Blood of Honour

‘Really, sir,’ said Woodman, ‘I’m not sure arrest is necessary. These two were just having a little scrap. A question of honour, you see.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ snapped the lieutenant. The Cretan’s friends were now beside him, talking furiously and gesticulating wildly. He was sitting on a chair, wheezing and dabbing the blood on his face.

‘Now, who are you?’ he said to the Cretan. ‘What is your name?’

The man spat and cleared his throat. ‘My name,’ he rasped, ‘is Alopex. I am a kapitan with Antonis Grigorakis. Satanas, you know?’

The lieutenant eyed him. ‘No, I don’t, and I don’t care whether you’re a kapitan or not. You are under arrest and you will come with us to Battalion Headquarters where I shall strongly recommend you be detained.’

Alopex glared back. ‘You are making very big mistake. How long have you been on this island? Straight off the boat, eh?’

The lieutenant looked affronted. ‘That is irrelevant. We can’t have people brawling in the street like that. And, believe me, if you had killed this man it would have been a whole lot worse for you, no matter who you claim to be.’

‘And who are you?’ Alopex asked. ‘Just so I know who I am dealing with.’

Again, the lieutenant seemed taken aback, and for a moment dithered as though undecided about how to reply. ‘I am Lieutenant Liddell,’ he said, ‘of the 2nd Battalion, the King’s Own Yorkshire Rangers.’

As soon as he said his name, Tanner, who had been recovering his breath quietly beside Sykes and Woodman, felt himself reel. It was as though he had been punched harder than he had by anything Alopex had thrown at him. Liddell – it was not possible. Incredulously, he stared at the lieutenant. How long had it been? Nine years now. Nine long years. Guy Liddell had been, what, twelve back then? Tanner closed his eyes a moment, rubbed his sweaty brow, then looked up at the lieutenant again. And now he did faintly recognize the boy in the man standing before him – those grey eyes, he remembered, because his own were much the same colour; it had been commented upon. The shape of the face too, full and round, as it had been in boyhood. Christ, no, thought Tanner. How could this have happened?

‘And you,’ said Lieutenant Liddell, turning to him. Tanner followed his eyes as they noted first the leather wristband with the laurels and crown, which denoted his rank as a warrant officer second class, and then his face. Liddell’s eyes narrowed – was that a flicker of recognition, Tanner wondered – and he said, ‘A senior NCO like you should know better than to get involved in fights with locals. Good God, man, in case you weren’t aware, we might be expected to fight a real enemy any moment.’

‘He was sorely provoked, sir,’ said Sykes.

‘Be quiet, Sergeant,’ snapped Liddell. Then, turning back to Tanner, he said, ‘Name and unit?’

‘CSM Tanner, sir,’ Tanner mumbled. ‘2nd Yorks Rangers.’ There were no regimental shoulder tabs on KD shirts.

‘What was that? Yorks Rangers? This is just getting worse for you, Tanner. You’re a disgrace to the regiment.’

‘Sir,’ interrupted Sykes again.

‘Leave it, Sykes,’ hissed Tanner.

‘And you two are also Rangers?’ Liddell asked, looking at Sykes and Woodman.

‘Sir,’ said Woodman, then told Liddell their names.

‘Good. You can take us to Battalion Headquarters. Take Tanner’s rifle, Sykes, and, Woodman, you search this man, Alopex. Then lead on.’ He pointed to two of the other men. ‘And you two can stay behind the prisoners. March them at gunpoint.’

‘We weren’t expecting you for another hour, sir,’ said Woodman. ‘We were in town to meet you off the ship.’

‘Perhaps you were simply too busy drinking and brawling to notice the time. We arrived more than half an hour ago.’

Tanner watched Alopex whispering to his three friends and then they hurried off. He noticed that Liddell had seen this too and was clearly wondering whether he should have detained them as well. It was too late, though, so instead he straightened his cap, put his revolver back in its holster and, waving his arm, indicated to them to get moving.

‘This is not over,’ muttered Alopex, as they were frog-marched away from the kafenio. ‘I will still kill you.’

‘Put a bloody sock in it,’ Tanner replied. He had other concerns now. Damn it, damn it. Sod it and damn.

Tanner and Alopex had been put in two makeshift guardrooms in the Jesus Bastion opposite Battalion Headquarters. The rooms were on either side of the tunnel leading into the bastion. Tanner’s cell was dark and dank, the walls thick with cold stone, and only a small slit window providing any light. The ground was nothing more than compacted earth – clearly, these had been designed as store rooms and nothing more – but Tanner was not bothered by any discomfort. The cool air was, if anything, something of a relief. In any case, being in a darkened cell was the least of his concerns.

Being frog-marched through Heraklion would have been humiliating enough under any circumstances but was particularly so when he knew that a number of the men would soon be joining B Company. As CSM, he was supposed to be one of the figure-heads of the company, a shining example. Now their first impression of him was of seeing him stripped of his weapon and placed under military arrest. Damn it all, he might even find himself court- martialled.

Sitting on the rough floor, his hands over his knees and smoking a cigarette, he sighed. His head still throbbed, and when he touched it, he could feel the slowly congealing blood of a gash that needed a stitch or two. If and when he did get out, he would have to watch his back now that a Cretan big shot was out for his blood. He knew about the kind of blood feuds these people made. Indians, Arabs, Greeks – they were all the same. If you made a vow, you had to follow it through: it was a question of honour. Tanner understood that – after all, it had been partly as a matter of honour that he had stood up to Alopex himself. The other reason had been anger. It was anger that had driven him to start firing the pompom a couple of weeks earlier and it was anger that had driven him to fight Alopex. A lot of anger. Too much, he thought.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, now Guy Liddell had turned up. He would lay money on Liddell being Sykes’s new platoon commander. Jesus. Of all the people. Why the hell had he been sent here? Why wasn’t he farming still in Alvesdon? What was it with these fellows? Captain Peploe was the same – he could have been doing his bit on his family farm in north Yorkshire, away from all this. They could have avoided the fighting altogether. Tanner pushed back his hair and sighed again.

There were voices outside – English voices – and then, through the narrow window, he heard the sound of a key being turned and the squeak of hinges. Moments later Alopex was muttering in a low voice.

‘You’re a hot-headed old fool, Alopex,’ said a voice. ‘I need you fighting Huns, not our chaps.’

‘He insulted me,’ said Alopex. ‘You think I can be humiliated like that in front of my men?’

‘All right, all right,’ soothed the English voice. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here. There’s something I need you to do …’

Tanner shook his head and lit yet another cigarette. Sykes had somehow managed to purloin a stash of Player’s Navy Cut from HMS Halberd and they had been smoking them ever since. God only knew how he had managed it; Tanner didn’t like to ask. So Alopex was working for the British, he thought. He smiled ruefully to himself – a man who disliked the British, but hated the Italians and Germans more. He wondered who that English voice had belonged to. Not regular army, that was for sure, but someone who could cut through tape, pull strings. A useful friend. Tanner drew deeply on his cigarette. Bloody hell, he thought, what a mess.

He must have dropped off because when the key turned in his door, he jolted awake and felt momentarily disoriented.

‘Jack, Jack,’ said Captain Peploe. ‘What have you been doing?’

‘Bastard deserved it, sir,’ muttered Tanner. ‘I wasn’t going to sit and listen to him bad-mouthing us and calling us cowards. It’s not our fault his sodding division was left in Greece.’

‘Couldn’t you have just turned the other cheek?’ Peploe stood over him, his round face as genial as ever.