Austria-Hungary even more. The estimates we have altogether are beyond thirty-five million. God Almighty, Joe, what man with even a shred of sanity left could ever bear to imagine that happening again?"
Joseph closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the vision.
"The Peacemaker is planning to urge a settlement that will allow Germany to rise and begin it all over again," Matthew went on. "He hasn't forgotten his dream of dominion that would force peace on us all, but at the cost of strangling our spirits until we have no individuality left, only police to keep the law."
"And does this Schenckendorff believe he'll do that?" Joseph asked. "Why now? Why did he not see that years ago, or always?"
Matthew searched his mind and answered reluctantly. "Perhaps it was a dream with some nobility in the beginning. If I had ever seen war, real war like this, I might have done almost anything to prevent it happening again."
"Sold out your countrymen, without asking them if it was what they wanted?" Joseph's voice was quiet, his face bleak. "Or if they understood the price?"
"Nobody understands," Matthew replied. "You can't imagine ... this!" He swung his arm around vaguely to indicate the battlefield beyond the clay walls of the dugout. "It's a human abattoir. I don't know if you believe in heaven anymore, but you must believe in hell!"
Joseph smiled faintly. "I believe in summer nights with the sky pale with stars, and in the poplars at sunset, and in spring the beech woods carpeted with bluebells so dense you can't put your foot down between them. I believe in clean water and a quiet bed, in laughter and gentleness. I believe that some men have the courage and the honor to face anything at all, and die without self-pity or complaint. I believe in the possibility of friendship, the love that never betrays. That's as close to heaven as I can grasp at the moment."
Matthew sighed. "Schenckendorff is coming through the lines here. He knows your name, naturally. You should hear what he has to say. I expect your German is better than mine, colloquial anyway. Mine's a little rusty. Don't get enough practice. And I might need your help with the mechanics of getting to him, and making certain I can get him out of here and back to London." He looked at Joseph gravely. "We're so close to it, it would be easy to forget that the Peacemaker might still think he has a chance to win, and take the chance to kill him—and us."
Joseph winced. "I suppose he could. Why should anyone think themselves safe here?"
Matthew started to laugh, then stopped.
"Nothing we can do except wait." Joseph finished his tea as if it were fit to drink.
Joseph had one of the better dugouts, and he made room for his brother in it. At least it was dry. But he slept badly that night, excited as always to have seen Matthew, wondering if he was sleeping or only pretending to. He was concerned for his welfare in the filth and danger he was unaccustomed to. Joseph lay in the dark of the familiar space, knowing where everything was, the rickety table, the one chair, the shelf with his books and the picture of Dante Alighieri, who had written so brilliantly about a different hell.
Joseph was the eldest of the four siblings. He was quite aware that worrying had become a habit with him, and had increased since his father's death. He was not ready for the responsibility of caring for the other three, foreseeing dangers, comforting loss, finding a reason and an answer for pain. There was no answer, but you did not tell that to people you loved, and who had learned to rely on you. He was the wrong man to have chosen the church as a calling, but there was no way out now.
What if this Schenckendorff was one more trick of the Peacemaker's? Matthew had looked so excited, so hopeful, all because some man had turned up on his doorstep in London and said he was a Swiss priest! Anyone could say that. Heaven help him, Joseph had said exactly that himself when he had been behind the German lines
Joseph closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the vision.
"The Peacemaker is planning to urge a settlement that will allow Germany to rise and begin it all over again," Matthew went on. "He hasn't forgotten his dream of dominion that would force peace on us all, but at the cost of strangling our spirits until we have no individuality left, only police to keep the law."
"And does this Schenckendorff believe he'll do that?" Joseph asked. "Why now? Why did he not see that years ago, or always?"
Matthew searched his mind and answered reluctantly. "Perhaps it was a dream with some nobility in the beginning. If I had ever seen war, real war like this, I might have done almost anything to prevent it happening again."
"Sold out your countrymen, without asking them if it was what they wanted?" Joseph's voice was quiet, his face bleak. "Or if they understood the price?"
"Nobody understands," Matthew replied. "You can't imagine ... this!" He swung his arm around vaguely to indicate the battlefield beyond the clay walls of the dugout. "It's a human abattoir. I don't know if you believe in heaven anymore, but you must believe in hell!"
Joseph smiled faintly. "I believe in summer nights with the sky pale with stars, and in the poplars at sunset, and in spring the beech woods carpeted with bluebells so dense you can't put your foot down between them. I believe in clean water and a quiet bed, in laughter and gentleness. I believe that some men have the courage and the honor to face anything at all, and die without self-pity or complaint. I believe in the possibility of friendship, the love that never betrays. That's as close to heaven as I can grasp at the moment."
Matthew sighed. "Schenckendorff is coming through the lines here. He knows your name, naturally. You should hear what he has to say. I expect your German is better than mine, colloquial anyway. Mine's a little rusty. Don't get enough practice. And I might need your help with the mechanics of getting to him, and making certain I can get him out of here and back to London." He looked at Joseph gravely. "We're so close to it, it would be easy to forget that the Peacemaker might still think he has a chance to win, and take the chance to kill him—and us."
Joseph winced. "I suppose he could. Why should anyone think themselves safe here?"
Matthew started to laugh, then stopped.
"Nothing we can do except wait." Joseph finished his tea as if it were fit to drink.
Joseph had one of the better dugouts, and he made room for his brother in it. At least it was dry. But he slept badly that night, excited as always to have seen Matthew, wondering if he was sleeping or only pretending to. He was concerned for his welfare in the filth and danger he was unaccustomed to. Joseph lay in the dark of the familiar space, knowing where everything was, the rickety table, the one chair, the shelf with his books and the picture of Dante Alighieri, who had written so brilliantly about a different hell.
Joseph was the eldest of the four siblings. He was quite aware that worrying had become a habit with him, and had increased since his father's death. He was not ready for the responsibility of caring for the other three, foreseeing dangers, comforting loss, finding a reason and an answer for pain. There was no answer, but you did not tell that to people you loved, and who had learned to rely on you. He was the wrong man to have chosen the church as a calling, but there was no way out now.
What if this Schenckendorff was one more trick of the Peacemaker's? Matthew had looked so excited, so hopeful, all because some man had turned up on his doorstep in London and said he was a Swiss priest! Anyone could say that. Heaven help him, Joseph had said exactly that himself when he had been behind the German lines
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