Cast the First Stone: A stunning wartime story

by Angela Arney

  ‘I can’t breathe. Be careful,’ she thought she had shouted, but only a faint whisper came from her cracked lips.

  ‘Better be careful, sir. We’ll have the whole bloody lot down on top of us.’

  But at last the night air flowed in through the hole like a river of clear sweet wine, and Liana gulped in grateful breaths. Captain Nicholas Hamilton-Howard and his NCO Charlie Parsons, had taken half an hour to excavate the narrow opening. Now they had to drag the girl out.

  ‘Anyone else in there with you?’ Nicholas called out in Italian.

  ‘No-one alive. There’s a dead woman and a . . .’

  ‘We’re only interested in the living.’

  ‘We’ll still have to be careful, sir.’ Charlie pointed upwards. By some quirk of fate, a chimney breast, complete with tall terracotta pot had remained intact. It was balanced precariously above them, swaying ominously every now and then.

  ‘The sword of Damocles,’ muttered Nicholas. ‘Pray God the hair is strong.’

  ‘The hair, sir?’

  ‘Never mind. Just pray!’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ What the hell was his captain talking about? Being a practical man Charlie didn’t waste time praying. Instead he lay down and inched his way into the hole until he had Liana firmly in his grip.

  ‘I’ve got her, sir,’ he called back. ‘You can pull us out now.’

  Captain Nicholas Hamilton-Howard did pray, more from habit than anything else, but a prayer none the less. ‘Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy name.’

  The familiar words were comforting, helping to assuage the guilt that Charlie, his subordinate, was taking a greater risk than he. But as Charlie had pointed out, he was much smaller than Nicholas, and only he could get into the hole. This was the sixth body they’d clawed out from the ruins that night. He prayed harder. Let her still be alive, and stay alive. All the rest had been dead or dying.

  Charlie emerged, a dark profile against the light of the fires now erupting in the ruins all around them. Tightly clasped in his arms was a tall, slender girl.

  ‘Is she . . .?’

  ‘She’s alive, but exhausted.’

  Nicholas felt irrationally elated. ‘Thank God. At least we’ve retrieved something living from this hell.’

  The grimy trio slithered and stumbled down the ruins of the once tall tenement building to reach the relative safety of the road. More and more fires began to blaze in the ruined buildings surrounding them, illuminating a vista of wanton destruction, and Nicholas realized that the devastation was far worse than he’d first thought. He knew it was illogical, but he felt vaguely responsible. He was part of the occupying forces now, the Allied liberators. It was October, and they’d been in Italy for more than a month. Surely they could have done something to prevent this German raid?

  Charlie looked at the apocalyptic scene. ‘This won’t be the last one,’ he said on a note of pessimism, accurately reading his captain’s thoughts. ‘We haven’t got the bloody aircraft to see them off.’

  But Nicholas was not listening. He was supporting Liana in his arms as she gradually regained full consciousness, gulping deep draughts of the night air into her oxygen-starved lungs. How lovely she is, he thought in amazement. He looked past the grime and torn clothes, and could see a young woman of incredible grace and beauty.

  As soon as she was fully conscious, Charlie fished the ever-present hip flask of brandy from his pocket. Some men lit a cigarette under stress. Charlie always took a swig from his flask. For some illogical reason the habit always irritated Nicholas, but tonight he was grateful that Charlie had it with him, and so was Liana. Silently she took the proffered flask, and, tipping back her head, drank from it.

  The two men watched her in silence. She sat before them, surrounded by scenes that might have been from some biblical drama, a thin, strangely calm figure, quite aloof from the turmoil spilling around them. Jet black hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders; a torn dress revealed a neck as long and graceful as any queen’s in an Egyptian wall painting; high cheekbones and huge, almond-shaped dark eyes completed the exquisiteness of her features. She turned suddenly and looked her rescuers straight in the eyes. Her bearing was confidently erect now that she had recovered consciousness, and her full mouth curved in a grateful, yet imperious smile.

  How is it, wondered Charlie, that she can manage to appear virtuous and innocent, and yet convey sensuous sexuality at the same time? In his book, girls were either one or the other, not both. For his part, Nicholas was beyond consciously analysing the aura she exuded. He was only aware of one thing as he gazed at her. He wanted her. It faintly shocked him that he could even think of sex at such a time, but this girl touched a raw, erotic chord within him in a way he didn’t understand. Compassion mixed with lust, a strange combination.

  ‘I imagine she has that effect on a lot of men,’ Charlie observed drily.

  ‘Hell!’

  Embarrassed, Nicholas tried to push his very obvious erection down behind the rough serge of his trousers. Thank God the girl hadn’t noticed. She had turned away from them and was staring up at the steep hills that overlooked Naples. There were fires on the hillsides, too. In their hurry to get back to the safety of the north, the bombers had discharged their loads at random. The fires were where villages had been hit by stray bombs.

  ‘What shall we do with her now?’ asked Charlie. ‘We can’t stay here, and we can’t take her with us. I wonder where her family is? Being Italian, she must have a hundred or so relations somewhere.’

  ‘What is your name?’ Nicholas asked the question softly. He could see her tensing by the second, and assumed it was delayed shock setting in.

  ‘Eleanora,’ she whispered. ‘Eleanora.’ The flask was clutched against her breast so tightly that her knuckles shone gleaming white through the skin.

  ‘Well, Eleanora,’ began Nicholas, ‘if you feel well enough to tell . . .’

  But she was not listening. Raising the flask hurriedly to her lips, she took a second gulp of the brandy before thrusting the flask in the direction of Charlie. Her dark eyes stared straight through and past them, fixed on the black shadowy hills now blossoming with glittering beacons of fire. Then, before either of them could stop her, she struggled to her feet. For one brief second her slender form swayed, and Nicholas, thinking she was on the point of fainting, put out his arms to catch her. But, steadying herself, she regained her balance.

  Liana was unaware now of her rescuers, unaware even that she had whispered Eleanora’s name. She was conscious of only one thing. She had to get back to the castello and Eleanora. She could see that the village of San Angelo was on fire, and knew that the castello might have been hit as well. When she first stood, weakness and nausea almost caused her to fall, but, dredging up the hidden reserves of strength which had always driven her on in the past, she willed her legs to run and forced the necessary strength into her body. There was no alternative. Liana knew she had to get there and help Eleanora.

  Charlie and Nicholas watched, mouths gaping open in astonishment, as the girl they had thought half dead suddenly began to run. Fleet of foot, she nimbly dodged past the fires and scattered debris. In a few minutes she had disappeared completely, vanishing without trace into the darkness of the night. Not once did she stop and look back.

  ‘Well, I’ll be buggered,’ said Charlie.

  *

  It’s not really any farther than usual, it just seems it. Liana tried to reassure herself, but the fleetness of foot she had summoned up in the beginning had gone now. Tiredness caused her to stumble, catching her feet in every rut and pothole of the unmade track. Only a little way farther, she told herself. Soon I shall see the village and the castello and know for certain.

  Already, though, she felt sick with fear. The distinctive sweet perfume of burning olive oil permeated the air around her. That meant the precious communal store in the village was on fire. Rounding the last twist of the path where it divided, one track going to the village, th
e other up to the castello, she stopped and looked up. Her worst fears were realized. The castello was on fire, as well as half the village.

  ‘Eleanora,’ she screamed, ‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’

  The ancient building flickered and glowed with a ghastly beauty, its walls clothed in flickering red and gold. In later years Liana would remember that sight, for it imprinted itself indelibly on her mind. But at that moment, her only concern was to find enough strength to get there. Relentlessly urging her numbed limbs forward, she ran up through the huge Roman portals of the gateway and staggered into the courtyard.

  Eleanora was leaning over the edge of the well in the centre of the courtyard, struggling to haul up a bucket of water. She was covered in soot and coughing badly, but at least she was alive. From force of habit Liana crossed herself, then felt angry. Why thank God? If there were a God, why did he let the bombs drop in the first place? Why did he ever let there be a war?

  ‘Liana!’ Eleanor’s pale face lit up at the sight of her. ‘I thought, I thought that maybe you had been . . .’ She began to laugh and cry at the same time, wiping away the tears with the back of her grimy hand, streaking white lines across her sooty cheeks until she looked like a clown.

  ‘Killed?’ Liana laughed. ‘What, me? Don’t be silly, I’m indestructible. Besides, only the good die young, you know that.’

  ‘And you’re not good?’

  Liana spun round to face the man who’d spoken. ‘Who are you?’ Hostility made her voice sharp. ‘What are you doing here?’

  This was their place, hers and Eleanora’s. They did not need or want anyone else to intrude. Her eyes registered everything about him at one glance. He was tall, taller than most Italians, good-looking, with a mop of curly hair, and dressed in what looked like a very ragged uniform. But he had no shoes, she noticed. His feet were bound in dirty rags, padded so that he could walk.

  ‘I’m helping put out the fire,’ he said mildly, leaning across and taking the bucket from the edge of the well. ‘Any objections?’

  ‘Raul came up from the village to help,’ explained Eleanora as soon as he’d disappeared. ‘The fire is nearly out now, thanks to him. One incendiary fell in the old servants’ quarters.’ She followed Liana’s gaze to the squat, rectangular tower, the walls of which were still lit with brilliant hues of red and gold. ‘That’s the reflection from the village fire. The olive oil is burning.’

  ‘I know, I can smell it.’ A frown creased Liana’s forehead. She was suspicious of this man Raul. ‘Are you sure he’s from the village? I thought there were only a few old men there. All the young men were taken for soldiers long ago.’

  ‘We don’t know much about the village now,’ Eleanora pointed out reasonably. She didn’t share Liana’s suspicions. To her Raul had appeared like a guardian angel. She started to cough. ‘We never go there, and Raul says quite a lot of soldiers are returning to the south now.’

  ‘Oh, does he.’ Liana was not convinced. She was sure that he had never set foot in the village before.

  Raul reappeared and they quickly stopped talking about him. He put a bucket in Liana’s hand. ‘Hurry up. If we work together we should be able to douse the fire completely within half an hour. I think your friend Eleanora should rest.’

  They both looked at Eleanora. She was leaning against the parapet of the well for support, and coughing now as if her lungs would burst.

  ‘Oh God, yes, she must.’ Liana hurried over to her. ‘Come and lie down,’ she said tenderly. ‘I’ll join you in a minute,’ she called back to Raul over her shoulder as she led the exhausted girl away.

  ‘By the way,’ he called back, ‘I’m not from the village. I’m from Rome, and I’m a deserter from the Italian army. You don’t mind, do you?’ Raul had seen the open suspicion in her eyes and knew he had to set Liana’s mind at rest.

  ‘Just put the fire out!’

  Raul grinned. She didn’t mind so much that she was going to refuse his offer of help. He shouldered the bucket and swung his tall figure across the courtyard towards the area of the fire. So that was Eleanora’s friend, the one who had a cleaning job down in Naples that paid so well with US army rations! His gut reaction towards Liana had been the same as that of the Englishman earlier in the evening. He wanted her in his bed. He’d get her, too. He always got the women he wanted. Liana would be no exception.

  ‘A cleaner indeed!’ He laughed out loud at the mere thought.

  With a face and body like hers, he knew how she got food. There were only two ways Italians could get army rations, an illegal racket or prostitution. He’d put his money, if he had any, on prostitution. But instinct told him to be careful, not to rush her, not to be too friendly. He had told her the truth about himself, or at least some of it, but he sensed she would still resent his presence at the castello. That was something he had to overcome, because he had every intention of staying – for as long as it suited him. It was a good place to hide out until things settled down.

  He felt lucky. He was always lucky. He’d fallen on his feet yet again, in spite of all the odds against him. He had picked out the castello standing alone on the hillside because it looked abandoned. The bomb was a bonus, falling at just the right time for his purposes. Eleanora had accepted his presence without question when he appeared, only too grateful for his help.

  He paused thoughtfully. He’d have to win over Liana quickly. She was a different problem altogether. Not only was she prickly and hostile to his presence, there was something else about her. He sensed a disconcerting steeliness behind her beautiful face, a purposeful resolve that he was sure hid a secret. He smiled slowly. He had a pretty good idea just what that secret was. It hadn’t taken long for him to gauge that Eleanora was an innocent, unworldly and devoutly Catholic girl, and he guessed that Liana wouldn’t want her to know about her own activities in Naples. Eleanora would be shocked and horrified. He wasn’t shocked or horrified, but he was sure. Liana was selling the only thing she possessed, her body.

  The bucket full, he started off again towards the fire. It was unimportant; he intended to stay anyway, and his curiosity would be satisfied in good time. Liana would tell him. She would tell him everything, and come to his bed with open arms. He had supreme self-confidence where women were concerned. He had never met one yet who could resist his charms. So why should the beautiful Liana be any different?

  Chapter Three

  December 1943—March 1944

  Raul hammered in the last nail, then, standing back, looked at his work with satisfaction. Considering he’d used rusty nails, recovered from some of the bombed village houses, and odd pieces of wood retrieved from the same source, he thought the shutters looked remarkably good.

  Pulling them together he fastened them shut with the latch. ‘Can you feel any draught?’ he called through the closed shutters.

  ‘No, the kitchen feels twice as warm already.’

  ‘Twice as warm as what?’

  Inside the big kitchen of the castello Eleanora laughed at his teasing. ‘You know what I mean.’ Throwing another piece of firewood in the stufa, she carefully closed the cast-iron doors of the ancient stove.

  She was enjoying having Raul Carducci live with them. He made himself useful in so many ways, mending things, collecting wood so that now they were always warm. Why, she could even be extravagant when she felt like it, like now, whereas before, when she and Liana had painstakingly collected firewood, each piece had had to be strictly rationed. And today he had made shutters so that they would keep even warmer. In return she had given him Don Luigi’s old shoes and a woollen coat, much to Liana’s disapproval.

  That was the only blot on her new-found happiness. Liana still resented Raul, in spite of everything he did for them. She had not actually said so, but the only quarrel they had ever had in their lives was when Eleanora had given Raul Don Luigi’s old clothes. Normally content to let Liana have the last word in everything, Eleanora had dug her heels in and won the day that time. She coul
dn’t understand Liana’s attitude, and Liana refused to talk about it. She noticed that when Raul was with them, Liana always seemed tense, as if she was on her guard, hiding something. But what, or why? They had nothing to hide, but still the feeling persisted, and Eleanora felt uneasy.

  Raul opened up the shutters again, allowing the last watery pink ribbons of winter sun to stream into the kitchen. He came in, stamping his feet and blowing on his cold fingers, slamming the door behind him. ‘Well, that should please Liana when she returns. If anything I can do will ever please her!’ The fact that he hadn’t yet won her over irritated him. He wasn’t used to stubborn women, and had found to his chagrin that Liana had an iron will.

  Eleanora took a bowl of broth from the pot bubbling on the top of the stufa and settled herself down on her bed. All three of them slept in the big kitchen now. The icy winds of winter howled up the mountainside with ever-increasing ferocity as each day passed, and the kitchen was the only warm room in the castello.

  ‘It will please her, Raul. I know it,’ Eleanora assured him.

  Liana had gone down into Naples again to her work, another thing that was still a source of mystery to Raul. His inquisitiveness knew no bounds, but even his ingenuity had not yet found a way to satisfy it. These days there was always enough food, and the last time Liana had returned she had even brought back a bar of soap. Eleanora had drooled over it with cries of joy and brought out a fine porcelain soap dish from the back of the cupboard, carefully placing the soap in it. It was a luxury none of them had seen for more than two years, and Eleanora watched over its use with parsimonious solicitude.

  Raul watched Eleanora. She was happy and in expansive mood. Now was a good time to talk about Liana.

  ‘Where exactly does Liana work?’ He was careful to keep his voice seemingly disinterested and casual. It wouldn’t do to let Eleanora know he had already tried to prize the information from Liana herself, without success. The solid wall she’d built between them, a mixture of secrecy and antagonism, had proved impossible to breach, even with his persuasive charm.