The Command

by Christopher Nicole

‘I could never go back to South Africa, if that is what you mean.’

  ‘No, I did not mean that.’

  She gazed at him.

  ‘I can see that you have every material comfort,’ he said, wishing that he hadn’t asked the question.

  ‘Oh, indeed. Nothing has changed since last we met. There were hard times in 1917 and 1918, but they were temporary.’

  ‘Nothing has changed?’ He asked the second leading question before he could stop himself.

  Her gaze was steady, but there was a faint glow in her cheeks. ‘Nothing. Reger still beats me, if that is what you were thinking about.’

  ‘I find that impossible to believe. Your children...’

  ‘Are happily unaware of it. And will remain so. We have a bargain, Reger and I. He gives me everything I wish, in material terms — as you have observed. In return, I give him everything he wishes, in the privacy of our bedroom. He is a sadist. But I think you knew that.’

  ‘And you do nothing about it?’

  ‘It is part of the bargain, that I never complain, and never cry out. He would like me to cry out, of course, because part of the pleasure in inflicting pain is to hear the victim beg for mercy, but we are mutually agreed that it would be bad for the children, so he sublimates by making me move as he beats me.’

  ‘What you are saying is unbelievable. And no one suspects?’

  She shrugged. ‘I think my personal maids suspect; occasionally he draws blood. And if they suspect, then all the servants do so. But the servants will keep their counsel for fear of losing their jobs. The girls...if I ever walk stiffly it is because I have a touch of rheumatism. This is well understood.’ She gazed at him. ‘You still do not believe me. I have scars. Would you like me to show them to you?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘And Paul does not know either?’

  Her face was suddenly bitter. ‘Yes. I think Paul knows. I think his father has told him.’

  ‘Good God! And he does nothing about it?’

  ‘I think his father has told him that this is the right way to treat a woman. The Prussian way.’

  ‘And there is nothing you can do about it? Or do you enjoy it?’

  ‘No, Murdoch, I do not enjoy it. The pain does not matter. I do not enjoy the humiliation. But I had to make a choice, long ago, as you well know. Return to my people, and poverty, and eternal disgrace for having borne the child of a British soldier, or marry Reger, and have wealth, and move in high society...and be his plaything. That is the lot of a wife. Is not Lee your plaything?’

  ‘I wouldn’t suggest that to her, if I were you.’

  Margriet shrugged again. ‘Because you are an English officer and a gentleman. Perhaps, Murdoch, you are missing something of life. Perhaps you should beat your wife. You might find you enjoyed it.’

  ‘I think we should rejoin the others,’ Murdoch said. They were all out of sight.

  ‘Murdoch...’ She touched him again. ‘I apologize. I envy Lee more than any other woman in the world. You ask me why I do not do something about Reger? I would, if I had a man like you to flee to. You are the only man I have ever loved, Murdoch. The only man I will ever love.’

  ‘Now I know we have to rejoin the others,’ he said, and kicked his horse into a canter.

  *

  No one seemed to have found anything remarkable in their stopping for a chat, and Margriet was her usual immaculate, gracious self at dinner.

  Now Murdoch did want to leave, but Reger said, ‘Tomorrow, as Paul is rejoining his regiment, we will go and visit my friend.’

  ‘You are taking General Mackinder to the Landberg?’ Paul asked, suddenly animated.

  ‘Why, yes, Paul.’

  ‘Then you will give the Fuehrer my regards, Father.’

  ‘Of course I will do that, boy. He will be pleased to hear from you.’

  ‘The Fuehrer will tell you of the future of Germany, General,’ Paul said, his eyes glowing.

  ‘The Fuehrer?’ Murdoch asked. ‘Doesn’t that mean, the leader?’

  ‘Indeed it does,’ Reger agreed.

  ‘What does this gentleman lead?’

  Reger gave a shout of laughter. ‘Why nothing, at the moment. But he will. You will see, tomorrow. We will be away a couple of days, my dear,’ he told Margriet.

  ‘Of course. I will entertain Lee.’

  *

  ‘What did you and Margriet talk about when you dropped back this morning?’ Lee asked when they reached their room.

  ‘Paul junior, mainly.’

  ‘And you’re not happy about it.’

  ‘Should I be?’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘I don’t think she is. But there’s not a lot she can do about it.

  Lee sighed. ‘I wish there was something we could do about it. I know, Murdoch! We’ll invite young Paul to stay with us in England. Heck, we owe them some hospitality, now. And then we can show him how the other half lives. Maybe take away some of that Prussian stiffness.’

  ‘I think that would be a splendid idea, my love,’ Murdoch said. ‘But...we aren’t going to be in England again for any length of time for at least three years.’

  ‘Oh, goldarn,’ she said. ‘There’s always something. Well, I’ll have a good serious chat with Margriet while you and the Count are away. We’ll think of something.’

  But not too much, Murdoch hoped.

  *

  ‘I gather it’s a long trip, to see your friend,’ Murdoch said as he and Reger seated themselves in the back of the Mercedes and the car drove out of the estate.

  ‘We are going down into Bavaria, yes. It is a full day’s drive. We shall not arrive at our destination until this evening, and my friend is not available in the evenings, so we shall have to put up at an hotel and see him tomorrow. This does not inconvenience you?’

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing something of your country.’ Even in your company, he thought. It was odd. He knew he should loathe Reger, and whenever he thought of what the man was doing to Margriet, he did loathe him. But then there always came that little niggling doubt as to how much of what Margriet told him was the truth — had ever been the truth. Besides, if she really hated having to live with him, she could undoubtedly secure a very lucrative divorce settlement...especially in the new non-aristocratic Germany.

  ‘Good. Tell me, what do you think of young Paul?’

  ‘He is a fine young man,’ Murdoch said carefully. ‘A very enthusiastic soldier.’

  ‘Oh, indeed. But then, so are you, are you not?’

  Murdoch was taken by surprise, both because the observation was so very true, and because it was the first time Reger had ever given the slightest hint that he might accept Murdoch’s paternity of his eldest son.

  ‘He is also a very good German,’ Reger went on. ‘He feels the defeat of his country most severely.’

  ‘As do you, I imagine, Paul,’ Murdoch said.

  ‘Well, should I not? You British have never been defeated. I mean, absolutely, your country dismembered and all but destroyed, since 1066. Do you realize that is a unique achievement?’

  ‘Not quite. It goes for Japan and the United States as well.’

  ‘Japan,’ Reger said contemptuously. ‘They are Asiatics. And the Americans, with respect to your wife, Murdoch, are still in kindergarten as regards world history. Your trouble is, you do not realize how fortunate you have been never to experience such a fate.’

  ‘Maybe not. But I can sympathize with it.’ He grinned. ‘Anyway, my family are Scottish. Now we have been defeated and dismembered, only a couple of hundred years ago. By the English.’

  ‘You think it is all a joke,’ Reger said. ‘It is not, to us.’

  ‘I do understand that, Paul,’ Murdoch said. ‘And believe me, it is not really a joke to us, either. I mean, having had to fight you and defeat you. If our terms appear harsh, they are a measure of how much we respected you as fighting men, and how we fear a resurgence of that aggressive spirit.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rege
r said. ‘You do well to fear it. Because it is still there. And it seeks revenge.’ He pointed out of the window. ‘Look at those flowers. It is possible to see the first signs of spring.’

  His abrupt change of subject signified a desire to drop politics, for which Murdoch was heartily glad; the idea of talking about Germany’s misfortunes over a whole day’s drive was daunting. Instead he could now concentrate on the country through which they were passing.

  They travelled south at a steady fifty kilometres an hour over amazingly good roads, and as they had left at eight in the morning, were in Leipzig at ten. Murdoch would dearly have liked to stop in the famous old city, which was also the site of one of the most famous conflicts in history, the Battle of the Nations, when Napoleon had suffered a decisive defeat at the hands of the Prussians, Austrians, Swedes and Russians. But they pressed on, and crossed the state border into Bavaria in time to stop for lunch in Kronach.

  They resumed their journey at three thirty, and reached Nuremberg just before six. Here Reger had booked them rooms at a very good hotel, in the centre of the town and overlooking the Pegnitz. From the banks of the river, where they strolled before dinner, they could look up at the castle, beneath which the medieval city had grown, and which remained in an excellent state of repair. Reger, when off politics, was a charming companion, a mine of information on the history of his people. But politics was never very far away from his thoughts.

  ‘Once upon a time,’ he told Murdoch, ‘Nuremberg was the very centre of European trade. People came from all over the continent to show their wares at the Nuremberg fairs, to exchange information, and to purchase goods from faraway lands. But after the discovery of America the centre of gravity shifted from central Europe. It went to London. Is that not so?’

  Murdoch sighed. ‘I suppose it is.’

  ‘So now, Nuremberg is remembered as the home of Albrecht Dürer, and a residence of Melanchthon. And for much activity during the great witchcraft trials. Still, I suppose it is good to be remembered for something.’

  *

  They left Nuremberg at nine the following morning, passed through Donauworth at eleven, and then took to country roads. Murdoch had had the impression, from their route, that they were making for Munich and the Bavarian Alps, but he realized he was wrong as they came in sight of the River Lech, which rose in the high land to the south and divided Augsburg before joining the Donau as a tributary a few kilometres east of Donauworth. The road turned along the bank of the river and they found themselves looking at a fortress perched high above them.

  ‘Our destination,’ Reger explained. ‘The Landberg.’

  ‘Your friend owns that imposing pile?’

  ‘Ah, no.’ Reger smiled. ‘The Landberg is owned by the Bavarian Government. It is a prison.’

  Murdoch turned his head in surprise. ‘Your friend works in a prison?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, he does. But not in the way you mean.’

  Murdoch was content to wait; Reger was obviously enjoying his little secret. They drove up to the castle, and Reger spoke to the uniformed men on the gate. There was no objection to their entry, apparently, as a few minutes later they were in the centre courtyard, looking up at the high walls which surrounded them, before being taken inside, up several flights of stairs and along a corridor which had small barred windows let into the various doors they passed, to be sure, but bore very little other resemblance to a prison.

  When they finally stopped before one of the doors, the gaoler knocked before turning the key.

  ‘Your friend is in prison?’ Murdoch could restrain his curiosity no longer.

  ‘Indeed. He is in this cell.’

  Standing in the doorway was a young man with dark hair and a craggily handsome face. His eyes were earnest and his whole manner tense, but he was rather incongruously dressed in alpine clothes, with braces and bare knees. The prison was heated, but even so Murdoch suspected he couldn’t be all that warm.

  ‘Herr Hess,’ Reger said, and spoke rapidly in German; Murdoch heard his name being mentioned. When Reger was finished, the man named Hess clicked his heels and offered his hand. ‘He speaks no English. Neither does the Fuehrer. But he is glad to make your acquaintance.’

  Murdoch shook hands, at the same time realizing that they were here to meet this mysterious Fuehrer. In a prison?

  He was escorted inside and found himself gazing at another man, who stood by the window. Also dark, and wearing his hair brushed half across his forehead, this man had a little black moustache — he made Murdoch think of his favourite film star, Charlie Chaplin. He also wore alpine clothes, and he and the other man had apparently been working on some kind of manuscript, because the table by the window, which had a most pleasant view out over the river and the surrounding countryside, was littered with papers.

  ‘Adolf,’ Reger said, and spoke in German. The man advanced into the centre of the room, politely. ‘Adolf Hitler,’ Reger said. ‘My friend. Major-General Sir Murdoch Mackinder.’

  Murdoch shook hands, while his brain stirred. ‘I have heard that name before.’

  ‘Of course. Last year.’

  Murdoch snapped his fingers. ‘The Munich putsch. This man attempted to overthrow the Bavarian Government.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Hitler had been waiting patiently, but he had recognized the words Munich and putsch, and now he frowned at Reger, who hastily interpreted. Hitler replied. ‘Adolf says he is sorry to appear before you in the guise of a gaolbird,’ Reger said.

  ‘He doesn’t look the least like a gaolbird to me,’ Murdoch said. ‘But...he is your leader? The leader of what?’

  ‘Of a political party which will one day rule Germany. The National Socialist Workers Party.’

  Murdoch was astounded once again. ‘You, Paul, supporting a leftist group?’

  Reger smiled. ‘It is the National that counts, in our estimation. Come, sit down.’ He spoke to Hitler, and they all seated themselves.

  Murdoch studied the imprisoned politician. Hitler was several years younger than himself, he estimated. He was well groomed and had regular if undistinguished features. And knobbly knees. Anyone less like a Bismarck or a Hindenburg, or indeed, a Paul von Reger, could not possibly be imagined.

  Now he was holding out his hand again. ‘I have been telling Adolf that you wear the Victoria Cross, and he wishes to congratulate you. He himself has twice been awarded the Iron Cross.’

  ‘Has he?’ Murdoch shook hands with more warmth.

  ‘Unlike you, he finished the war in hospital. He was badly gassed.’

  ‘Was he now. Tell him my regiment was one of the first to suffer a gas attack, back in 1915.’

  Reger translated and then turned back to Murdoch. ‘He observes that you survived. I told him you always do.’

  ‘How long will he be in prison?’

  ‘Another year, perhaps. He was sentenced to five, but it will be reduced for good behaviour. And when he comes out, then you will see a startling change overtake Germany.’

  ‘And then he’ll wind up in prison again.’

  ‘Not this time. No more putsches. It will all be legal from here on. We shall win by the votes of the people.’

  ‘And you will support them. With money?’

  ‘And time.’ But Reger could see that Murdoch was neither impressed with Hitler nor able to understand why a Prussian Junker should wish to support such an irrelevant and unsuccessful political movement. He spoke to Hitler again. For a moment Hitler demurred, but Reger pressed his point. Hitler gazed at Murdoch, then he began to speak. He spoke quietly at first, but gradually his voice gained both power and passion. Then he was on his feet, arms outflung and then folded, fists clenched and then unclenched, as his voice flowed across the room, sometimes high-pitched and angry, immediately afterwards dropping to a caress. Murdoch glanced at Hess and Reger, both quite lost in the magic of their leader’s voice, and no doubt at his words as well. Murdoch could not understand what he was saying, but he cer
tainly understood that he was listening to a charismatic speaker.

  Hitler paused, looked at Murdoch, and sat down. He made a remark to Reger. ‘The Fuehrer wishes to know if you understood anything of what he said.’

  ‘I caught a few words, like “Juden”, several times, and “England”, I think.’

  ‘He was telling you of our plans. He was saying how everyone knows that the German army was not truly defeated in the last war, but was betrayed by the treachery of the Jews and politicians at home. He was saying that he has no quarrel with England. The Germans and the English share a common racial heritage; they are both of Aryan stock. He was saying that England should be the friend of Germany, as she always has been historically, and not attempt to trample her out of existence. He was saying that England needs Germany far more than she needs France, because only a strong Germany can hold back the Russian hordes. He was saying that when Germany is strong again, she will turn against the Bolsheviks and wipe them out of existence. He was saying that in the great plains of the Ukraine and Byelorussia is where the true future of Germany lies. He was saying that when Germany stretches from the Rhine to the Don, then will the peace of Europe be assured for all time.’

  ‘Quite a programme. When is all this supposed to happen?’

  Reger smiled. ‘In the course of time. But not too much time.’

  *

  They shook hands with the Fuehrer again, and returned to Donauworth for lunch. ‘That was a most interesting meeting, Paul,’ Murdoch said.

  ‘But you think nothing will come of it. I mean of our hopes for the future?’

  ‘I don’t know enough about your party, or your organization and your strength. I am bound to say, however, that Great Britain and France would never stand by and watch such a programme being carried out.’

  ‘Not even if it means the destruction of Bolshevism? Of Lenin and all his crew? I think they will.’

  ‘I cannot see them doing so. I also must tell you, Paul, that as a serving British officer I feel it my duty to repeat this conversation to my superiors when I return to London.’

  ‘Even if you do not believe it will ever happen?’

  ‘I feel they should know that there is a current of such thought flowing through Germany, even if on a very small scale.’