Half a dozen men from 11 Platoon stepped forward, but the rest, including all of Peploe's platoon, remained where they were.
'What are you going to do now?' said Sykes. 'Shoot us like you did those Jerries?'
'Shut up!' said Blackstone, then said to Slater, 'Don't even think of it, Ted. We'll put them in the cellar.' He wondered for a moment whether Slater might ignore him and shoot them all anyway. Christ alive, he thought, and his stomach lurched. It was one thing killing Nazis, but to slaughter men on your own side - men you'd lived alongside for the past couple of months? That was a step too far.
'If you insist,' said Slater, pushing past him. 'Right,' he said, waving his Webley, 'those of you with weapons, drop them on the floor and get into single file.' He shoved several men forward.
The entrance to the cellar was in the kitchen across the hall from the drawing room and the men, most of whom were stupefied by the turn of events, were led there at gunpoint, then shoved through the door. Ten feet below, at the bottom of a flight of stone steps, there was a large, cold, musty cave, its vaulted bays partially stacked with wine. 'There,' said Slater, as he followed them. 'Have a drink on us.' He grabbed a couple of bottles. Then, satisfied that the men were all there, he walked backwards up the stone steps and shut the door.
'How can you do this?' protested a corporal from 11 Platoon.
'More easily than you'd think,' said Slater, and closed the door.
From the cellar, the only light the men could see came from the outline of the door. In silence, they heard a padlock click shut across it. Then there was a heavy scraping sound as furniture was moved in front of it. Finally, the lights went out, and a minute later, they dimly heard the ambulance being driven away.
Tanner heard the ambulance leaving, too, opened his eyes and wondered where the hell he was. Lying on straw with a pounding head and, he realized, someone close to him with their arms round him. He jolted into full consciousness.
'You're awake,' said a voice.
The nurse. 'Where am I?'
'In one of the stables.' She unfolded herself from him and Tanner felt a wave of cold as her warm body moved away from his. 'I'm sorry for the intimacy, but you were wet and cold. I didn't want you to get hypothermia. How's your head?'
'Sore.' He propped himself up on his elbows. 'What happened?'
'One of your men tried to rape me,' she said, her voice catching. 'I got away and jumped from a window into the pond. I saw you looking for me but you were hit from behind and pushed out.'
'Slater hit me with his pistol. Knocked me out.'
'I saw you fall and pulled you out - only just in time. One of them - the man who killed Monsieur Michaud - he came looking for us with some other men. They had torches, so I dragged you behind this barn. There was a strut sticking out that hid us. Then I saw this door and inside found all this straw.'
'You saved my life - thank you.'
'I've never been more terrified.'
'You're very brave.'
'We need fresh clothes,' she said, 'but I daren't go out. I've used up my courage quota for one night.'
Tanner stood up, stumbled, then steadied himself. 'Wait here,' he said. 'Don't move a muscle. I'll be as quick as I can but I must find out what's going on.' He crept out of the door at the back of the farmstead, then saw he was beside the long barn in which they had been resting. He paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark.
In moments, shapes emerged - the looming bulk of the house, trees and bushes, stars reflected in the pond. He made his way back down the track, round the house and into the yard. The ambulance had gone and there were no longer any lights on in the house - had Blackstone and Slater left? It seemed likely but he couldn't be certain. He ran to the yard, entered the barn and found no one there. Yet his kit and rifle were. He put on his webbing over his wet shirt, felt in his pack for his torch and switched it on, then hurried back across the yard and into the house. Immediately he heard banging and muffled shouts from the kitchen.
'Help! Get us out! Help!'
Tanner went into the kitchen, shone his torch and saw that the dresser had been moved in front of the cellar door. He moved it clear, then smashed the door with the butt of his rifle until at last it swung free. He shone his torch on the stairs. 'Stan?' he said, seeing his friend. 'What the bloody hell's been going on here?'
Despite the pain in his head, Tanner's spirits were higher than they had ever been since he'd arrived at Manston. Blackstone and Slater had gone. An enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
He ordered the fire in the kitchen to be relit, brought Lucie in from the barn and led her to a chair in front of the fire. Then he detailed Corporal Cooper to organize a burial party for the bodies of Monsieur and Madame Michaud. Everyone else was sent back to the barn. They would rest until morning, he told them, by which time he hoped Peploe might have recovered. Sergeant Greenstreet had agreed to remain with the lieutenant, who was already showing groggy signs of coming back round to consciousness.
Having overseen the burial of the farmer and his wife, Tanner staggered back into the kitchen, where he found Lucie wrapped in a rug and warming herself by the fire; her uniform hung over a chair.
'There's some brandy on the table,' she said. 'You should have a glass. It'll do you good.'
Tanner poured himself a tumbler, then sat in an armchair next to her. 'I'm sorry about what happened,' he said. 'Those two have been making life very difficult for some time. I just couldn't nail anything on them. But I'm truly sorry you should have been caught up in it.'
'It was frightening but, actually, he'd barely laid a finger on me before I hit him hard between the legs.'
'A good place to go for - it's always painful,' said Tanner.
'Yes, well, it did the trick. Far more upsetting was seeing Monsieur Michaud killed like that. I've seen some terrible things since coming to France and I've got a strong stomach, these days, but that was just so - so brutal, so cold-blooded.' She shivered.
Tanner sipped his brandy, the liquid searing the back of his throat. Christ, his head throbbed. He gazed at the flames and noticed steam coming from the thick serge of his still-wet trousers and shirt, then saw that Lucie was staring at him. He met her gaze and smiled. She was undeniably pretty - slight, with large deep-brown eyes. There was vulnerability in them, he thought. 'Richoux,' he said. 'Jim said your name was Richoux. Doesn't sound very English.'
'It's not. My father's French. My mother's English, though, and I was sent to school in England. But I think of myself as French, really. It's home. And now it's overrun with Germans.'
'What will you do if France falls?'
'Go back to England, I suppose. I joined the QA in London,'
'And what about your parents?'
'They're still here. At least, I hope they are. We live near Cherbourg - I don't think the hysteria's reached there yet.' She sighed. 'You should take off those wet clothes and let them dry. I must look at your head - you might need a couple of stitches.'
'Maybe,' he mumbled. He took off his webbing, then undid his boots and put them before the fire.