She nodded. ‘Poor woman, she hasn’t really realised he’s dead yet, I guess. But she’d like a word, when you’re up and about.’
Murdoch nodded. ‘I’ll go see her. And Amy Hobbs.’
‘Poor Amy,’ Lee said. ‘I’m so sorry for them both. I’m the lucky one. To have you home, reasonably in one piece.’ She kissed him again. ‘The children can’t wait to see you.’
*
‘We buried Buccaneer, sir,’ Reynolds wrote. ‘Full military honours. If I’d had my way I’d have buried that bastard Reger beside him. Or underneath him. Hope to see you soon, sir, and compliments of the regiment.’
Murdoch put down the letter and listened to the sound of rifle and gun fire, the cries of men, the shrill neighing of horses. Sometimes he even heard them in his sleep. His men were still hearing those things in reality, while he lay here in bed.
But how many times could he expect to be shot, and not killed? Would someone else say, ‘Poor Lee, I don’t think she realises he’s dead yet.’
*
Lord Roberts came to see him. Bobs was now eighty-two years old, but as straight and spritely as ever, and, to Murdoch’s amazement, in service uniform.
‘I’m on my way to France,’ he said proudly.
‘You, sir? But...?’
‘Oh, they won’t give me a command. They won’t even let me fight. But they feel that my presence may encourage the troops. Not that they need much encouraging right this minute. You’ve heard the news?’
‘No, sir.’ He had, actually, but Roberts clearly wanted to tell him about it.
‘Well, the newspapers are calling it the Miracle of the Marne. Not a miracle really, just good generalship on one side, and bad generalship on the other. The German advance, as was bound to happen, became somewhat disorganised, and so a gap was opened between von Kluck’s army, the one your lads fought off at Mons and Le Cateau, and von Büllow’s, next to him. Joffre spotted it, and moved troops into the opening. The BEF amongst them. They say he even used Paris taxi-cabs to rush men up to the front. Anyway, the Germans found themselves in danger of being taken in the flank, and went tumbling back. All danger to Paris is over.’
‘And I missed it,’ Murdoch said.
‘The devil you did. Mons and Le Cateau may go down in the history books as British defeats, but they were superb defensive actions, which led directly to the counter-attack. Had it not been for people like you holding the Germans up twice in as many days, Joffre would never have had the time for his counter-stroke. Anyway, don’t suppose the show is over, or even half over. Not by a long shot. The Germans are digging in right across Belgium, and they look as if they mean to stay, especially since they seem to have given the Russians a terrible thrashing in Poland. I felt all along that those so-called experts who predicted a short war were going to be proved wrong. You’ll have time to return. If you want to. As a matter of fact, I have some personal news for you. Lord Kitchener has approved your promotion to lieutenant-colonel.’
Murdoch was speechless. If he had always expected to arrive at that rank, it had not been at the expense of Martin Walters’ life.
‘And, of course, you’re getting a bar to your DSO,’ Roberts went on. ‘What I have to say is this, however. In view of your record, and the number of times you have been wounded, a place on the staff is yours for the asking. John French would be very happy to have you; he’s said so.’
‘And the alternative?’
‘Why, to take command of the Royal Westerns.’
‘I think that’s what I’d like to do, sir,’ Murdoch said. Field Marshal Earl Roberts smiled, and shook his hand.
As soon as he was fit to leave hospital, Murdoch went to the prisoner of war camp where Reger was held.
‘You’ll find he’s a surly customer,’ remarked the officer in charge.
‘We’re old friends,’ Murdoch said.
Reger was shown into the little interview room, and stood to attention.
‘How’s the arm?’ Murdoch asked.
Reger moved his fingers. ‘I can use it again.’
‘Snap.’
‘I would like to apologise, Major Mackinder...’ He frowned, as he saw the crossed swords on Murdoch’s shoulder. ‘Colonel Mackinder?’
‘Happens to us all, in time, colonel.’
‘My congratulations. I would like to apologise for wounding you when your head was turned. I had already started my swing before I realised that. I expected to die from your sword-thrust. I did not intend to surrender.’
Murdoch nodded. ‘I had guessed that for myself. But now that it is over, for you, can we not shake hands and let the past be the past?’
Reger frowned again. ‘You are doing this for Paul?’
Murdoch shrugged. ‘Why, yes, perhaps I am.’
‘And for Margriet?’
‘For Paul,’ Murdoch said carefully.
‘He is a German, who will one day be a German soldier, who will then avenge me.’
‘That’s going to take a little time,’ Murdoch pointed out. ‘I’d like to think we could all be friends before that happens.’
‘It will happen,’ Roger said. ‘You think it is all over, for me? I am nothing. It has only begun, for England and Germany. And Germany will triumph in the end. Then we will see about being friends.’
Murdoch sighed and stood up, but as he did so, he thought of the immense courage and determination of those grey hordes who had advanced into the teeth of equally determined rifle and machine-gun fire without flinching. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see,’ he said.
*
Murdoch and Lee walked across the moors beyond Broad Acres. It was the most perfect September evening, with not a sound above the singing of the birds. ‘But you’re really going back,’ she said. ‘To all that mud, and death, and misery.’
‘I have to,’ he said. ‘Much as I want to stay here with you and the children. Ramage and Llewellyn, Yeald and Reynolds...they’re expecting me. Besides’—he grinned at her—‘Harry still hasn’t given me that dinner at Maxim’s.’
‘But only the regiment matters,’ she said.
His smile faded. ‘Can you understand that?’
‘Lieutenant-Colonel Murdoch Mackinder, VC, DSO and bar, commanding officer of the Royal Western Dragoon Guards,’ she said. ‘Oh, Murdoch, I am so proud of you.’
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