‘Oh, yes. For sometimes a horse or a pig can run off in that direction.’
‘When the Frenchman came off, you were riding on the north side of the hunt, is that not so?’
‘That is so.’
‘Do you remember who were the outriders on the south side on that occasion?’
‘I do. Ibrahim and Riyad.’
‘Are they here?’
Ahmet looked around.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Will they be here at the pig-sticking on Saturday?’
‘Oh, yes. They are good men. I like to use them.’
‘I will speak to them then.’
De Grassac came out of the Tent.
‘Good practice?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ De Grassac looked around. ‘Just the day for it,’ he said. ‘Fresh. Not much wind.’
‘That makes a difference, does it?’
‘Blows the sand up into your eyes. That doesn’t matter much. But sometimes it affects the horses.’
‘Do you think I could have a look at your lance?’
De Grassac looked surprised but passed it to him.
‘Can you tell one lance from another?’
‘They’re all pretty much the same. Some are heavier.’
‘I remember you said that you’d got the lance that was used to kill Bossu?’
‘Yes,’ said de Grassac. ‘That’s right.’
‘Have you still got it?’
‘Yes. Of course. I’m keeping it in case anyone wants to look at it. Renaud, for instance, although so far he hasn’t bothered. But I don’t think it will help the investigation much. One lance is very like another. But if you would like to see it, why don’t you come up to the barracks? Tomorrow morning, say?’
‘Monsieur Seymour!’
‘Cher collegue!’
‘Again you find me here!’
‘And what better place to find you?’ said Seymour. ‘A Pernod, perhaps?’
Several Pernods later:
‘And so, Monsieur Renaud, I come to you. Puzzled.’
‘Puzzled?’
‘If this had happened in England, that would have been the first thing I thought. A pretty woman, admirers, a husband in the way. The husband gets removed. Wrong, no doubt. But surprising? Not at all. What could be more natural?’
‘Ah, yes, Monsieur, but-’
‘A pretty woman, yes?’
‘Oh, yes!’ said Renaud fervently.
‘Admirers?’
‘Yes, but-’
‘I have heard them, you have heard them. Young men, men of action, soldiers used to violence. Would it be surprising if-?’
‘Well, no. But-’
‘That is the first thing I would have thought. If I had been in England. And are things so different in Tangier?’
‘Well, no, of course.’
‘That is what a man of experience would have thought straightaway, surely? And Monsieur Renaud is a man of experience, I said to myself. Surely he has thought that? Of course he has, I said to myself! This will be the first thing he looked into. And what has he seen? That is the question I asked myself. What has Monsieur Renaud seen? And what is he not saying!’
‘Well. Well…’
‘Come, Monsieur Renaud. We are colleagues. We understand each other, yes? You have looked into this and found something, and now you are not saying! Isn’t that true? Come, Monsieur Renaud!’
‘Well…’
‘Between ourselves.’
‘Well…’
Renaud shifted uneasily.
‘The fact is, Monsieur, I have found nothing.’
‘Ah! You say that, but-’
‘No, it is true. I did wonder when I first heard — heard that Bossu was dead. I didn’t know the circumstances then, of course. It is true I did ask myself — but then I thought: no, it could not be, Juliette is spotless-’
‘Spotless, Monsieur?’
‘Yes, yes. It is true that she has her admirers-’
‘Ah!’
‘But she keeps them at a distance.’
‘On a string?’
‘Perhaps you could say that.’
‘And perhaps one of them was not content with that?’
‘Well, I don’t think any of them liked it, but-’
He pulled himself together.
‘It was just a game. For her, at any rate. She was perhaps a little bit of a flirt. Perhaps. No, definitely. But, then, she was a woman. And aren’t all women like that? All Frenchwomen, at any rate.’
Monsieur Renaud hesitated.
‘But perhaps not all Englishwomen? I do not know. I lack experience, alas. Personally, I have always found Englishwomen rather flat-chested. So perhaps they… But Frenchwomen-’ gathering confidence now that he was on familiar ground — ‘love to play. And Juliette is like that. Playful. She spreads her wings like… like a great, gorgeous butterfly
‘Gosh, yes!’ said Seymour.
‘-and draws men to her.’
‘Well, yes!’ said Seymour. ‘Of course! I can see that.’
‘But it is just play. Innocent play. Deep down her heart was true.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. True to Bossu. So there was never any question-’
‘But, Monsieur Renaud, Bossu was often away. And in his absence-’
‘It is true,’ conceded Renaud, ‘that in his absence Juliette may have spread her wings a little wider than usual.’
‘And the officers came running.’
‘Well, Monsieur, you have to understand how it is in Tangier. For young men. Young Frenchmen, that is. They are far from home. And there are a lot of them. Perhaps you have not sufficiently appreciated that, Monsieur Seymour. There are soldiers everywhere in Morocco. It is not like that in England, no?’
‘No,’ said Seymour.
There were soldiers in London, of course, and occasionally you saw them being thrown out of the public houses at closing time. But you didn’t actually see them much otherwise.
‘And perhaps not in France,’ said Renaud. ‘But here, in Morocco, it is different. There are soldiers everywhere. There have to be. This is not like France or England. It is a wild country, a frontier country. So there are soldiers everywhere. It is like one big garrison town. Lots of soldiers, but no women.
‘No women, Monsieur Seymour! Can you appreciate that? I can, I was a young man myself once. So when a beautiful butterfly spreads its wings-’
‘But, Monsieur Renaud, aren’t you supporting everything I said?’
‘No! No. For Juliette is not like that. She spreads her wings, but that is all. Giving her favours? No. If only,’ he said sadly.
Behind him, as he walked back to the hotel, Mustapha and Idris were chatting.
‘You’ll see about the truck, then?’
‘I will. When will we need it for?’
There was a pause.
‘In about a week’s time? I reckon it will all be over by then. Our friend here is increasingly looking like a dog that’s found its bone. Give it ten days to be on the safe side.’
‘Better not make it too long, Mustapha. I’m skint.’
‘Me, too. The old woman keeps saying, “When are you getting back to work, Mustapha?” “When this job’s done,” I say. “This is a question of honour.” “Honour doesn’t buy the bread,” she says. “And the children are beginning to complain.” “They’ve got to learn,” I say. “They’ve got to learn that honour comes first. You tell them that.” “I do, Mustapha, I do,” she says. “And that one day you’ll be proud of them.” ’
‘Quite right!’ said Idris approvingly. ‘Tell the little buggers!’
‘ “But,” she says-’
‘With women there’s always a “but”,’ growled Idris.
‘ “But,” she says, “there’s another one on the way. And this is not a time to go short.” ’
‘I hope it’s a boy,’ said Idris.
‘Oh, bound to be,’ Mustapha assured him. ‘I will say this for Fatima, she’s on a good run. Two boys already, and now probably a third. If she goes on like this, I could have a gang of my own. And then we’d be all right, wouldn’t we, Idris? We’d have a bit of muscle.’
‘We’d sort out bloody Ali Khadr,’ said Idris.
‘We would. And there’s another thing — you don’t mind if I say this, Idris? Isn’t it about time you settled down yourself? I mean, it’s all very well going to Mother Mina’s, but doesn’t there come a time when you’re wasting your seed?’
‘I have thought of that,’ acknowledged Idris. ‘The fact is, I’ve been waiting.’