The Playground of Satan Part 10

"About Joe, up in there."

"That narrow-eyed Muscovite told you. I suppose he scrupled not to break word to a priest."

The only thing left was to try and comfort these poor brothers. Whilst in the chapel, he had nursed hopes of saving Roman from the agony of seeing Joseph die. Now, all was lost; his brain was in a whirl and he felt, for the hundredth time since August, that old age is a terrible thing when you want to help the young and strong.

Roman went into the turret chamber first. He did not rush to his brother and weep; what he said was:

"You're writing to Her."

Joseph looked up at the familiar voice.

"Roman!" was all he said; but his haggard face flushed from ear to ear.

"Yes." He touched his Cossack's clothes. "I am on the other side."

And it seemed to the priest that this impulsive and turbulent young man had put Poland's greatest sorrow into those few simple words--brother fighting against brother, flesh against flesh, not of free will, but because a wicked old cynic called Frederick and an ambitious German wanton who usurped the Russian throne divided Poland between them more than a century ago.

"On the other side," repeated Joseph bitterly. He, too, was suffering.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, showing them a square of dirty white doth sewn on to the front of his tunic.

"No."

"The Prussian way of branding Polish conscripts. Easier to shoot us if we try to desert."

"Such is the way of Prussians," said Father Constantine. They stood there looking at one another as though they were three strangers at a loss for something to say. Father Constantine put the Sacred Vessels on the floor and waited. Joseph, he reflected, had all night in which to make his peace with G.o.d, Who understands these tribulations, and why they are laid upon us. As for himself, he felt very old and of small account by the side of these stalwart boys, each worth ten of a worn-out priest too infirm to fight, and fit only to watch the young and the stalwart die before their time. Joseph spoke first; his thoughts still ran upon Vanda.

"You'll be able to marry her now," he remarked hoa.r.s.ely. "Make her happy."

"I'll do my best," said Roman.

At the time Father Constantine knew not what he meant, for years dull the mind as well as the eye. He looked so peaceful despite the overhanging sorrow, that he began to wonder if the boy thought the prize of winning Vanda was worth all this.

Joseph took up his sheet of paper and tried to dry the ink at the candle flame. The priest noticed there was a fresh wound on his wrist.

"Let me see your hand," he said.

"It doesn't matter--now." He smiled nervously. Then: "Do _they_ know I'm here?"

"No," answered Roman. "They must never know."

"Never." Another pause: the candle scorched his raw wound, and he muttered something.

"How did you know?" he asked Roman.

"Never mind how." He went near his brother, much reproach in his voice.

"Oh, why did you do it, Joe? What in the world induced you to put on this?" He tugged angrily at the Prussian uniform.

"Because there, in Germany, we were a herd ... and I little thought what this war was going to be." Then he turned to the priest, lowering his voice. "And I know, too, in the bottom of my heart, that I went with the herd because it seemed better to die fighting than to be shot for not going on. Oh, the misery of it all!"

"My child, G.o.d is merciful."

"I have explained what I could, as clearly as I can, here," he went on, more quietly. "To Vanda."

"But explain it now, to me," his brother insisted.

Joseph sighed. "It is too long and too late. See that she gets this without knowing I have been here." He swallowed a lump in his throat and went on: "I did what I thought best." He looked round the little room, and his voice broke. "To spend my last night here, a prisoner, in Ian's house, so near her and yet so..." His voice refused to come.

Roman was pacing the floor in that impatient way he had. Suddenly he stopped, and said with decision:

"There's not a moment to lose!"

"I have the night before me," remarked Joseph, looking first at the Sacred Vessels, then at the priest "We must wait till midnight, in any case."

"I don't mean that," said Roman. "You must escape." He had lowered his voice: they talked in whispers now. Joseph's eyes were alight with sudden hope.

"Yes, but how?" asked Father Constantine.

"We change clothes," answered Roman, and he began to undress. "You and the Father leave the room together, Joe dressed in my things. In the dark the men won't know it isn't me. Go down to the chapel together."

He handed his high Russian boots to Joseph, who was taking off his own, somewhat reluctantly.

"Well, but how about you?" he objected.

"Never mind me. Father Constantine will hide you in the chapel."

"I know of a place where n.o.body will think to look for him," said the priest.

"But what are you going to do?" asked Joseph, still at his first boot.

"Wait till the men outside have fallen asleep. Then I take off that Prussian uniform you've got on and sneak past them. I know every corner of this place, which they don't."

Joseph was not satisfied. "You'll be locked in," he objected. Roman pulled out some nippers.

"I've got these. The lock is old. So hurry up, or we'll have the men in, wondering why Father Constantine is still here. I wouldn't plan this if it wasn't safe."

Joseph obeyed.

"How long am I to keep him in the chapel?" asked the priest.

"Till the rest of the Russians leave. We're off at dawn to-morrow. Ian can keep him quiet in one of the cellars for a day or two till the spy affair blows over, then you must go and fight for us. Promise?"

"I promise," answered Joseph. Roman did not seem satisfied.

"Swear it," he insisted, holding up his fingers.

Joseph swore; then they embraced, in the Polish way.

"That's right," said Roman, smiling and happy again. "I thought we'd find some way out of this muddle." He glanced at Father Constantine.

It took some time to persuade Joseph that Roman would get out all right.