigoths, Lex?'

Nothing.' She tried to shrink back into the darkness. 'Don't mind me.'