Cale, made even more bad-tempered than usual by the drugs and what might be happening to Vague Henri, looked Ormsby-Gore directly in the eyes, not a wise thing to do under the best of circumstances. ‘There are no agreements here,’ said Cale. ‘You do as I say or else I’ll cut your bloody head off and kick it down the mountain.’
There are people you can say this kind of thing to and people you can’t. Laconics in general, and Ormsby-Gore in particular, belonged to the category of people you can’t. The last syllable of the last word was barely out of Cale’s mouth when Ormsby-Gore, exalted among an already exalted society of homicidal freaks of nature, pulled a knife and stabbed Cale in the heart.
37
Or would have done if it had been anyone other than Thomas Cale who was made wildly hyperactive by a drug that had a fair chance of killing him at some time in the next twenty-four hours. The speed and power of the blow was Ormsby-Gore’s undoing. Missing his chest by a fraction, Cale spun his attacker round, pulled him in close and had his own knife at his throat. The onlookers might have been astonished by the speed of what had just happened but what held them in absolute silence was the barking mad expression in the boy’s eyes.
Even IdrisPukke remained silent, fearing that any movement or sound would set Cale off. From outside there was silence for the first time in hours. How long a second is when life or death is in the room. Then came an enormous SNAP! from outside, followed by a crash and the cry of a furious engineer.
‘The fucking fuckers fucking fucked!’
No one in the tent said anything and no one moved. Except Cale. Unable to contain himself at the heart-rending exasperation of the engineer he started laughing – not the mad hysterical giggle of the frenzied lunatic but the ordinary laughter of someone struck by the absurdity of what was happening. Fanshawe took his chance.
‘I’m just going to take away Ormsby-Gore’s knife,’ he said softly, holding up both of his hands. ‘You understand that, my dear fellow, don’t you?’ Ormsby-Gore stared at Fanshawe in a manner that indicated he did not understand in any way whatsoever. The trouble with people who are not afraid of death, thought Fanshawe, is that they’re not afraid of death. So he must find something else.
‘The thing is, darling’ he said, ‘if you don’t drop the knife I will, with Thomas Cale’s permission, take out my own and then I’ll cut your bloody head off and kick it down the mountain myself.’
For Ormsby-Gore this was quite a different matter: to be executed on the field of battle for disobeying an order would mean unforgivable disgrace and unending infamy for him and his family. He dropped the knife almost as quickly as he’d drawn it.
‘May I?’ asked Fanshawe, taking both Ormsby-Gore’s hands in his own to reassure Cale that he had him under control. Cale let him go and Fanshawe eased Ormsby-Gore to a steady position, moved him outside and quietly had him arrested and taken away by four of his own men. He went back into the tent.
‘Might I suggest that he be dealt with in whatever way you choose after the Sanctuary has fallen? It would be a pity to distract the troops, don’t you think?’ Fanshawe didn’t like to think how the Laconic soldiers or the Ephors at home would react to the execution of Ormsby-Gore but he cheerfully expected that Cale would be dead before it became an issue.
Cale didn’t say anything, giving barely a nod to signal his agreement, then went outside to find out what had caused the snapping sound and the engineer’s lament. A large container full of gelatinous Greek fire had been brought up to be loaded into the tunnel for the final push to the Sanctuary walls. It was volatile stuff and didn’t take to too much shaking about. Unfortunately it had fallen off a rail on the top of the embankment. They had tried to ease the container back onto the rail using an oak lever. The snap was the sound of the lever breaking. The container rolling down the hill and smashing against a pile of rocks was what occasioned the heartbroken oath from the engineer.
Hooke, now used to the difference between a battlefield and a chemical workshop, had already called up a replacement, which needed only a few minutes’ work before it was moving quickly towards the tunnel.
‘Are you well?’ said Idris Pukke, who had followed him out.
‘It won’t happen again,’ Cale replied. ‘Probably. You might want to let people know it might be best not to disagree with me for a few days.’
‘I’m not sure that will be necessary.’
It wasn’t clear Cale had heard.
‘I’ve missed something – I’ve missed something important.’
‘What do you mean?’ IdrisPukke was alarmed – like everyone else he saw the fall of the Sanctuary as inevitable however costly.
‘Why aren’t they attacking? They should be attacking now. Bosco knows something that I don’t.’
‘Then stop.’
‘No.’
‘Why?’ But it was a question to which IdrisPukke knew the answer. ‘You told Vague Henri not to go. I told him not to go myself, for what it’s worth.’
Cale looked at him. ‘If we don’t go soon they’ll take him prisoner. Do you know what they’ll do to him?’
‘I can guess.’
‘I’m sure you can. But I don’t have to because I’ve seen it. Except this will be worse. They’ll burn him. In minimus via.’
A sergeant interrupted them.
‘Sir, Mr Hooke says the tunnel is ready to load.’
‘Wait a moment, Sergeant.’ He turned back to IdrisPukke. ‘You’re an educated man – know what it means?’
‘It’s not familiar, no.’
‘It means “In the smallest way” – it means they’ll burn him on a pile of sticks not big enough to boil a can of water. I’ve never seen it myself. Bosco told me about it. He said it took twelve hours. So no, I can’t stop.’
‘You don’t know for certain that’s what he’ll do.’
‘I don’t know for certain that Bosco knows something I don’t. Nobody knows anything.’
‘If Vague Henri were here with us, you’d stop.’
‘But he isn’t.’
‘You know that if we don’t take the Sanctuary before winter then they’ll have reinforcements before we can come back. There are members of the Axis already at each other’s throats. The Swiss want your head to bounce down the street. God knows what will happen if you fail here.’
‘Who says I’ll fail?’
‘You do.’
‘I said I don’t know what’s going on.’
‘Then wait.’
‘And if I do? Suppose now is the right time. Suppose if I wait I’ve given them the chance to … I don’t know what … something I haven’t thought of. What if Bosco’s ill and this is my best chance? Nobody knows anything.’
‘You know what you’d do if Henri was here and not there.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought you were going to tell people not to argue with me?’
‘I didn’t think I was included.’
‘Well, you’re wrong.’ He called to the sergeant, ‘Give Mr Hooke the signal to load.’
With a few shouts it began.
38
‘I want a favour,’ said Cale.
Fanshawe brought up the five hundred Laconics Cale had asked for and was told they’d be sent in immediately after the first wave of the New Model Army. Not many were expected to survive.