The Levant Trilogy (21 page)

Simon did not
expect to sleep but he was sleeping when the guard's voice roused the camp.
'Wakey, wakey, you lazy bastards.' Sitting up in the darkness, he found Arnold
standing beside him and asked, 'For God's sake, Arnold, what time is it?'

'Three ak emma,
sir.'

The reason for
waking at that hour was too shocking to contemplate. The men rose groaning and
swearing at the intense cold. Simon, in a daze, could not contemplate the
ordeal ahead but maintained a sort of half sleep, stumbling as he pulled on his
sweater. Hardy was also up and when the two platoons assembled he came, fully
dressed, to tell them that Martin and his artillery would accompany them and
give them covering fire. The sappers would go in first to check whether or not
mines had been laid at the base of the hill.

Waiting for the
all clear, the men silent behind him, Simon had to swallow down the nausea that
rose from the pit of his stomach. If it forced itself up, where, he wondered,
could he go to vomit unseen? But it remained what it was, a phantom nausea, a
sickness of the nerves, and as soon as they moved, he forgot about it.

The enemy seemed
to be on the alert. Repeated gun flashes dotted the German positions and the
men, who were in close order, instinctively kept closer than need be as they
marched into no-man's-land. The moon had set and they moved by starlight. There
was little to see and Simon thought it unlikely
that anyone had seen them, yet, a few hundred yards from their
objective, a flare went up from the hill-top, blanching the desert and
revealing the two close-knit platoons. Immediately there was uproar. Red and
yellow tracer bullets, like deadly fireworks, passed overhead and machine-guns
kept up their mad, virulent rattle. Simon shouted, 'Run for it,' but the men
had not waited for an order. They were running for their lives through the
shrieking, whistling, rustling, thunder-filled air.

Pelting towards
the hill, Simon told himself, 'We're running straight into it,' but the hill
itself was cover. Simon's platoon had arrived without loss and he called to
Trench, 'What about your chaps?' Trench's breathless voice came to him from the
darkness, 'All right, I hope.'

There was no let
up by the gunners on the hill but now Martin's artillery was sounding a reply
and Simon, crouching with his men, waiting for the barrage to cease, began to
hope that the guns would settle the matter. Then Martin came over and, speaking
under the noise, instructed him to take his platoon to the left of the hill
and advance upwards till battle was joined. Trench and his platoon would go to
the right. In a low, grumbling tone that suggested the whole business was something
of a bore, Martin told both the young men, 'The order is: accept no more
casualties than the situation justifies.'

Simon's voice had
become a croak as he asked, 'Casualties, sir?'

'Pull yourself
together, Boulderstone. D'you imagine there won't be casualties? Now - go in
and show fight.'

The firing had
stopped but as Simon started to move off, Martin seemed to change his mind. He
said, 'Wait.' No sound came from the hill and for an elated moment Simon
imagined the enemy had been wiped out, then the machine-guns began again.

The sky broke and
a livid light showed them to each other. Looking from one drawn face to
another, Simon thought, 'We're mad to be here.' Ridley, head hanging morosely,
was waiting to fix up a field telephone. Martin was also waiting, no one knew
for what. Arnold gave Simon an affectionate, reassuring smile as though he had
been through all this before and he knew it would be all right.

'Now,' Martin
whispered, 'get on with it Give the hun a bloody nose. Should be a piece of
cake but if you hit a snag, send a runner back and we'll sort you out
if
we can.
Off you go, and good luck.'

Glancing back,
Simon had a glimpse of Trench's face miserably contracted and he thought,
'Poor old Trench.' He, himself, was revivified now action had begun. Reaching
the left flank of the hill, he drew his revolver and ordered his men to fan
out. They made their way crabwise up the grey, cinderous lower slopes. Their
feet, sinking into the ground, made little noise but the defenders were
prepared for them. As the first of them came in sight of the machine-guns, hand
grenades showered down on them. They bent double, drawing together for mutual
protection while Simon shouted, 'Fan out ... fan out,' not expecting to be
obeyed.

A palisade of flat
stones and rocks had been built at the crown of the hill. Seeing a head rise
above it, a hand lifted to pitch a grenade, Simon fired, and was amazed to see
the man leap up and fall backwards. His shot, his first shot with intent to
kill, had found its mark. He had wounded someone, or even killed hun. Either
way, he'd put one jerry bastard out of action. The satisfaction intoxicated
him. In his excitement, he lost all sense of danger and did not hear Arnold
shouting, 'Keep down, sir. For God's sake, keep down.' In an ecstasy of joy, he
rushed into a fusillade of machine-gun bullets, thinking he had discovered the
thing he had wanted all his life.

His euphoria
faltered when a bullet whined past his ear. He realized the ground about him
was bouncing with bullets and Arnold's cries suddenly made sense. He threw
himself down behind a rock and saw that the other men had taken cover. The
cover was not much. The upper slopes of the hill were littered with rocky
outcrops but so low that the men were lying behind them with their heads down.
The battle now settled into a give and take of rifle fire, then a howl of
anguish went up. The Germans had hurled a mortar bomb. Arnold, dodging from
rock to rock, reached Simon and lay down beside him. Three chaps hit, sir. Two
badly. One of them a gonner.'

'Who is it?'

The dead man was
Brookman and Simon asked himself
how many
casualties the situation
did
justify? The machine-gun fire, having died
down, opened up on the right-hand side of the hill. He realized that Trench was
getting it and he was free to act. He said to Arnold, 'Run back. Tell Martin
we've been under heavy fire but there's a lull. Say I propose to rush the enemy
lines. Ask for further orders.'

Arnold went down
the hill in leaps and Simon ordered the others to fix bayonets and wait. If
they went in soon, they could draw the fire off Trench. Here was an opportunity
to rush the palisade and perhaps behind it there was no more than a token
force. He became impatient of the delay and looking down the hill, saw that
Arnold had just started the ascent. Bent low, he was taking it cautiously.
Simon shouted to him to hurry and, eager to comply, he straightened himself,
ran forward, threw up his arms and fell.

Simon called to
him, but he did not move. Screaming his name, Simon ran down to where he lay,
white faced, eyes open. He had been hit in the chest. In spite of the fixed
stare, Simon believed that something might still be done for him. Testing his
weight, finding him light enough to carry, Simon lifted the thin, young body on
to his shoulder and went at a half-run down to the foot of the hill.

Astounded by the
sight of him, Martin shouted in fury, 'You damned fool, what do you think
you're doing?'

'It's Arnold.
He's my batman and driver. He's been shot in the chest.'

'Put him down at
once and get back to your men.'

'You'll look
after him, won't you?'

'Get back, I tell
you. You could be court-martialled for this.'

By the time he
reached the hill-top, the Germans had leapt the palisades and had met his
platoon in hand-to-hand combat. Coming face to face with a blond, pink-skinned
German youth, Simon fired in a fury, saying, 'Damn you. Damn the lot of you,'
and the pink face opened and spilt out redness, like a pomegranate.

This was hatred,
all right. Simon felt he could do battle with the lot of them but the defenders
had already had enough. They turned, scrambled back over the palisade and
stumbled down
the western side of the hill.
Their trucks awaited them and as the victors bawled after them in triumph, they
piled in and drove towards the main German positions.

Returning to
base, Ridley caught up with Simon to say, 'Not a bad show, sir.'

'Not too bad,
sarge.'

'You heard, sir?
Mr Trench copped it.'

'Dead?'

'Dead as mutton,
poor bloke. They say, just before he was hit, he was putting up a tremendous
fight.'

'Just what I'd
expect,' Simon said, ashamed that he had expected nothing of the sort. He could
not understand now his earlier contempt for Trench. Trench and Arnold had been
his friends and he had lost them both. He wondered, as Arnold had wondered when
Ted and Fred went from him, how he could live without them.

The engagement
had cost the Column eight men, all told. The bodies were brought back and
buried before supper. Hardy said to Simon, 'You acted unwisely, leaving your
men, but I understand your desire to help Arnold. You did pretty well, so we'll
forget what happened. Have you anything to say?'

Looking back over
the events of the day, Simon could think of nothing. He shook his head.
Bereaved and very tired, he only wanted sleep.

A new general
came to displace Auchinleck. The displacement was discussed in Cairo but no one
could say why one general had gone and the other had taken over the command.
Harriet, walking in Suleiman Pasha, saw Auchinleck on the opposite pavement. It
was, she learnt later, the very day on which he was leaving Egypt for good. She
stopped to watch him. He was a very tall man with a grave, handsome face and a
broad brow: the ideal of those leaders, those demi-gods, whom she had seen as
ordering the lives of common men, yet he, too, owed obedience and had been sent
away. Though she had not
met him and would probably
never see him again, she felt a profound sadness as she watched him disappear
into the indifferent crowd.

Harriet, too, had
lost her import, small though it was. No one now asked her for news because she
knew no more than anyone else. If, among all the rumours that spread out from
civilian ignorance, she learnt of some true event, she could not act upon it or
pin it to a map. She wanted to replace her job at once and put it about that
she was free and looking for work, but there was little work for English women
civilians in Egypt. She asked Guy if she could take up Miss Pedler's job in the
library but before anything could be decided, Miss Pedler returned. Most of
the evacuees, tired of life in the Jerusalem camp, were finding their way back
to Cairo though nothing had happened to change the situation from which they
had fled. The very fact that nothing had happened was satisfactory enough. An
invader who was so long in coming might not come at all.

Even Pinkrose had
returned. The Pringles, going into Groppi's to meet Aidan Pratt, saw Pinkrose
sitting in front of a plate of cakes. It was mid-day, the sun burnt through the
canvas of the umbrella, but Pinkrose was muffled like a Bedouin and perhaps
for the same reason. He hoped his hat, scarf and woollen suit would protect him
against the heat. His hat pulled down to his eyes, his scarf up to his
nostrils, he was intent on four cakes, creamed, candied, decorated with fruit and
sweets, the richest that Groppi could provide. His problem was which to eat
first.

When Guy and
Harriet stopped beside him, he did not lift his head but put out a hand as
though warding them off. He slid his eyes up at the intruders and said, 'Ah,
Pringle, it's you!' Having accepted the invitation to lecture, he had to accord
Guy some slight civility.

Guy said, 'You
know I've been appointed Director here?'

'Yes, yes, I
gathered that. Um, um, I gathered that.'

'I feel I have
you to thank for the appointment It was, I believe, the result of your cable
to Bevington.'

'Oh, was it!' It
was clear from Pinkrose's tone that this was not the result he had intended. A
gleam of satirical contempt
for Guy's simplicity came
into his stone-grey eyes but he had nothing to lose by accepting gratitude, so
nodded and said, 'Is that so?'

'There are some
letters for Gracey in the office. I would forward them if I knew where he was.
I was wondering if you could let me have his present address?'

'Present address?
Present address?' Pinkrose, eager to be at the cakes, was losing patience with
this conversation. 'I really can't say. I heard ... indeed, I was
told,
the
Director in Jerusalem told me, that Gracey is trying to get himself shipped
down to the Cape. How and when I cannot say. I fear I cannot help you, Pringle.
No, no, I cannot help you.' He twitched all over in his desire to shake off the
Pringles, then he remembered that Harriet had once been a source of information
and he raised his head slightly to ask her, 'The desert situation has settled
down, eh? The Germans have outrun their strength. No bite left in them, eh? No
bite. No bite.'

Harriet, never
unwilling to disquiet Pinkrose, did not resist this opportunity. 'I don't know
about the desert. No one is giving it much thought these days. The chief worry
now is the Ukraine. The High Command expects it to collapse before the end of
the month. When that happens, the enemy will come down on us like the wolf on
the fold.'

Pinkrose, his
grey colour becoming more grey, looked stunned, then falteringly asked,
'Haven't we got troops in Iraq?'

'A handful. What
could they do against twenty panzer divisions?'

'Twenty? Did you
say twenty? No one told me they were likely to come that way.'

'People here are
living in a fool's paradise. They think if the desert situation's all right,
they're all right. They forget we're threatened on another front.'

Pinkrose was
sunken in his seat, gazing at the cakes as though they had failed him, then a
laugh jerked out of him.
'Now, I
understand. Yes, yes ... You wish to
frighten me. Well, I will not be frightened. No, I will not be frightened. So
you can take yourselves off. If you wish to spread alarm and despondency, you
can spread it elsewhere.'

'Why should I
wish to frighten you, Lord Pinkrose?'

'That is easily
answered,' Pinkrose's voice was shrill with triumph. 'I was one of those whom
the major invited on to his ship -
you were not.
You pushed your way on
board. Yes, yes, you pushed on board. It would have been a pleasant trip - a very
pleasant trip, indeed - but a crowd of you pushed on board and spoilt it all.
Four people settled themselves in my cabin.
Four
of them. They made
things very uncomfortable for me, and for the major's other guests. You young
people think only of yourselves. So, take yourselves off ...' Pinkrose lifted
his cake fork and waved them away.

As Harriet drew
breath to protest, Guy gave her a little push and they both went to a vacant
table. Out of Pinkrose's hearing, Guy said, 'Why try and frighten the poor old
thing?'

'I said nothing
that wasn't true.' He may be a great deal more frightened before this war is
over. If we're cut off here, what will happen to him or to us? Or anyone else?
Who would repatriate us? Who would care if we lived or died? We'd be lost, the
dregs of the wartime hierarchy, beggars, dependent on Moslem charity. And we
can be thankful that the Moslems are charitable. We'll have no other friends.'

'Darling,' Guy
lifted her right hand and put it to his lips. 'Little monkey's paw. The Russians
won't give in so easily. The Ukraine will hold, you wait and see.'

'How do you know?
What makes you so sure?'

'I am sure.' He
did not explain his certainty but squeezed her fingers, conveying his
confidence by the pressure and warmth of his flesh. He looked at her hand
before putting it down and said, "Thin little hand!'

'Too thin. I keep
getting these stomach upsets.'

'That won't do,'
he said and quickly changed to a subject that disturbed him less. 'Who do you
think came into the office this morning? Toby Lush. He came, ostensibly, to
congratulate me on my appointment but they want work, the pair of them. They
had a pretty dreary time in camp while Gracey and Pinkrose were living it up at
the King David Hotel. They said that Gracey never bothered to contact them and
when they bumped into Pinkrose, he pretended not to know them.'

'You surely won't
employ them, will you?'

'Why not? What
are they but poor derelicts of war? I'll find a use for them.'

Aidan Pratt, on
what he called 'a brief assignment', had tried to ring Guy in Alexandria and,
not finding him there, had traced the Pringles to Dobson's flat. Getting
Harriet on the telephone, he asked her to come with him to the Muski. He wanted
to buy a gift for his mother. When she agreed, he said as an afterthought, 'I
suppose Guy wouldn't come?'

Harriet had once
persuaded Guy to go with her to the Muski but at the entrance to the narrow,
half-lit Muski lanes, he had turned back saying that nothing would get him in
there. He felt, she realized, as she had felt inside the ruined pyramid. Though
she said, 'I'll ask him,' she knew Aidan would be disappointed.

Seeing him coming
towards them as though half-fearing rebuff, she whispered to Guy, 'Do come with
us ...'

Guy was quite decided
against the Muski. 'I couldn't possibly,' and Aidan, sensing his refusal, said
with humorous humility, 'Not coming? I suppose you have more important things
to do?'

'I wouldn't say
important I've work to do.' Guy greeted Aidan with his usual amiability but he
could not stay long. They talked for a few minutes but there was no lingering
over the wine in his glass. Draining it in one long draught, he said, 'I'll see
you later,' and went without arranging time or place.

'Is he always so
engage.
I'm not likely to see him later - my train goes at six.'

Harriet said to
excuse Guy, 'He's more than usually busy at the moment, getting the Institute
back on its feet.'

Aidan gave a
baffled laugh and agreed that they set out for the Muski straight away. They
found a gharry waiting outside Groppi's and took it to Esbekiya Gardens. Aidan,
Harriet realized, had recovered from the first pain of his friend's death and
she found him easier company. Moving through the afternoon heat as through a
tangible fume that smelt of sand and the old gharry horse, she tried to
compensate for Guy's absence. She told him what she knew about the places they
passed. The Esbekiya, she said, still had the sunken look of a lake bed and in
the old days, when the Nile rose, it used to be
filled with water. Now the square was a turn-around for the
tramcars but a few of the old houses remained with trees dipping over the
garden wall as though to reach the water that was no longer there. Napoleon had
lodged in the mansion that had been turned into Shepherd's Hotel. She thought
there was still a hint of the oriental, pre-Napoleonic richness about the
square but it had become a centre for raffish life and raffish medicine. On
the seedy terrace houses that had displaced most of the mansions, there were
advertisements for doctors who cured 'all the diseases of love' and promised to
the impotent 'horse-like vigour'. Gigantic wooden teeth, bloody at the roots,
were hung out as a sign that cheap dentists were at work.

Aidan, his dark
and sombre eyes turning from side to side, asked, 'Why has it become so
run-down?'

Harriet pointed
to the small, dry garden in the centre and told him that the assassin of
General Kteber had been impaled there, taking three days to die. 'After that,
who would want to live here?'

The Muski ran
from the top of the square and Harriet said they should pay off the gharry
because now it would be more fun to walk. Alerted by the word 'fun', Aidan jumped
down to the road as though making an effort to enjoy himself.

Asked what he
thought of buying, he was unsure: 'Jewellery, or a piece of silverware or
perhaps a length of silk.'

The Muski offered
such things in plenty and Harriet, who knew the shops, thought Aidan would
quickly find what he wanted. There she was wrong.

The lanes were
quiet under the heat. The shopkeepers lay indolently in the shade at the back
of their open-fronted shops, sleeping or passing amber beads through their
hands. Most of them ignored the visitors, knowing who came to buy and who came
merely from curiosity, and Harriet saw they had little or no faith in Aidan's
intentions. She began to feel they were right.

He fingered the
bales of silk and rayons and put them contemptuously aside. They did not
compare, he said, with the Damascus silks. Harriet took him into a small,
glazed-in shop where scent was sold. The scent could be put into plain bottles
or phials of Venetian glass decorated with gold. He agreed the phials were pretty
but the scents - rose, musk, jasmin or sandalwood - were too sweet for Aidan's
taste. Then Harriet thought she knew the very place to interest him: it was a
large shop without windows, like a great tent. Here, in the half-light, the
shelves and floors were packed with old silver and plate, engraved glass,
Victorian ornaments, Indian toys, Burmese temple birds, Staffordshire dogs,
horses, swans and human figures. Harriet particularly liked some iron trays
painted with flowers and buildings and fanciful scenes that could be set on
legs to serve as coffee tables, but Aidan shook his head. He turned over some
rugs and said, 'Not the best of their kind.' In the middle of the shop there
was a glass case filled with antique jewellery made of pink gold and rose diamonds.
Harriet, who could not afford to buy them herself, handled the elaborate
brooches, rings and pendants, and admired the large diamonds that looked more
valuable than they were. 'I'm sure your mother would like these.'

'Much too showy
for her.'

They set out
again. Passing a window that displayed a broken Grecian head and some small
Egyptian tomb finds, he stopped. 'There might be something in here.'

'Those things are
terribly expensive.'

'I'll just have a
look.'

Harriet stayed
outside, feeling he was by nature secretive and more likely to make up his mind
if left alone. When he was slow in returning, she wandered to the end of the
lane where the bazaar opened out into an ordinary shopping street. Between
lane and street there was an Arab café with three wooden tables and benches set
out on the road. The proprietor, in a grimy galabiah, sat with one leg under
him and his back to the house wall. Harriet asked if she might sit down while
awaiting a friend. He did not ask her what she would drink but waved her to a
bench, mumbling the conventional courtesy that everything in his house was
hers.