by Wilbur Smith
As they scraped over the far wall, Michael banked slightly to lift his port wing over one of the oaks, and then they were climbing away. He felt how rigid Centaine was in his lap, and he thought she was really afraid. He was disappointed.
We are safe now, he shouted over the engine beat, and she turned her head, and he saw in her eyes not fear but ecstasy.
It's beautiful, she said, and kissed him. To know that she shared his passion for flight delighted him.
We will go over the chateau, he told her, and banked away steeply, dropping down again.
For Centaine it was the second most marvelous experience of her whole life better than riding or music, almost as good as Michael's loving. She was a bird, an eagle, she wanted to shout her joy aloud, she wanted to hold the moment for ever. She wanted to always be on high with the wild wind howling around her and the strong arm of the man she loved holding her protectively.
Below her lay a new world, familiar places that she had known since her earliest childhood, now viewed from a different and enchanting dimension. This is the way the angels must, see the world! she cried, and he smiled at the fancy. The chateau loomed ahead of them, and she had not realized how big it was, or how pink and pretty was the roof of baked tiles. And there was Nuage in the field behind the stables, galloping ahead of them, racing the roaring yellow aircraft, and she laughed and shouted in the wind, Run, my darling! and then they passed over him, and she saw. Anna in the gardens, straightening up from her plants as she heard the engine, shading her eyes, peering up at them. She was so close that Centaine could see the frown on her red face, and she leaned far out from the cockpit. Her yellow scarf flowed behind her in the slipstream as she waved, and she saw the look of crumpled disbelief on Anna's face as they flashed by.
Centaine laughed in the wind and called to Michael, Go higher. Go up higher. He obeyed and she was never still for a moment, twisting and hopping about in his lap, leaning out of the cockpit first on one side, then on the other.
Look! Look! there is the convent, if only the nuns could see me now. There, that is the canal, and there is the cathedral at Arras, oh, and there- Her excitement and enthusiasm were infectious, and Michael laughed with her, and when she turned her head back to him, he kissed her, but she broke away.
oh, I don't want to miss a second! Michael picked out the main airforce base at Bertangles; the runways formed a cross of mown green turf through the dark forest, with the cluster of hangars and buildings nestling in the arms of the cross.
Listen to me, he shouted in her ear. You must keep your head down while we land. She nodded. When I give you the word, jump down and run into the trees. You will find a stone wall on your right. Follow it for three hundred metres until you reach the road. Wait there. Michael joined the Bertangles circuit in textbook fashion, taking advantage of his sedate down-wind leg to scrutinize the base for any activity which might indicate the presence of high-ranking officers or other potential troublemakers. There were half a dozen aircraft parked in front of the hangars, and he saw one or two figures working on them or wandering about amongst the buildings.
Looks as though it's clear, he muttered, and turned crosswind and then on to final approach, with Centaine scrunched down on his lap, out of sight from the ground.
ichael came in high, like a novice; he was still at fifty feet when he passed the hangars, and he touched down deep at the far end of the runway and let his rollout carry them almost to the edge of the forest before he swung broadside and braked hard.
Get out and run! he told Centaine, and boosted her out of the cockpit, Hidden from the hangars and buildings by the fuselage of the SE5a, she hoisted up her skirts, tucked her leather bag under her arm, and scampered into the trees.
Michael taxied back to the hangars and left the SE5a on the apron.
Better sign the book, sir, a sergeant mechanic told him as he jumped down.
Book? New procedure, sir, all flights have to log in and out. Damned red tape, Michael groused. Can't do a thing without a piece of paper these days. But he went off to find the duty officer.
Oh yes, Courtney, there is a driver for you. The driver was waiting behind the wheel of a black Rolls-Royce parked at the back of No. 1 hangar, but as soon as he saw Michael he sprang out and stood to attention.
Nkosana! he grinned with huge delight, his teeth gleaming in his dark moon-shaped face, and he threw Michael a sweeping salute that quivered at the peak of his cap. He was a tall young Zulu, taller even than Michael, and he wore the khaki uniform and puttees of the African Service Corps.
Sangane! Michael returned the salute, grinning as widely, then impulsively hugged him.
To see your face is like coming home again. Michael spoke easy fluent Zulu.
The two of them had grown up together, roaming the grassy yellow hills of Zululand with their dogs and hunting-sticks.
Naked they had swum together in the cool green pa ols of the Tugela river, and fished them for eels as long and thick as their arms. They had cooked their game on the same smoky fire, and lain beside it in the night, studying the stars and seriously discussing the occasions of small boys, deciding on the lives they would live and the world they would build when they were grown men.
What news from home, Sangane? Michael demanded as the Zulu opened the door of the Rolls. How is your father? Mbejane, Sangane's father, was the old servant companion and friend of Sean Courtney, a prince of the royal house of Zulu, who had followed his master to other wars, but was now too old and infirm, and was forced to send his son in his place.
They chatted animatedly, as Sangane drove the Rolls out of the base and turned on to the main road. On the back seat Michael stripped his flying gear to reveal his dress uniform, complete with wings and decorations, that he wore beneath.
Stop over there, Sangane, at the edge of the trees. Michael jumped out and called anxiously, Centaine! She stepped out from behind one of the tree trunks and Michael gaped at her. She had used the time since he had left her to good effect, and he realized now why she brought the leather bag. Michael had never seen her wearing make-up before, but she had applied it so artfully that he could not at first fathom the transformation. It was simply that all her good points seemed enhanced, her eyes more luminous, her skin more glowing and pearly.
You are beautiful, he breathed. She was no longer a child-woman, she was possessed of a new poise and confidence, and he felt awed by her. Do you think your uncle will like me? she asked. He will love you, any man would. The yellow suit was of a peculiar shade that seemed to gild her skin and throw golden reflections into her dark eyes. The brim of the billy cock hat was narrow on one side and full on the other, where it was pinned up to the crown with a spike of green and yellow feathers. Beneath the jacket she wore a blouse of fine creamy crepe-dechine, with a high lace collar, that emphasized the line of her throat and the dainty set of her small head above it. The boots had been replaced by elegant shoes.
He took both her hands and kissed them reverently, and then handed her into the back of the limousine.
Sangane, this woman will be my wife one day soon. The Zulu nodded in approval, judging her as he would a horse or a young thoroughbred heifer.
May she bear you many sons, he said.
When Michael translated, Centaine blushed and laughed.
Thank him, Michael, but tell him I would like at least one daughter. She looked about the luxurious cab of the Rolls. Do all the English generals have such motor-cars? My uncle brought it from Africa with him. Michael ran his hand over the fine soft leather seat. It was a gift from my aunt. Your uncle has style to go to war in such a chariot, she nodded, and your aunt has good taste. One day I hope I will be able to give you such a gift, Michel. I should like to kiss you, he said.
Never in public, she told him primly, but as much as you want when we are alone. Now tell me, how far is it? Five miles or so, but with this traffic on the road, God alone knows how long it will take us. They had turned into the main Arras-Arniens road, and
it was clogged with military transport, guns and ambulances and heavy supply lorries, horse-drawn wagons and carts, the verges of the road crowded with marching men, hunch-backed beneath their heavy packs, with the steel helmets giving them a mushroom-headed uniformity.
Michael caught resentful and envious glances as Sangane threaded the big glistening Rolls through the slower traffic. The men trudging in the mud looked into the interior and saw an elegant officer with a pretty girl on the soft leather seat beside him. However, most of those sullen stares turned to grins when Centaine waved to them.
Tell me about your uncle, she demanded, turning back to Michael.
Oh, he's a very ordinary chap, not much to tell actually. He was thrown out of school for beating up his headmaster, fought in the Zulu War and killed his first man before he was eighteen, made his first million pounds before he was twenty-five and lost it in a single day. Shot a few hundred elephant while he was a professional ivory hunter, killed a leopard with his bare hands. Then, during the Boer War, he captured Leroux, the Boer general, almost unaided, made another million pounds after the war, helped negotiate the charter of Union for South Africa. He was a cabinet minister in Louis Both's government, but he resigned to come to this war. Now he commands the regiment. He stands a few inches over six feet and can lift a 200-lb sack of maize in each hand. Michel, I am afraid to meet such a man, she murmured seriously. Why on earth-'I am afraid I might fall in love with him. Michael laughed delightedly. I also am afraid. Afraid he will fall in love with you!
Regimental Headquarters was temporarily located in a deserted monastery on the outskirts of Arniens. The monastery grounds were unkempt and overgrown, for they had been abandoned by the monks during the fighting of the previous autumn, and the rhododendron bushes had turned to jungle. The buildings were of red brick, mosscovered and with wistaria climbing to the grey roof. The bricks were pocked with old shell splinters.
A young second lieutenant met them at the front entrance.
You must be Michael Courtney, I am John Pearce, the general's ADC. Oh, hello. Michael shook hands. What happened to Nick van der Heever? Nick had been at school with Michael, and he had been General Courtney's aide-de-camp ever since the regiment arrived in France.
Oh, didn't you hear? John Pearce looked grave, the familiar expression so often these days when someone asked after an acquaintance. Nick bought the farm, I'm afraid. Oh God, no! Afraid so. He was up at the front with your uncle.
Sniper got him."But the lieutenant's attention was wavering. He couldn't keep his eyes off Centaine. Obligingly, Michael introduced him and then cut short the lieutenant's pantomime of admiration.
Where is my uncle?
He asked you to wait. The young lieutenant led them through to a small enclosed garden which had probably belonged to the abbot. There were climbing roses on the stone walls and a sun-dial on a sculptured plinth in the centre of the small neat lawn.
A table had been laid for three in the corner where the sun penetrated. Uncle Sean was keeping his usual style king's pattern silver and Stuart crystal, Michael noticed.
The general will be with you as soon as he can, but he asked me to warn you that it will be a very short lunch.
The spring offensive, you know-, The lieutenant made a gesture towards the decanter on the small serving table.
In the meantime, may I offer you a sherry, or something with claws? Centaine shook her head, but Michael nodded. Claws, please, he said. Although he loved his uncle as much as he did his own father, yet e always found his imminent presence after a long absence unnerving. He needed something to soothe those nerves.
The aide-de-camp poured Michael a whisky. Will you forgive me, but I do have a few things- Michael waved him away and took Centaine's arm.
Look, the buds are beginning to form on the roses and the narcissusShe leaned against him. Everything is coming to life again. Not everything, Michael contradicted softly.
For the soldier, spring is the time of death. Oh, Michel, she began, and then broke off and looked towards the glass doors behind him with an expression that made Michael turn swiftly.
A man had stepped through them, a tall man, erect and broad-shouldered. He stopped when he saw Centaine and looked at her with penetrating appraisal. His eyes were blue and his beard was thick but neatly trimmed in the same style as the king's.
Those are Michel's eyes! Centaine thought, staring back into them, but so much fiercer, she realized.
Uncle Sean! Michael cried and released her arm. He stepped forward to shake hands, and those fierce eyes swivelled to him and softened. My boy. He loves him- Centain understood. They love each other very deeply, and she studied the general's face. His skin was sun-darkened and tanned like leather, with deep creases at the corners of his mouth and around those incredible eyes. His nose was large, like Michael's, and hooked, his forehead broad and deep, and above it was a dense dark cap of hair, shot through with silver threads, that glistened in the spring sunlight.
They were talking earnestly, still gripping each other's hands, exchanging the vital assurances, and as Centaine watched them, the full extent of their resemblance came through to her.
They are the same, she realized, differing only in age and in force. More like father and son, than- The fierce blue eyes came back to her. So this is the younglady. May I present Mademoiselle de Thiry. Centaine, this is my uncle, General Sean Courtney. Michel has told me much, a great deal- Centaine stumbled over the English.
Speak Flemish! Michael cut in quickly.
Michel has told me all about you, she obeyed, and the general grinned delightedly.
You speak Afrikaans! he answered in that language.
When he smiled, his whole person changed. That savage, almost cruel streak that she had sensed seemed illusory.
It isn't Afrikaans, she denied, and they fell into an animated discussion and argument, and within the first few minutes Centaine found that she liked him, liked him for his resemblances to Michael, and for the vast differences that she detected between them.
Let's eat! Sean Courtney exclaimed, and took her arm. We have so little time- He seated her at the table.
Michael over here, and we'll let him carve the chicken. I'll take care of the wine. Sean gave them the toast. To the next time the three of us meet again, and they all drank it fervently, all too aware of what lay behind it, though here they were out of earshot of the guns.
They chatted easily, the general quickly and effortlessly smoothing over any uneasy silences, so that Centaine realized that for all his bluff exterior he was intuitively gracious, but always she was aware of the scrutiny of those eyes, the valuations and appraisals that were in progress behind them.
Very well, mon General, she thought defiantly, look all you want, but I am me and Michel is mine. And she lifted her chin and held his gaze, and answered him directly and without simperings or hesitations, until she saw him smile, and nod almost imperceptibly.
So this is the one Michael has chosen, Sean mused. I would have hoped for a girl of his own people, who spoke his own language and observed the same faith. I would have wanted to know a damned sight more about her before I gave my blessing. I would have made them take their time to consider each other and the consequences, but there is no time. Tomorrow or the next day, God knows what will happen. How can I spoil what might be their only moment of happiness ever? For a moment longer he looked at her, searching for signs of spite or meanness, for weakness or vanity, and saw only the small determined jaw, the mouth that could smile easily but just as easily harden, and the dark intelligent eyes. She's tough and she's proud, he decided, but I think she will be loyal, with strength to stay the full distance. So he smiled and nodded and saw her relax, and he saw also true affection and liking dawn in her eyes before he turned to Michael.
All right, my boy, you didn't come all this way to chew on this stringy little bird. Tell me why you came, and see if you can surprise me. Uncle Sean, I have asked Centaine to be my wife. Sean wiped his m
oustaches carefully and then laid down his napkin.
Do not spoil it for them, he warned himself. Don't put the smallest cloud on their joy.
He looked up at them and he began to smile.
You don't surprise me, you stun me! I had given up expecting you to do something sensible. He turned to Centaine. Of course, young lady, you had too much good sense to accept, didn't you? General, I hang my head when I admit that I did not.
I have accepted him. Sean looked fondly at Michael. Lucky brighter!
She is too darned good for you, but don't let her get away."Don't worry, sir.
Michael laughed with relief. He hadn't expected such instant acceptance. The old boy could still surprise him. He reached across the table to take Centaine's hand, and Centaine looked at Sean Court they with puzzlement. Thank you, General, but you know nothing about me, or my family. She remembered the catechism to which her own father had subjected Michael.
I doubt that Michael is intending to marry your family, Sean said drily. And about you, my dear. Well, I am one of the best judges of horseflesh in Africa, and that's not false modesty. I can judge a likely filly when I see one. You are calling. me a horse, General? she bridled playfully.
I'm calling you a thoroughbred, and I'll be surprised if you aren't a country girl and a horsewoman, and if you haven't got some pretty fancy bloodlines, tell me that I'm wrong, he challenged.
Her papa is a count, she rides like a centaur, and they have an estate that was mostly vineyards before the Huns shelled it. Ha! Sean looked triumphant, and Centaine made a gesture of resignation.
He knows everything, your uncle.
Not everything- Sean turned back to Michael. When do you plan to do it? I would have liked my father- Michael did not have to finish the thought, -but we have so little time. Sean, who knew truly how little time there was, nodded. Garry, your father, will understand. We want to marry before the spring offensive begins, Michael went on.
Yes. I know. Sean frowned and sighed. Some of his peers could send the young men out there with dispassion, but he was not a professional as they were. He knew he would never grow hardened to the pain and the guilt of it, sending men to die. He began to speak and stopped himself, sighed again and then went on.