Bishop Ferro stood. “And now I regret that I must go. I have business to attend to at Rapallo, then must take that infernal train back to Genoa. Goodbye to you all. Montague, as always, it was a magnificent—and I must say, exciting—affair, and I thank you for including this old priest in the fun. Madame Faber, you are entirely correct about this continent and the violence we perpetuate. Perhaps between the two of us we can do a little to mitigate that.”
He shook Wake’s hand. “And to you, my adventurous young American friend, I will say the traditional farewell greeting of good luck to a man such as yourself.” He paused for a dramatic moment and began to walk away, shouting over his shoulder with a flourish of his hand, “In bocca al lupo!”
Brown laughed while he watched the bishop depart. “Do you know what that means, Lieutenant? It’s pretty appropriate for you.”
“No, sir. Not a clue,” said Wake, worried.
“It means ‘into the mouth of the wolf’ and it’s an Italian way of showing disdain for danger. It is said to the brave. The response is to shout ‘crepi!’ which means ‘die!’ Let’s hope that neither is prophetic, eh, Lieutenant?”
Catherine gave Wake a playful caress of her toe, which did nothing to dispel his apprehension. Overwhelmed by the thought of all he’d been through in his first three months in Europe, he sighed.
“I understand that saying entirely, sir. . . .”
26
Showing the Flag
The rest of the morning was painful. Wake rose from the breakfast table just as Beauregard and Christine Strom made their appearance on the patio.
Catherine said, “Au revoir, Lieutenant.” Her manner was assured, her smile confident, her eyes strong in the morning sun.
Wake inwardly winced as he thought of events spiraling out of control the night before. Ashamed at his behavior, he was fearful of the consequences, both personal and professional. The first one wasn’t long in coming.
“Good morning, Lieutenant. Pleasant evening?” asked Strom levelly.
“Good morning, sir. Yes, sir. Pleasant evening.”
“Yes, that was my impression, Lieutenant. I would hope last night’s excitement was educational for you.”
Wake chilled. “Sir? What excitement?”
“Why, the incident of the French diplomat threatening the German diplomat, Lieutenant. An instructive example of how things can go wrong in a heartbeat. Moltke is on the telegraph to Berlin and Otto Bismarck as we speak, I’d wager. By noon, the wires between Paris, Berlin, Rome, and London will be humming. Wars have started over such theatrics, Mr. Wake, and there’ll be repercussions within several countries. Remember, this incident has become common knowledge—embarrassing to the French and insulting to the Germans.” Strom scrutinized Wake. “But whatever did you think I meant? Was there any other excitement last night, Lieutenant?”
“Ah, no, sir. No excitement comparable to the threats between the diplomats, sir.”
Strom showed no reaction. An image flashed through Wake’s mind of Strom as a riverboat gambler.
“Yes, so I’ve heard. We are certainly lucky there was no other excitement last night, aren’t we, Lieutenant?”
Wake felt his face flush. “Yes, sir.”
“You are leaving for Genoa this morning, I believe?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good, Lieutenant. When you get back there you’ll find some useful naval work to do. I got word by telegram last night that all the ships of your squadron are due to arrive soon. Evidently the Spanish are sufficiently awed that they won’t hurt American citizens during their little bloodbath and the squadron is returning to the central Med. The Franklin will be here tomorrow, with Rear Admiral Case aboard. You will no longer work out of the consulate, but instead will work your billet on his staff. By Tuesday you will be out of the hotel and on the ship.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“That is all, Lieutenant. I hope you’ve learned something while you’ve been with us.”
The diplomat had already turned when Wake said, “Yes, sir. I have. Thank you.” There was no reply as Strom walked away.
When he got to his room he found one of the castle’s Italian stewards lifting his bags and walking out. “Variam say to me to pack things for you, signore. I carry them for you down to boat at harbor. We go now, signore. Boat to leave in one hour.”
The steward strode out of the room without waiting for a reply, Wake behind him marveling at the fact that he was being very politely thrown out of a castle. At the main gate Variam stood at parade rest.
“Have a good journey, Lieutenant Wake.” The massive turban dipped briefly as the hooded eyes watched Wake. Then the major-domo turned away to give orders in Italian to a guard.
When they reached the waterfront, via the easy slope of the road, Wake looked back up at the castle perched atop the cliff. He could see the rampart of the “lovers’ walk,” above the surrounding terrain and trees. The steward hustled him over to the ferry steamer and dumped his baggage aboard in the large pile of passengers’ belongings. Disappearing in the crowd ashore, he left Wake standing on the deck, surrounded by excited locals, staring up at the castle and trying to ignore a disheveled Craven Walker standing next to him chattering on about Italian lava flows.
“Good God, what have I gotten into here?” he muttered to himself, not liking the answer.
***
“Oh yes, my friend, I heard it was a hellova show,” exclaimed Davis at lunch two days later. “Word is that Faber’s being removed and sent to represent the Republic of France someplace way out in the sticks.”
“It’s that serious?” asked Wake.
“Nobody threatens the Germans. Even the Brits are respectful of them. Remember that the Germans, led by Field Marshal Moltke and Otto Bismarck, have kicked everybody’s
