We made a peculiar gang. In front, Ossietz, tall and thin, with long white hair, and Frenchy, now looking so frail a breeze might blow her away. Behind them a group of begonged generals, all horribly familiar to me from seeing their portraits on pub signs. Just behind them rolled Frenchy's father, trying to join in. Then me, with two ordinary German cops. I caught myself feeling peeved that if I made a dash for it I'd be shot down by an ordinary cop.
Then Karl turned sharply back, stared at me and said: "Who's that?"
Her father said: "He's an Englishman. She wouldn't come without him."
Karl looked furious and terrified. His face began to crumble. "Are you lovers?" he shouted at Frenchy.
"No, Karl," she whispered. He stared long and deeply into her eyes, then nodded.
"They must be separated," he said to Frenchy's father.
Frenchy said nothing. Suddenly I felt more than concern for her — panic for myself. The only reason I'd come here was because she could protect me. Now she could, but she wasn't interested any more. So instead of being shot in England, I was going to be shot right outside the Leader's front door. Still, dead was dead, be it palace or dustbin.
We entered the huge dark hall, full of figures in ancient armours and dark horrible little doors leading away to who knew where. The mosaic floor almost smelt of blood. My legs practically gave way under me, I saw Frenchy being led up the marble staircase. I felt tears come to my eyes — for her, for me, for both of us.
Then they took me along a corridor and up the back stairs. They shoved me through a door. I stood there for several minutes. Then I looked round. Well, it wasn't a rat-haunted oubliette, at any rate. In fact it was the double of my suite at the Goering Hotel. Same thick carpets, heavy antique furniture, even — I poked my head round the door — the same fourposter. Obviously they picked up their furniture at all the little chateaux and castles they happened to run across on a Saturday morning march.
In the bedroom, torches burned. I took off my clothes and got into bed. I was asleep.
The first thing I saw as I awoke was that the torches were burning down. Then I saw Frenchy, naked as a peeled wand, pulling back the embroidered covers and coming into bed. Then I felt her warmth beside me.
"Do it for me," she murmured. "Please."
"What?"
"Take me," she whispered.
"Eh?" I was somewhat shocked. People like Frenchy and me had a code. This wasn't part of it.
"Oh, please," she said, pressing her long body against me. "It's so important."
"Oh — let's have a fag."
She sank back. "Haven't got any," came her sulky voice.
I found some in my pocket and we lit up. "May as well drop the ash on the carpet," I said. "Not much point in behaving nicely so we'll be asked again." I was purposely being irrelevant. Code or no code the situation was beginning to affect me. I tried to concentrate on my imminent death. It had the opposite effect.
"I don't understand, love," I said, taking her hand.
"I had to crawl over the roof to get here," she said, rather annoyed.
"It can't just be passion," I suggested politely.
"Didn't you hear — ?"
"My God," I said. "Ossietz. Do you mean that if you're not a virgin, you can't prophesy?"
"I don't know — he seems to think so. It's my only chance. He'll make me do whatever he wants me to — but if I can't perform, if it seems the power's gone — it won't matter. They may shoot me, but it will be a quick death."
"Don't be so dramatic, love." I put my cigarette out on the bed head and took her in my arms. "I love you, Frenchy." I said. And it was quite true. I did.
That was the best night of my life. Frenchy was sweet, and actually so was I. It was a relief to drop the mask for a few hours. As dawn came through the windows she lay in our tangled bed like a piece of pale wreckage.
She smiled at me and I smiled back. I gave her a kiss. "A man who would do anything for his country," she grinned.
"How are you going to get back?" I said.
"I thought I'd go back over the roof — but now I'm not sure I'll ever walk again."
I said: "Have I hurt you?"
"Like hell. I'll bluff my way out. The guards will be tired and I doubt if they know anything. Anyway all roads lead to the same destination now."
I began to cry. That's the thing about an armadillo — underneath his flesh is more tender than a bear's. Not that I cared if I cried, or if she cried, or if the whole palace rang with sobs. The torches were guttering out.
She stood naked beside the bed. Then she put on her clothes, said goodbye. I heard her speaking authoritatively outside the door, heels clicking, and then her feet going along the corridor.
I just went on crying. Her meeting with the Leader was in two hours time. If I went on crying for two hours I wouldn't have to think about it all.
I couldn't. By the time the guard came in with my breakfast, I was dressed and dry-eyed. He looked through the open door at the bed and gave a wink. He said something in German I couldn't understand, so I knew the words weren't in the dictionary. I stared at the bed and my stomach lurched. It seemed a bit rude to feel lust for a woman who was going to die.
Then I realised my condition was getting critical, so I ate my breakfast to bring me to my senses. The four last things, that was what I ought to be thinking about. What were they?
Suddenly I thought of the woman with the baby in the park. If Frenchy couldn't help the Leader, perhaps he'd go. Perhaps they'd lead a better life.
I paced the floor, wondering what was happening now.
This was what was happening ...
Frenchy was bathed, dressed in a white linen robe with a red cloak and led down to the great hall.
The Leader was sitting on a dais in a heavy wooden chair. His arms were extended along the arms of the chair, his face held the familiar look of stern command, now a cracking façade covering decay and lunacy.
On his lips were traces of foam. Around him were his advisors, belted and booted, robed and capped or blonde and dressed in sub-valkyrie silk dresses. The court of the mad king — the atmosphere was hung with heavy incomprehensibilities. Led by her father and Karl Ossietz, Frenchy approached the dais.
"We — need — you — " the Leader grunted. His court held their places by will power. They were terrified, and with good reason. The hall had seen terrible things in the past year. There were, too, one or two faces blankly waiting for the outcome. As the old pack-leader sickens, the younger wolves start to plan.
"We — have — sought — you for — half a year," the grating, half-human voice went on. "We need your predictions. We need your — health!"
His eyes stared into hers. He leapt up with a cry. "Help! Help! Help!" His voice rang round the hall. More foam appeared at his lips. His face twisted.
"Go forward to the Leader," Karl Ossietz ordered.
Frenchy stepped forward. The court looked at her, hoping.
"Help! Help!" the mad, uncontrollable voice went on. He fell back, writhing in his throne.
"I can't help," she said in a clear voice.
Karl's whisper came, smooth and terrifying, in her ear: "Go forward!"
She went forward, compelled by the voice. Then she stopped again.
"I can't help." She turned to Ossietz. "Can I Karl? You can see?"
He stared at her in horror, then at the writhing man, making animal noises on the dais, then back at Frenchy Steiner.
"You — you — you have fallen ... " he whispered. "No. No, she cannot help!" he called. "The girl is no longer a virgin — her power has gone!"