by Rhys Bowen
I entered the leafy coolness of the glade. It was quite pleasant among the trees, broad oaks and chestnuts still flowering. Birdsong rang out around me. A pigeon cooed in a melancholy fashion on a branch above my head. I followed the barest hint of a path through the trees, still trying to get my thoughts in order. Cosimo had become the richest man in the town after the war. Gianni might have been foolish enough to have seized upon the opportunity of my arrival and threatened to blackmail him, which was why Cosimo was so anxious for me to leave before I asked any more questions. And Renzo—Renzo was Cosimo’s son and heir. Surely he must know what had happened in the war and also what had happened to Gianni. I saw how he obeyed his father’s every wish, leaving his studies in London to rush home to his side, helping him around.
The best thing for me to do would be to take Cosimo’s offer and let Renzo drive me to the station as quickly as possible. Whatever had happened to my father, nobody was going to share that information with me. Suddenly I sensed a watchfulness in the woods, as if all the living creatures were alert. I was afraid. What if I was being followed all the time? What if someone had overheard my conversation with Francesca Martinelli and had followed me into the woods? How convenient that my body wouldn’t be found for days . . .
I pushed blindly through undergrowth. Twigs scratched my cheek and brambles caught on my skirt, but I kept going until I came out to the olive groves, breathing heavily and glad to see Paola’s farmhouse on the hillside opposite. I think I must have run all the way home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
HUGO
December 1944
Hugo spent the night in the crypt. He wasn’t at all happy about being in the presence of dead monks, a crucifix, and sundry saints, but it was good to be out of the wind. He made his bed on the other side of the carved screen knowing that he could see the Child Jesus through the holes in the carved stone. He lay down and had the best sleep he’d had since leaving his base near Rome.
He was glad of his protected spot when the next violent storm blew in sometime in the middle of the night. The wind howled down the staircase, and he heard the crash and thump as more pieces of masonry were dislodged from the walls above. Sofia did not come that night. He fed himself with the turnip (it was surprisingly good) and the remains of the Christmas feast.
With daylight he made his way up the stairs and examined the lie of the land. The intense rain had washed away more of the hillside, and the steps now clung to what was an impressive drop. He needed to warn Sofia not to attempt the climb in a strong wind. She was so light and delicate, she might be blown over. He waited for her all morning but she didn’t come. He kept a watch on the road for any signs of Allied troops moving in from the south, but the higher mountains to the north were now well and truly covered in snow and he realised that Sofia might have been right—the Allies might not risk the advance until the weather became more spring-like.
He retreated to the shelter of the crypt. Darkness was falling when he heard the sound of footsteps crossing the floor above. He stood up to greet Sofia. She came rushing down the steps and put a finger to her lips.
“Your knife or your gun,” she whispered. “Have them ready. I think I was followed.”
He went to find them, checking that the gun was loaded.
“It had better be the knife,” she whispered. “The gunshot might be heard from far away.”
He examined the knife in his hand. He had never stabbed anyone in his life and couldn’t picture doing it now. He tried to imagine grabbing a German soldier from behind, holding his head, and calmly slitting his throat. Could he do that?
Sofia must have realised what he was thinking because she said, “Give it to me. I have killed pigs on the farm. I have no fear of killing a German.”
She snatched it from him, then she went back up the stairs. Hugo felt like a coward and made his way up behind her as fast as he could. The sun had just set and the sky was streaked blood red. With the knife in her hand and the walls glowing pink, she made the most dramatic image.
She turned back to him. “Stay hidden. I may be able to bluff my way out of this. We shall see who it is.”
She positioned herself near the doorway. He heard feet coming across the forecourt, then Sofia stepped out. “Gianni!” he heard her say in a surprised voice. “What are you doing up here?”
“None of your business, Signora Bartoli. What are you doing here?”
Hugo peeked out and saw a skinny boy of about eleven or twelve. His voice was still unbroken, and he looked defiant and afraid at the same time.
“If you must know, I came to see whether the latest bomb uncovered more of the monk’s kitchen. I have been up here several times and found tins of food and preserved fruits. I thought maybe some new items might now be found.”
“I’ll help you look,” he said. “My mother would welcome a jar of preserved fruit.”
“You are very kind, but I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want you risking your life by coming up here. See how the new bomb has blown away more of the hillside. You are so light you could get swept away.”
“I’m tough,” he said. “I can handle it.”
“So what are you doing here?” she asked. “Did you come up for a dare?”
“No,” he said. “I thought I might find the boys up here.”
“The boys?”
“Yes, you know, the local partisans. I overheard someone say they were planning something big. You know, an attack on the road maybe, and I think they might be meeting up here. I want to join them.”
“You? Join the partisans? You’re only a boy. They wouldn’t want you.”
“But I could be useful. Run errands for them. Spy out places for them.”
“Gianni.” Sofia put a hand on his shoulder. “From everything I hear, these are ruthless men taking big risks. They might well kill you rather than worry that you would give them away.”
“They are our men, our neighbours, on our side.”
“I wouldn’t quite say that. Some groups of partisans are communists. They want the Germans gone, but they also want our government overthrown and a communist rule by the people.”
“But the ones I’m talking about are men from around here. We know them.”
“I think you should stay well away. No good comes from eavesdropping,” Sofia said. “But now that you are here you can help me look for more items we can use . . .” Her voice became fainter as she walked away with the boy. Hugo waited impatiently, and just as the last glimmers of daylight were fading he heard their footsteps again and Sofia saying, “Go home now before it is quite dark. I’m sorry we didn’t find any food for your mother. Tell her I will bring her some of my turnips when they are harvested.”
“Are you not coming with me?” he asked, his voice sounding young and uneasy now.
“Of course. You go down the steps carefully and I will join you at the bottom. I left my basket in the old chapel where I was saying a prayer when you arrived. It is still a house of God, you know, even though its walls have been damaged. Go carefully now.”
Sofia came rushing back into the chapel and up to Hugo. “I have to go with him. There is food in the basket. And you may be in great danger. The partisans . . .”
“I heard,” he said. “They may plan to meet here.”
“I will keep my ears open,” she said, “and try to come and warn you. But you also must be on the lookout and ready to hide if necessary. If you could get that door open, maybe you would have an escape route.”
“I’ve tried,” he said. “It won’t move.”
“Then maybe you should no longer stay down here. You would be trapped. At least you were hidden in your little spot under the altar.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “You’d better go or that child will come back looking for you.”
“Take care, Ugo.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. Then she ran out.
“Sorry, Gianni,” he heard her calling. “I could not find my basket in the darkness. It is no
thing but rubble in there now. And unstable. I shall have to come back for it in the morning.”
Darkness had fallen. Hugo got out his lighter and made his way down the stairs to light his candle. He felt horribly vulnerable, trapped. If he stayed down here he would not be able to run if he was found. He lit his candle and carried his belongings upstairs and back to his former hiding place. It was cold and damp and uninviting, but he set up his bed and then dragged over more splintered pieces of wood to conceal himself. In the daylight he’d have to do a better job, and maybe close up the crypt again. The thought of the partisans finding the painting and maybe even taking it to sell or barter made him want to go down and take it off the wall immediately. But his candle was burning low—who knew how much fluid remained in his lighter? He couldn’t chance finding himself down there in complete darkness, possibly becoming trapped. He retrieved the basket and ate the soup that Sofia had brought for him. Another bleak thought struck him. If the partisans were really going to use this as a meeting place, then Sofia could not risk coming here again. He would have to come to a decision and take action soon. He could now put some weight on his injured leg. Maybe it was time to go and trust his luck.
He settled himself in the narrow space and spent a miserable night alert for the smallest sound. At some time during the long hours of darkness, he thought he heard gunshots, or it could have been thunder. The night dragged on for an eternity, and he was relieved to see the first streaks of cold daylight. They wouldn’t come during daylight, he was sure. This site was too open and exposed. That gave him time to think and plan. He went down the steps and stood in front of the painting of the Child Jesus. Even in the semi-darkness it seemed to glow with an inner light. It still took his breath away. I must find a safe hiding place for it, he thought. He moved around the small crypt. There was space behind some of the tombs, but any thorough search would uncover the painting quickly. There was also a gap behind the altar. A possibility, he thought.
He was still down there when he heard footsteps up above. He swore under his breath, realising he had left his revolver and knife tucked with his belongings. Looking around, he could come up with nowhere to hide other than behind the carved stonework screen—hardly a secure hiding place. “Caught like a rat in a trap,” he muttered.
He heard the feet come to the top of the steps and saw a shadow blocking the daylight. A voice called softly, “Ugo? Are you down there?”
“Sofia?” He let out a huge sigh of relief and hurried to meet her. “I didn’t expect you again so soon, and in daylight. You mustn’t take such risks, please.”
“Bad news,” she said, gasping as if she had run all the way. “Terrible news, Ugo. Gianni was right that our local partisans were planning a raid. But someone must have tipped off the Germans. They were waiting for them, and all were slaughtered except for Cosimo.”
“How come he managed to get away?” Hugo, who had taken a dislike to Cosimo without ever meeting him, was instantly suspicious.
“It was a miracle. The first bullet just grazed his shoulder. He flung himself to the ground, and the body of one of his comrades fell on top of him. He said he lay there while the soldiers went around driving their bayonets into the bodies to make sure they were really dead. He didn’t dare move for hours. When daylight came he crawled out and made his way home. I’ve never seen a man look more exhausted and distraught.”
“So someone tipped off the Germans. That means you have a spy in your midst.”
“Maybe not in San Salvatore. These men come from other villages, too. Some are not even originally from around here—they are soldiers who fled from their regiments rather than be taken prisoners of war by the Germans. One of them could have been planted as a spy.”
“All too easily,” he agreed. “But at least this is good news for me, for us, isn’t it? They will not be using this as a meeting place.”
She shook her head. She was crying now. “But it is worse than you think. German trucks came into the village first thing this morning. They questioned everybody about the partisans, and they said they were going over the bodies and if they identified one of them as coming from this village then we would all be shot.”
“And Cosimo? Did they find him?”
“No. He escaped out into the fields when someone saw the trucks coming. He will have to stay hidden, I think.”
“This is terrible,” Hugo said.
She nodded. “It is more than terrible. The major in charge also asked us about an English airman. They said your plane had just been discovered and there were only two bodies in it and nobody in the pilot’s seat. They asked if anybody had seen or heard any rumour of an Englishman hiding out. Nobody had seen anything. Nobody said anything. Then this German said if it was found that any of us had helped an enemy, the whole village would suffer. You should have seen his face. He was actually looking forward to massacring all of us, I’m sure.”
She stared at him, her eyes bleak and hopeless.
“Then I must get away now,” Hugo said. “And you must come with me, Sofia.” He took her hand.
She turned away. “I can’t leave my son, or my husband’s grandmother.”
“Bring Renzo with you. You want to save your son, don’t you? The neighbours will take care of the old lady, and it won’t be for long. We’ll go south. We’ll find a way.”
“But how can you walk? Your leg still is not strong enough.”
This was all too true.
“Where is the nearest transportation? Are there no buses, trains?”
“There is a train line down in the Serchio Valley, about ten miles from here. The train goes to Lucca. I do not know if that is still in territory controlled by the Germans. And I do not even know if trains are still running. And to travel you must show documents. They would find you.”
“Then we must try to steal a German car or truck.”
“And how is that less dangerous than staying where I am and praying that nobody has seen me?” Her voice was shrill now.
“And if they decide to shoot the whole village?” His voice had risen, too, echoing back from the walls. “I want to save you, Sofia. I want to protect you. I’ll give myself up to them. I’ll say I was hiding out in the countryside and nobody aided me.”
“No.” She grasped at his arm. “No, I can’t let you do that. I won’t let you do it.”
“But I would be a prisoner of war. And I’m an officer. Officially they have to treat me properly and take me to an officer’s prison camp.”
She shook her head violently so that her shawl fell to her shoulders. “They would kill you right away. I know it. They are retreating and scared. They will not want to take prisoners along. I don’t want to lose you, Ugo.”
“I don’t want to lose you, either.” He wrapped his arms around her. She buried her head in his jacket as she had done when the bomb had fallen. They stood there together in silence. He stroked her hair gently as if she was a child.
“There must be a way,” he said angrily. She looked up at him. “Is there no one around here who has a car or truck?” he asked.
She shrugged. “All taken from us. Besides, there is no petrol. Some farmers still have a horse or donkey. I know of a farmer who has a cart to take his produce to the market in Ponte a Moriano. I have heard that he has taken black market items before now. But he charges much money and I have none, and nothing to sell.”
Hugo frowned, thinking desperately. Then he pulled his signet ring off his little finger. “Take this. It’s gold.” He put it into her hand and closed her fingers around it. “I don’t know if it will be enough, but tell him we just want to borrow the cart. We will leave it where it can be found and he can collect it.”
She nodded solemnly. “I don’t exactly know where he lives, but someone in the village will. It is too bad that Cosimo has to hide out, because he would know. He knows of black market dealings, I am sure.”
“We don’t want Cosimo to know anything,” Hugo said sharply. “We don’t want a
nyone to know. We can’t risk them going to the Germans.”
“Perhaps you are right,” she agreed. “Very well, I will try. I will do my best. But it will not be easy. I do not think the Germans will leave us alone now. And if they identify one of those men as coming from our village then it will all be over. We will be slaughtered like animals.”
“Surely they wouldn’t go through with that?” he said. “Not women and children?”
“Oh yes. They have done this in other towns. All the population slaughtered because these people have aided the enemy. I am sure they would do it.”
“Then for God’s sake go and find this man today. I will make myself ready to leave. And I will keep watch. I can see the road from here. If German vehicles are coming I’ll go down into the forest to wait for you.”
She nodded, clearly trying to come to terms with the burden of so much worry at once.
Hugo grabbed her arm. “And, Sofia, if it is not safe don’t come again. Save yourself. Save Renzo. That’s all that matters. I love you. I know I shouldn’t because you are a married woman and I am a married man, but I do. I’d do anything in the world to protect you.”
“I love you, too, Ugo,” she said in a small voice.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly on the lips. He felt desire stirring in him but broke away hastily. “Go now, while there is still time.”
Tears were running down her cheeks. “God protect you, Ugo,” she said.
“And you,” he called after her as she ran out into the night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
HUGO
December 1944
After she had gone he remained rooted in place, trying to think clearly. He was a British officer, combat trained. He should be able to come up with a good plan. He had six bullets in the chambers of his revolver. At least he could kill the first six Germans if he took them by surprise. But then they would take reprisals against the village. Sofia had to find the man with the cart and make him lend it to her. The ring was a good one. Heavy twenty-two carat gold. Worth a lot. A simple farmer would be tempted, surely.
