A convulsive, panicky surge of the crowd at this moment tore the professor out of Byron’s grasp. Behind them sounded the clatter of hoofs on stone, wild neighs and whinnies, and shouts of alarm. The crowd melted around Byron and Natalie, fleeing from a plunging horse. It was the winner, the Caterpillar animal. A brawny young man in green and yellow, his wig awry and sliding, was desperately trying to control the animal, but as it reared again, a flailing front hoof caught him full in the face. He fell bloodied to the ground, and the horse was free. It danced, reared, and screamed, plunging forward, and the crowd shrank away. As Byron pulled Natalie into a doorway out of the retreating mob, Aaron Jastrow emerged in the clear street without his glasses, stumbled, and fell in the horse’s path.
Without a word to Natalie, Byron ran out into the street and snatched Jastrow’s big yellow hat off his head. He waved the hat in the horse’s face, crouching, watching the hoofs. The creature neighed wildly, shied against a palazzo wall, stumbled and lost its footing, then recovered and reared, flailing its forelegs at Byron, who waved the hat again, staying watchfully just out of range. The horse pranced about on two legs, rolling bloodshot mad eyes, foaming at the mouth. Half a dozen men in Caterpillar costumes now came running up the street, and four of them seized the reins, dragged the horse down, and began to quiet him. The others picked up their injured comrade. People from the crowd darted out and helped Jastrow get up. Natalie ran to his side. Men surrounded Byron, slapping his shoulder and shouting in Italian as he made his way to Jastrow. “Here’s your hat, sir.”
“Oh, thank you, Byron. My glasses, you haven’t seen them, have you? I suppose they’re shattered. Well, I have another pair at the villa.” The professor was blinking blindly, but he acted rather excited and cheerful. “Goodness, what a commotion. What happened? I was pushed down, I guess. I heard a horse clattering about, but I couldn’t see a thing.”
“He’s all right,” Natalie said to Byron, with a look straight into his eyes such as she had never before given him. “Thanks.”
“Dr. Jastrow, if you’re not too shaken up,” Byron said, taking his arm again, “we should go to the Caterpillar church for the thanksgiving service.”
“Oh, not at all,” Jastrow laughed. The moment of action seemed to have cleared his nerves. “In for a penny, in for a pound. I find all this rather exhilarating. On we go. Just hang on to me a little better, Byron. You were a bit derelict there for a minute.”
A week or so later, Natalie and Byron were at work in the library, with a summer thunderstorm beating outside at the darkened windows. Byron, happening to look up from a map when lightning flashed, saw Natalie staring at him, her face sombre in the lamplight.
“Byron, have you ever been to Warsaw?”
“No. Why?”
“Would you like to come there with me?”
With great willpower, choking back his joy, Byron summoned up the opaque dull look with which he had resisted twenty years of his father’s probing: “What would be the point?”
“Well, it’s probably worth seeing, don’t you think? Slote even says it’s rather old-world and gay. The thing is, Aaron’s getting difficult about my trip. You know that. I could just tell him to go to hell, but I’d rather not.”
Byron had heard the discussions. In the aftermath of the Palio, on learning how close he had come to getting injured or killed, Jastrow was having a spell of nerves. The American consul in Florence had come up after the Palio for a visit; following that, Jastrow’s glum mood had worsened. He kept insisting that the Foreign Service was getting worried over the Polish situation, and that Natalie’s proposed trip was now too risky.
Byron said, “Would my going make a difference?”
“Yes. You know what Aaron calls you behind your back now?
“You exaggerated it.”
“I did not. You showed striking presence of mind. I was impressed, and so was Aaron when he found out. The horse might have killed him. If I can tell him you’re coming, I bet he’ll stop grumbling.”
“Your friend Slote might take a dim view of my showing up with you.”
Natalie said with a grim little smile, “I’ll handle Leslie Slote. All right?”
“I’ll think about it,” Byron said.
“If you need money, I’ll be glad to lend you some.”
“Oh, I’ve got money. As a matter of fact, Natalie, there’s not all that much to think about. I guess I’ll come along. With Jastrow off in Greece, this will be a dismal place.”
“Bless your heart.” She gave him a delighted smile. “We’ll have fun. I’ll see to that.”
“What happens after Warsaw?” Byron said. “Will you come back here?”
“I guess so, if the consul doesn’t persuade Aaron to go home meantime. He’s really working on him. And you, Briny?”
“Well, maybe I will too,” Byron said. “I’m at loose ends.”
That night at dinner, when he heard the news, Dr. Jastrow ordered up a bottle of champagne. “Byron, I can’t tell you what a load you’ve taken off my mind! This headstrong girl doesn’t know how wild and backward Poland is. I do. From what my relatives write me, it hasn’t improved one iota since I left there forty-five years ago. And the situation really is unstable. The villain with the moustache is making nasty noises, and we must look for the worst. However, there’s bound to be some warning. My mind is much more at ease now. You’re a capable young man.”
“You talk as though I were some kind of idiot,” Natalie said, sipping champagne.
“You are a girl. It’s something you have trouble remembering. You were that way as a child, climbing trees and fighting boys. Well, I’ll be here alone, then. But I won’t mind that.”
“Won’t you be in Greece, sir?” Byron said.
“I’m not so sure.” Jastrow smiled at their puzzled looks. “It’s some clumsiness about my passport. I let it lapse, and not being native-born, but naturalized through my father’s naturalization, it turns out there’s a bit of red tape involved in renewing it. Especially since I haven’t been back in nine years. The problem may or may not be unraveled by the end of August. If it isn’t I’ll just take the trip next spring.”
“That’s something you should certainly straighten out,” Byron said.
“Oh, of course. These things used to be simple, the consul says. But since the flood of refugees from Hitler began, the rules have tightened up. Well, Briny, so you and Natalie will be off to Warsaw in a few weeks! I couldn’t be more pleased, and I’m sure she can use a chaperone.”
“Go climb a tree, Aaron,” Natalie said, turning pink, and her uncle laughed at her, his first wholehearted laugh in a week.
“I hope you’ll manage to meet my cousin Berel,” Jastrow said to Byron. “I haven’t seen him since I left Poland, but we’ve usually exchanged three or four letters a year. Presence of mind has always been his strong point, too.
Chapter 6
Pamela drove Commander Henry and her father to Swinemunde. The train would have been faster, but Henry wanted to see the countryside and the small towns, and the Englishman was more than agreeable. One could almost get to like Germans, he said, if one stayed out of the cities.
Pug was appalled at the girl’s driving. She chauffeured the rented Mercedes around Berlin in docile conformity to the lights and the speed laws, but once on the autobahn she rocketed the needle to one hundred fifty kilometers an hour. Tudsbury chatted over the wind roar, paying little attention to the scenery blurring past.
He now thought there might be no war. The British were dealing seriously at last with the Russians about a military alliance. They were starting to turn out airplanes so much faster that regaining air parity, which they had lost in 1936, was in sight. Their pledge to Poland showed Hitler that this time Chamberlain meant business. The Nazi Party in Danzig had quieted down. Mussolini had flatly told Hitler (so Tudsbury’s inside information had it) that he was not ready to fight. The correspondent foresaw a respite of two or three years, during which the alarmed democracies would rearm faster than the Germans possibly could. The cornered dictator would eventually either
