GRANDPÈRE LOWERED THE IRON. ‘WHAT THE devil are you doing here, Jo?’
It was a moment or two before Jo could catch his breath. ‘They’re coming,’ he said. ‘The soldiers, they’re coming this way. They’re searching all the houses.’
‘You sure?’ said Grandpère going to the window.
‘I’m sure,’ Jo said.
‘Well,’ said Widow Horcada. ‘You told us it would happen, Henri, and it has. It’s what we planned for isn’t it?’
‘You’ll be all right will you?’ Grandpère said pulling on his coat.
‘Of course we will,’ she said. ‘Now get going and be quick about it.’ Grandpère had the back door open by now. ‘And Henri, don’t come back till we come for you. If we don’t come you’ll know the worst and you’ll know what to do.’ Grandpère made to come back into the room. ‘No goodbyes,’ said Widow Horcada and she waved him away. ‘Just go.’ And the door closed behind him. ‘Come here, Jo,’ she said and she took his hand. ‘How far away are they?’
‘They were down on the road,’ said Jo. ‘Five minutes, maybe ten, but they could be going further down the valley to Mougin’s place or maybe . ’
‘They’ll be here. Sooner or later they’ll be here,’ said the Widow. ‘We’ll plan on sooner. Now, everyone knows you go shopping for me?’ Jo nodded. ‘That’s what you’ve come for then, money for the shopping. Here.’ She stood up and took a few coins from the mantlepiece. ‘Take it,’ she said. ‘And you’ll be eating when they come. Boys are always eating aren’t they? So, fetch a plate and a knife and cut yourself some bread. We’ll keep it natural. I’ll be knitting, you’ll be eating.’
‘But what about the children?’ asked Jo.
‘Just you let me do the worrying,’ she said. ‘All you’ve got to do is eat.’ And Widow Horcada gathered her stitches and busied herself over her knitting. ‘I’ve done ten of these jumpers now,’ she said, ‘all sizes.’ But Jo wasn’t thinking of the children any more.
‘Why was Grandpère here?’ he said. Widow Horcada did not answer. ‘Does he know all about Benjamin, about Anya, about the children?’ The Widow looked up from her knitting.
‘I didn’t want to tell him,’ she said. ‘He guessed most of it and I had to tell him the rest. He’s no fool, your grandfather, not an easy man to lie to – never was. You remember that day you brought him up here? Well, he kept on at me about why I needed the money. He had to know the truth he said or else he wouldn’t help me, so I had to tell him.’
‘About me too?’ said Jo.
‘Everything,’ she said. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do, I’ve dropped my stitches again.’ She was still trying to gather them when they heard the snorting of a horse outside and the sound of hooves on the cobbles. ‘Eat, Jo, eat,’ whispered Widow Horcada and Jo stuffed a crust of bread in his mouth and chewed on it. Somehow it helped to control the fear rising in the pit of his stomach. There were voices outside now, a barked command and then the expected knock on the door. Widow Horcada waited for a few moments, put her knitting in her lap and composed herself.
‘Come in,’ she said, and the door opened.
Lieutenant Weissmann clicked his heels. He was very tall in the room, his head almost touching the beams. ‘Pardon Madame,’ he said looking around the room, ‘but we are carrying out searches.’
‘Are you indeed?’ said Widow Horcada coldly. ‘And what is it that you are searching for, may I ask?’
The Lieutenant smiled. ‘We shan’t know that, Madame,’ he said, ‘until we find it, shall we?’ He ushered a soldier past him and pointed to the staircase, then he turned his gaze on Jo. ‘And what are you doing here?’ he asked. Jo found he couldn’t speak so he didn’t try.
‘He does my shopping for me, don’t you, Jo?’
‘Ah yes,’ said Lieutenant Weissmann studying him hard; and he turned again to the Widow. ‘You live here alone?’
‘Yes,’ said Widow Horcada. ‘My husband was killed in the last war. I am quite alone.’
‘I am sorry, Madame,’ said the Lieutenant.
‘Sorry? And what is it that you are sorry for Lieutenant? That I am a widow? That I am alone? Or that you are searching my house and treating me like a common criminal? Which?’
‘Entschuldigung Madame,’ said the Lieutenant stiffly, and he called upstairs: ‘ Etwas?’
‘Nein Herr Oberleutnant,’ and the soldier’s boots were heavy on the staircase as he came back down into the kitchen.
‘And what do you keep in your barn, Madame?’ said the Lieutenant.
‘Animals,’ she said, sniffing and wrinkling her nose. ‘Farmers usually keep animals in barns, it’s what they’re for. Before I sold them I used to keep my pigs in there through the Winter.’
‘And now?’
‘Nothing, some hay for my cow, that’s all.’
‘Then you won’t mind if we take a look?’ said Lieutenant Weissmann.
‘Lieutenant,’ she said. ‘Let us not play games with each other. You will search my barn whether I want you to or not.’
‘Indeed, Madame, but I only meant . ’
Widow Horcada interrupted him. ‘I know what you meant. Do it, Lieutenant. Just do what you have to do and leave us in peace.’
‘Auf Wiedersehen Madame,’ he said and they left, shutting the door behind them.
Jo ran to the window. One of the soldiers was pushing at the barn door. He kicked it and it flew open.
‘They’re going in,’ said Jo. ‘They’ll find them.’
‘No they won’t, Jo,’ said the Widow. ‘They won’t find anything because there’s nothing in there but hay, bracken and a lot of old pigs’ muck.’
‘Then where are they?’ said Jo.
‘Come away from that window,’ said Widow Horcada smiling. ‘And you can put my money back before you forget.’ She took his hand as he passed her.
‘You’re a brave boy, Jo. It’s a funny thing you know, but when you’re old and used up like I am and there’s only the grave to look forward to, nothing seems to frighten you very much.’ They heard the barn door shut and the horse moving off. ‘We’ll wait for an hour or so just to be sure,’ she said, ‘then we’ll go and find them.’
‘Where are they?’ asked Jo again.
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ she said.
It was a long silent climb up through the trees. Widow Horcada walked ahead of him, pausing every so often for breath. There must be no talking, she had said, not one word. All the time Jo was trying to guess where the children might be. They were heading up towards the plateau. There were several shepherd’s huts up there and some of them would certainly be large enough to house the children. He could not think of anywhere else they might be. Where the mountain met the tree line the trees grew more sparsely. There was more daylight above them now. Jo looked up. A few spindly trees clung for life to the rock face above him. Widow Horcada stopped and leaned on her stick. She looked about her, listening, her finger to her lips; and then she was bending and pulling aside the undergrowth. Behind the bracken and the brambles was a curtain of sacks. She lifted it and beckoned Jo through after her. Jo ducked down and found himself in darkness. She had him by the wrist and was leading him along what seemed to be a passage and Jo was groping ahead of him like a blind man. A single light glowed dimly far ahead of him. Then there were several lights, lights that were suddenly bright and flickering as another curtain of sacks parted in front of them. Grandpère was there, holding out his hand to help him in and Benjamin was beside him. A young girl clung to Benjamin’s arm and Jo saw at once that it was Léah. He wasn’t sure she even recognised him at first, but then her eyes lit up. ‘Jo,’ she said, and she took his hand at once as if he belonged to her and led him deeper into the cave.
The cave was narrow, low and long, and dimly lit with guttering lamps hung here and there along the walls. At first glance it was not always easy to distinguish the children from their own shadows. The place smelt of oil and cheese and meadow hay. Everywhere the floor was covered with bracken, except for a great bed of hay in the darkest corner where a huddle of children were curled together in sleep.
Along a winding track in the bracken came a wooden train propelled towards him by two boys on their knees, one chuffachuffing and the other oo-ooing. Then the wagons became unhitched and there was an instantaneous quarrel. Benjamin crouched down beside them to make the peace which was achieved as soon as the train was linked together again. Jo recognised it then as his own train, the battered train of his childhood – he hadn’t set eyes on it for years. He looked back at Grandpère who smiled and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Didn’t think you’d mind,’ he said. Three girls sat side by side over the same book, the girl in the middle reading aloud to the other two, one of whom turned the page to see for herself what would happen next. The reader snatched her hand back and held on to it for a moment before taking off her glasses and breathing on to them. It was then that she looked up and saw Jo. She froze. Quite suddenly all the children had noticed him. ‘Jo,’ Léah announced. She was introducing him. ‘Jo.’ The sleeping ones on the hay were nudged into consciousness. Jo felt the stare of each of them. It was more curiosity than hostility he thought, but there was suspicion enough in those looks to make him feel uncomfortable.
‘Well Jo,’ said Benjamin. ‘What do you think of it? Three months I’ve been up here now. The children and me, we’ve made ourselves quite snug. We’ve got running water at the back of the cave. Your grandfather’s idea it was. We’ve got a lot to thank him for.’
‘I used to come up here a lot at one time,’ Grandpère said. ‘My father, your great-grandfather, Jo – God rest him – he used to do a bit of smuggling over the border – brandy mostly, everyone was at it in those days – and he kept his stuff in here. To tell you the truth I’d almost forgotten about the place until they showed me that barn full of children. If those soldiers had come looking during the Winter . well, it doesn’t bear thinking about does it?’
‘Then don’t think about it, Henri,’ said Widow Horcada lowering herself gingerly on to a wooden bench. ‘No sense in thinking about what could have happened especially when it didn’t.’
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ said Grandpère somewhat tersely. ‘I’m telling you, Alice, today was a warning. I’ve told you before we’ve got to get these children out of here, and soon. I can take them. I know these mountains like the back of my hand.’
‘And I’ve told you before,’ said Widow Horcada, ‘you’ve got no patience, never have had. We’ve got to wait till the time is right. D’you think we want to keep the children here a minute longer than we have to? Do you? Benjamin’s ankle may be better and the snow may be gone; but you tell me Henri Lalande, you tell me how we’re going to take twelve children past those German patrols. You’ve seen them, they’re everywhere, and anyway there’s two or three children still too weak to make the journey.’ Grandpère was about to argue. ‘No, Henri, they’re safer here. You said yourself no one knows this place except you. We bide our time like we all agreed.’
‘I was up in the mountains again only yesterday,’ said Benjamin, ‘looking for a way through. Two, maybe three times a week I’m up there studying the routes the patrols take, how often they come, when they come. I don’t care how well you know them, Henri, you’d never make it. On your own maybe, if you’re lucky, but not with all these children. We’ve got to wait. That’s all we can do – wait and pray.’
Someone was tugging Jo’s coat. He looked down. A small boy gripped his arm and dragged him away.
‘That’s Michael,’ Benjamin called after him. ‘He wants you to play chess. You won’t stand a chance.’
From his size Jo thought Michael must be about half his age. Michael fell on his knees in the bracken and set out the pieces on a flat rock that served as a chessboard. The squares were marked out with white chalk. He held out his clenched fists and Jo knelt down and tapped his right hand. Black. Jo was happy. He always won with black. Jo was good at chess, so good Laurent wouldn’t play him any more, nor would Grandpère. Only Monsieur Audap beat him regularly. Suddenly he was aware of shadows crowding in around him; all the other children were coming to watch. Michael never looked up at him once during the game. In between moves he sat with his arms folded, his eyes on the board, and when it was his turn he moved his piece without hesitation and without any apparent thought. After half a dozen moves Jo just wished it to be over. Every piece he lost provoked a sigh of pleasure from the audience and when a few minutes later Jo found himself checkmate, Michael looked up for the first time and smiled. Jo saw that when he smiled his ears moved and he could not help but smile back.
‘You play better than your grandfather,’ said Michael. ‘I beat him in ten moves.’
It was little enough consolation for Jo as he went back down through the trees with Grandpère later that day. Grandpère was grumbling. ‘She always argues, that woman. Trouble is she’s always right too, and that only makes it worse. It’s true enough what she says. There’s patrols out everywhere, along the river, in the woods. Once up the top you could maybe slip past on a dark night; but between here and there you’d never do it, not with the children. There’s got to be a way through, there’s got to be.’
‘Grandpère,’ said Jo. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Tell you what?’
‘You’ve been going up there all the time haven’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?’
Grandpère stopped and turned to him.
‘Because she told me not to, Jo. And she’s right. It’s safer not to know. Come to that, I could ask the same of you. You never told me, did you?’
‘Same reason,’ said Jo.
‘There you are then,’ said Grandpère and he smiled. ‘I’m proud of what you’ve done, Jo, and Maman would be too; but not a word at home, Jo, not even a look. We don’t talk about it at all. Not behind closed doors, not with a hundred bleating sheep around us. I don’t want her knowing, Jo. You know how she worries.’
They walked on for a bit. ‘That little boy, that Michael,’ said Jo. ‘He said he beat you in ten moves.’
‘So he did,’ said Grandpère, ‘but he’s hardly a little boy. Benjamin says he’s nearly fifteen – same sort of age as you. Nothing much of him is there? That’s what hunger does for you.’
The Germans found nothing in the village that day except for a couple of unusable rifles. For some weeks afterwards there was a frosty enmity between the villagers and the soldiers. Hubert blew his raspberries again and Laurent put his tongue out at them – when they weren’t looking of course. Even Armand Jollet stopped opening doors for them. But time healed the wound and everyone was soon back on speaking terms again with the soldiers. There was a greater caution now and a new understanding, that harmless though they might seem, the soldiers were still the enemy and when called upon, they would behave like it.
Jo avoided all of them now, even the Corporal. Every time he saw them he could not put it out of his mind that these men were hunters. They were hunting down Benjamin and Léah, Michael and the others. Just to look at the soldiers made him feel uncomfortable; so he distanced himself from them, he accepted no sweets and exchanged no civilities.
At home, too, Jo felt uncomfortable. He had lived for a long time now with his secret and up till now had felt no sense of guilt at keeping it from Maman. But now that his secret had become a kind of conspiracy with Grandpère he found himself acting out a charade. It was hateful for him to have to lie to her, to watch her being constantly and successfully deceived. He found it more and more difficult to look her in the eye, to talk to her even, so he spent all the hours he could out with Rouf and Hubert looking after the sheep.
He was sitting on his rock with Hubert one morning when he saw the Corporal coming along the road. He had no rifle, only binoculars round his neck. He stopped and smoothed Rouf who did not discriminate at all – he liked anyone who adored him, Germans included.
‘It’s Friday,’ the Corporal announced. ‘On Fridays I have some hours off duty and I do not forget my promise.’
‘Promise?’ said Jo.
‘The eagle, the binoculars. You don’t remember?’ Hubert was inspecting the binoculars closely. ‘You want to look, Hubert?’ said the Corporal. ‘I show you.’ And he took off the binoculars and hung them around Hubert’s neck. Hubert held them to his eyes and looked out across the valley. The Corporal tapped him on the shoulder and pointed upward. A lark hovered there noisily. A moment or two later Hubert found it in the binoculars and the Corporal focused it for him. Hubert roared with excitement. The Corporal laughed and patted him on the back.
‘Well, Jo,’ he said, ‘do you want to come with me?’
‘Take Hubert,’ said Jo and he looked away.
‘As you wish,’ said the Corporal quietly, and he turned to Hubert. ‘You come with me, Hubert?’ and pointed towards the mountains. ‘We look for eagles, yes?’ He held his arms out wide. ‘Eagles, high up.’ He made binoculars out of his hands, put them to his eyes and scanned the mountains. ‘Eagles,’ he said flapping his arms. ‘You come?’ Hubert looked at Jo and then at the sheep.
‘Go on,’ said Jo. ‘I’ll mind them.’ Rouf got up to go with them but Jo held him back; he needed the company.
He sat with his thoughts all that morning. He’d been up to the cave several times now with Grandpère and Widow Horcada, carrying oil and food, and each time he’d wondered at Benjamin’s seemingly unshakeable optimism. The more he thought about it the more he could see no good reason for it. The days passed, the months passed and still Anya did not come. If she was alive after all this time – and like Widow Horcada Jo found that increasingly difficult to believe – then where was she and why hadn’t she come? He never shared his misgivings with Benjamin, for in Benjamin’s few unguarded moments Jo sensed a fragility in his faith that might not stand the test of reason. And besides, it was easier and more comforting to go along with Benjamin’s repeated assurances. ‘She’ll be hiding up somewhere,’ he’d said. ‘Maybe in a barn, maybe in a cave just like ours. She’ll come. God willing, she’ll come. God looks after his own, Jo. He always does.’ Jo hoped hard that he did.
News of the war was better. The Germans were being driven back out of Russia and out of Africa, but liberation was still a distant dream and a dream no one dared talk of for fear that it still might not happen. Yet Jo could see no other hope for the children or for Benjamin. The patrols were just as frequent and watchful as ever; there always seemed to be some children sick and Benjamin would not hear of leaving any of them behind. ‘We all go or we none of us go,’ he said. ‘Wait and pray. Our time will come.’
Jo would have liked to have made friends with the children in the cave. They all knew who he was by now but they still treated him like a stranger and hid themselves behind their dark eyes – all except Michael who never let him leave without beating him at chess. Michael had recently become one of the sick children. He had developed an abscess on his leg and a fever with it but it didn’t stop him wiping Jo off the board every time in under twenty moves. The games were always held in complete silence, a rapt audience all around. Jo still chose black, believing and hoping that one day it would bring him luck, but it never did him any good. Widow Horcada would never let him stay very long after the game so there was not much time for talking, and when they did Michael was full of questions about Jo, about his family, about the animals on the farm, about his school. He would say little about himself, only that he could speak four languages, Polish, French, German and a little English. ‘I want to speak ten,’ he said. But he never once spoke of his family. Jo asked Widow Horcada where they all were and she would not tell him. ‘There’s some things better not to think about,’ she said and nothing more was said about it; and Grandpère was no more forthcoming. Either they didn’t know or they didn’t want to talk about it, Jo was not sure which. But the more he thought about it the more he was convinced that they did know and that they were just not telling him. He wondered why. The sun was hot on his head and Jo felt like lying down, but he’d done that once before and he would never do it again. He talked to Rouf instead.
Some hours later, as he was moving the sheep further down the valley to fresh pastures, he saw the Corporal and Hubert walking across the field towards him. Hubert broke into a leaping run, shouting through the sheep as he came. The sheep scattered in all directions, their bells jangling. From the wild gesticulations and excited gruntings it became clear very quickly that Jo had missed something special. The Corporal confirmed it. ‘It was a big one,’ he said.
‘I have never seen an eagle so big. He saw it first, didn’t you, Hubert?’ Hubert had the binoculars to his eyes and was pointing to the mountains. ‘And I did not believe him,’ the Corporal went on, ‘not at first, because I could not see it. It was not in the air you see; it was on the ground. Perhaps it had just caught something, maybe it was a rabbit; and then it took off up into the air and we followed it.’ He laughed. ‘Hubert would not take the binoculars from his eyes and he kept tripping over, but we did not lose it. We followed it higher always higher, until it landed on a shelf of rock. And there were twigs there, I saw them. I think it must be a nest Jo.’
‘Did you see any young birds?’ Jo said.
The Corporal shook his head.
‘Maybe we go back another day. Next Friday yes?’ ‘Maybe,’ said Jo, shrugging his shoulders. He was doing his best to conceal his enthusiasm.
‘Good,’ said the Corporal. ‘I shall look forward to it.’
Even after he had gone Hubert never stopped flying about like an eagle. As they drove the sheep back into the village that evening he was still at it, flapping his arms like wings, curling his hands into claws and shrieking. Jo found himself almost annoyed with Hubert for having enjoyed it so much. Eagle’s nest or not, he would not go with the Corporal next Friday, he would not.
That Sunday after Mass Jo saw Father Lasalle talking earnestly to Grandpère and Lieutenant Weissmann outside the church door. At lunch Grandpère was unusually quiet – Maman noticed it too.
‘Is there something the matter?’ she said.
Grandpère pushed away his plate and lit a cigarette. ‘That Boche Corporal, the big one,’ he said, ‘you know him? Well, he’s just about the best of them I’d say.’
‘What about him?’ said Maman.
‘He had three daughters,’ Grandpère said, ‘and now he’s got two. One of them was killed in a bombing raid on Berlin last week.’
‘Poor man,’ said Maman. ‘Poor man.’
Grandpère stood up, angry. ‘Why poor man, eh? If he’d stayed at home and looked after his family like he should have done, like they all should have done, he’d still have three daughters, wouldn’t he? And my son, your husband, wouldn’t be shut up in some camp, and those children . ’ He stopped short and coughed.
Maman looked at him sharply. ‘What children?’ she asked, but Grandpère pretended not to have heard and by the time she asked again he was almost out of the room.
‘I’m going up to the hut,’ he said and he was gone.
‘Why is Grandpère angry?’ asked Christine.
‘I don’t know, dear,’ said Maman still frowning after him. ‘I don’t know.’
The following Friday the mist was still lying in the valley when the Corporal came by as he’d promised he would. Jo half hoped that he wouldn’t come for he knew that he would not be able to refuse him now, and that’s how it turned out. The Corporal seemed a different man. All the jollity was gone, all the warmth. His eyes were red and vacant. ‘You are coming, Jo?’ he said, and he handed Jo the binoculars. Hubert wanted to come again but he was quite used to taking turns, and anyway the half bar of chocolate the Corporal offered seemed a tempting enough substitute. They left him guarding the sheep. When Jo looked back he was making Rouf lie down and beg for his chocolate.
They walked on without speaking. ‘We won’t be able to see much in the mist,’ said Jo.
‘When we get higher it will be better.’
It was several minutes before Jo found the courage to speak of it but he knew he had to. ‘About what happened to your daughter,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, everyone’s sorry.’
‘Thank you, Jo,’ said the Corporal. ‘Thank you.’ And then he started talking and once he had started he didn’t stop. ‘If there has to be a war,’ he said, ‘then it should be fought between soldiers. Before, it was always between soldiers, that I can understand. I do not like it, but I can understand it. At Verdun it was one soldier in a uniform against another soldier in another uniform. What have women and children to do with the fighting of wars, tell me that? Every day since I hear about my daughter, every day I ask myself many questions and I try to answer them. It is not so easy. What are we doing here, Wilhelm, I ask myself? Answer: I’m guarding the frontier. Question: why? Answer: to stop people escaping. Question: why do they want to escape? Answer: because they are in fear of their lives. Question: who are these people? Answer: Frenchmen who do not want to be taken to work in Germany, maybe a few prisoners-of-war escaping, and Jews. Question: who is it that threatens the lives of Jews? Answer: we do. Question: why? Answer: there is no answer. Question: and when they are captured, what happens? Answer: concentration camp. Question: and then? Answer: no answer, not because there is no answer, Jo, but because we are frightened to know the answer.’ He wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand and laughed. ‘You see what happens when you ask so many questions, Jo? When I was little I always asked too many questions and my mother would become impatient. When I asked why again and again she would say, “a blue reason, Willi, a blue reason”.’ Jo smiled at that. ‘So,’ said the Corporal, ‘we smile again. We must smile. It is good to smile. Now we look for eagles.’
As they climbed out of the trees they left the mist below them and reached a wide plain of spongy grass, dotted with grey-blue thistles and scattered rocks, with a silver stream running through it.
‘It was here,’ said the Corporal. ‘We were here when we saw it last time.’ He pointed upwards. ‘Look, can you see there? Up there, half-way up the mountain. How do you say it, a ledge, yes? It was up there, I am sure of it.’ Jo trained the binoculars on the rock face. ‘Higher, a little higher, Jo. Can you see it?’ And there it was, a wide ledge of rock, a dark recess behind it and at one end a nest of twigs, but no eagle.
‘She’s not there,’ said Jo, ‘and I can’t see a chick.’
‘She’ll come,’ said the Corporal, ‘if she comes once then she’ll come again. We must be patient. We will move higher up the mountain, that way we can see better.’
Jo followed him across the valley, leapt the stream and scrambled up the shale on hands and feet until they came to a steep slope that was always covered in blueberries in September. Jo had often been up there picking them with Papa. They squatted down in the shadow of a great rock. From there they could look back across the narrow valley and into the ledge.
The Corporal took the binoculars and trained them. ‘Better,’ he said, ‘much better. Here she will not see us, but we will see her. Now we wait, we wait and pray.’ Jo looked at him. ‘Something is wrong?’ asked the Corporal.
Jo turned away and shook his head. ‘I know someone else who often says the same thing,’ said Jo, ‘that’s all.’
‘Here,’ said the Corporal, ‘you have the binoculars. Now we must be still. We must be silent.’
They sat side by side, knees drawn up, eyes scanning the sky about them. They spotted birds by the score, vultures, ravens, larks, buzzards and a lone red kite that absorbed them for an hour or more, but no eagle. Jo was training the binoculars on a vulture high above him, drawing it into focus until it filled the circle of the glass. He could see the feathers on it, how they wrapped around the wind and kept it floating up there. Suddenly the Corporal’s arm was on his shoulder and squeezing him. Jo swung the glasses across to the ledge and caught up with the eagle just as she landed. She dropped something at her feet, Jo could not make out what it was. The eagle shook herself and surveyed the world beneath her, then she picked up her prey – it looked like a marmot Jo thought – and sidled along the ledge towards the nest. There she dropped it, stood a claw on it and began to pick at it. It was then that Jo saw something moving in the shadows under the rock behind her. A chick came lurching and hopping over the twigs towards the eagle.
‘Look,’ he whispered. ‘Look.’
‘Please?’ said the Corporal holding out his hand, and Jo handed him the binoculars. ‘Prima! Ausgezeichnet!’ murmured the Corporal. ‘Ausgezeichnet. I think there’s two of them, Jo. Yes, there’s two,’ and he handed the binoculars back to Jo. Infuriatingly it took some time for Jo to find the ledge again and focus; but then he had them, all three of them, and he was watching an eagles’ tea party of shredded marmot. They pulled at it, all of them, tearing at the same piece and hopping backwards until it snapped. Jo felt the Corporal tapping him on his arm but he was so entranced that he was reluctant to hand back the glasses. The tapping became more insistent. Jo lowered the glasses and made to hand them over but the Corporal didn’t seem to want them. He was pointing down to the valley below them. Jo looked. Three soldiers were moving slowly towards the stream. He could hear their voices now. Jo turned his binoculars on them but before he could focus they had moved out of sight behind a large boulder. One by one they emerged the other side. Jo looked up at the Corporal who shrugged his shoulders and smiled. ‘It’s all right, Jo,’ he said, ‘I’ve got my papers.’ Jo looked down at them again. Someone was moving through the trees beyond the boulder. Another soldier, Jo thought. He lifted the binoculars a fraction; it was no soldier. As Jo focused the binoculars his worst fears were realised. Benjamin was crouching now at the edge of the wood. He was looking this way and that, as if he was about to dash out across the open towards the cover of some nearby rocks, and Jo saw with a sickening heart that from where Benjamin was he could not possibly see the patrol behind the boulder. They only had to walk on a few more paces and he would come face to face with them.