Paving the New Road (20 page)

They set out for the place where, according to the police report Richter had given them, Peter Bothwell had drowned. Rowland was not sure why he wanted to see it. Surely there would be nothing there now. Still, they were here. If nothing else they could pay their respects.

He’d intended to go alone, but Milton, keen to sleuth, had insisted on accompanying him.

“Hello … what’s this about?” Milton muttered, as they passed through the town of Berg. Though it was still early, the streets were lively.

Rowland craned his head out of the window as Milton slowed. “It’s the SA,” he said, identifying the brown and black uniform. Members were pasting posters on shop windows and distributing pamphlets. “Give me a second.”

Swinging open his door, Rowland jogged over to the nearest poster. He was back in moments.

“What’s going on?”

“A book burning in Munich.”

“A what?”

“A book burning … like a witch burning, except with books, I suppose. The SA is inviting the masses.”

Milton shook his head. “So what books are they planning to burn?”

“The poster refers to books that are corrupting the nation.”

“Sounds racy.”

The road was now blocked by a gathering of Brownshirts, chanting against Jewish intellectualism. Rowland didn’t bother to translate.

Milton gunned the engine, sounded the horn and moved the car forward forcing the men to make way. The Stormtroopers shouted and cursed. Milton ignored them. As soon as the way was sufficiently clear, Milton accelerated.

The site of Peter Bothwell’s death was on a more secluded part of the lake, away from the road and the villages. Milton parked Richter’s Mercedes and they walked down to the water’s edge. Rowland pointed out the pine tree, described in the police report, under which Richter’s clothes were found, neatly folded.

“What do you think, Rowly?”

Rowland looked out at the lake. There was barely a ripple in its surface. The spot was protected by trees, but unless there had been a full moon that night it would have been very dark … and cold. He had noticed some Germans swimming in the Starnberger See, but they were locals. Bothwell had been Australian and it had been a month ago. “It seems an odd place and time to go bathing, Milt, even if it were a romantic tryst. I can think of things I’d much rather do with a woman.”

Milton grinned. “Would have been too dark to paint, Rowly.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“It’s a bit of a distance from the lakehouse.” Rowland glanced at his watch. It had taken them twenty minutes to drive there.
“Bothwell was on foot … It would have taken him rather more than an hour to walk. There’re plenty of places near the house … Why would he come here?”

“The boy scouts, or whatever they were, who found him.” Milton started casting his eyes about for a walking track. “Where exactly did they see him?”

“The Hitler Youth … I’m not sure. The statements say they were hiking around the lake and they came across a man’s body floating face-down somewhere here.”

Milton shook his head. “Poor little blighters … probably scared them senseless.”

“To be honest,” said Rowland, recalling the witness statements from the children, “they seemed to find it more exciting than anything else. They assumed the corpse had been with the
Gemeinschaft der Eigenen
. They were less than sympathetic, to tell you the truth.”

“The Gemein-what?”

Rowland shifted uncomfortably. “
Gemeinschaft der Eigenen
. It’s a men’s movement—rather popular in the twenties, though not so much now. They like to think they’re Spartan warriors.”

“And what does that entail, exactly?”

“Well, as far as I can tell, they’re rather keen on each other, and they run around the mountains naked, singing songs and being men.”

“Sounds cold.”

“Yes … very.”

“Poor Bothwell. Kind of an ignoble end.”

Rowland nodded. It was. He wondered if Bothwell’s wife and boys would ever see the police report. If nothing else, that was a reason to find out what really happened.

“You! What is your business here?” The shout was in Bavarian but both Rowland and Milton turned towards it. At first they saw
only one large man striding over from where they’d parked the car. And then five others joined him. They wore the brown-shirted uniforms of Nazi Stormtroopers—the SA.

Rowland was wary. It appeared they had been followed from Berg. The SA were brutish thugs, swelled with a sense of their own importance into bloated, volatile bullies.

“We are enjoying a view of the Starnberger See,
mein Herr
,” he said calmly.

The Stormtroopers stood before them now. Their leader looked hard at Milton, lower jaw thrust out so that his chin protruded just a little from the fleshy flaps of his jowls. “Who are you?”

“Mr. Greenway is an Australian,” Rowland said quickly. “He does not speak German. I am Robert Negus, also from Australia.”

“Australia … never heard of it!” The Stormtroopers seemed to think that was funny.

Rowland said nothing, though he was becoming irritated.

“What is your business here?” The question was sharper now, a threat.

“We are taking in the view,” Rowland repeated evenly.

“We do not like the look of you.”

“We don’t think you’re very pretty either.”

One of the Brownshirts laughed. The troop leader pushed Rowland backwards.

“Hey!” Milton flared, lunging for the man. The Brownshirt reacted quickly, pulling a truncheon from his belt and clouting Milton across the head. The poet stumbled, dazed.

“Stop!” Rowland reached out and grabbed the upraised arm before the truncheon could fall again. The other Brownshirts had now also pulled out their truncheons. “Would you like to see our papers,
gentlemen?” Rowland forced deference. The Stormtroopers were spoiling for a fight and he and Milton were grossly outnumbered.

The Brownshirt pulled back. He smiled faintly. “Yes.”

Rowland reached inside his jacket.

The truncheon came down on his shoulder, so hard that he fell to his knees.

“Rowly!” Milton forgot himself.

“Albert,” Rowland said pointedly, through gritted teeth. “I’m all right.”

The SA leader took the papers clutched in his hand and glanced at them. “I’m sorry, Herr Negus,” he sneered, tossing them onto the ground before Rowland. “I thought you were reaching for a weapon.”

The Stormtroopers circled them. Still on his knees, Rowland cursed quietly in English. “Entirely understandable,
mein Herr
.” His voice was furious though his words spoke of retreat.

For a while there was nothing but smirking silence and then the Brownshirt leader laughed. His comrades followed suit. “Enjoy your view, then, Herr Negus.” He clicked his heels and raised his arm in the fascist salute. “Heil Hitler!” He looked at them expectantly.

“I’m afraid I can’t raise my arm,” Rowland said tightly.

The man rolled the truncheon slowly in his hands.

Milton raised his arm. “Heil Hitler!” he said loudly.

The Stormtroopers waited tensely for their leader’s cue. Rowland braced for another attack and Milton’s dark eyes glittered murderously as he held the Nazi salute.

The fat Brownshirt smiled slowly and turned away, stepping on Rowland’s papers as he went.

The household was at breakfast when they returned, the table laden with pancakes and sausages and the dining room warm with the smell of fried potatoes and baking. Frau Engels, by the absence of her horse, seemed to have cooked and run.

“Oh my God, what happened?” Edna gasped, jumping up from her seat on sight of them.

Despite the bloody gash above his right ear, Milton had managed to drive them back. Rowland was still not sure whether his shoulder was broken. Lowering himself gingerly into a chair, Milton told Edna and Clyde what had happened, while Rowland gave Eva an edited version in German.

Breakfast was forgotten. Clyde rummaged through the kitchen for some kind of first-aid kit. Among boxes of soap flakes and a bottle of kerosene he found a basket containing iodine, various ointments and gauze bandages.

Edna helped Rowland remove his jacket while Clyde dealt with Milton’s head using warm water and iodine.

“I don’t understand,” Eva lamented. “Why would the SA take issue with you and Herr Greenway?”

“They might have been put out that we ploughed through them in Berg,” Rowland said, first in German and then English. “Perhaps they followed us.”

Edna unbuttoned Rowland’s shirt and gently slid it down so that they could have a look at his shoulder. It was already badly bruised, but the skin was not broken.

“We should call a doctor,” she said, touching the area tenderly.

“Let’s not.” Rowland bit his lip and moved his arm. It was painful but not impossible and he could move his fingers now. “I don’t think it’s broken—just bruised.”

“Shouldn’t we at least call the police?”

“To make a complaint about the SA? I don’t think it would be a particularly good idea …”

“I’ll fetch some ice for your shoulder,” Edna sighed. “There’s an ice box on the back porch.”

“I’d rather you put it in a drink.”

“I’ll second that,” Milton said, pulling away from Clyde’s ministrations.

Eva came closer as Edna left to find ice, staring at Rowland’s shoulder in a way that made him feel quite naked. She put her hand to the scar on his upper arm. “What is that symbol, Herr Negus?” she asked. “The cat’s eye … Is it some fraternity?”

She seemed almost frightened now.

Rowland was bewildered. He translated for Clyde and Milton in the hope they could work out what she was talking about, and, grimacing, shifted his arm to look at the scar.

Clyde laughed suddenly. “It does look like an eye.”

Rowland smiled and tried to explain to Eva that it wasn’t some bizarre brand. He ran his finger around the shape that Eva thought was an eye. “I’m afraid that’s the impression left by Fräulein Greenway’s teeth.”

Apparently, though he was speaking German, Clyde and Milton could guess what he was saying. They were both laughing loudly now.

“Why would she bite you?” Eva asked horrified.

“She was trying to help.” Rowland repeated the statement in English in the hope Clyde and Milton would stop laughing. Edna was still very sensitive about the incident which had occurred a world away from Munich and the excesses of the SA.

“Like when she shot you?” Clyde grinned.

“I don’t think you’ll survive much more of her help,” Milton added.

Rowland elected not to translate, as Eva was clearly alarmed. Indeed, when Edna did return with the ice and an ice-pick still in her hand, the poor girl stepped hastily out of reach. Milton hooted gleefully, and Edna demanded to know what the matter was.

It was into this that Frau Engels walked with the boxes of groceries for which she had gone into Berg. The housekeeper added her voice to the mêlée of laughter and teasing and explanation and it was some minutes before there was any coherence at all in the room.

Finally, somehow, Rowland managed to convince Eva that Edna was not dangerous, and explain to Frau Engels what had happened to injure him and Milton. She had seen the SA in Berg and had much of her own to add on the subject.

Edna remembered then to tell them that Richter had called and that he would be joining them for luncheon, which was why Frau Engels had gone to Berg for supplies.

Frau Engels gave Rowland the same message in Bavarian, with an allocution of the menu which she would serve for said luncheon as well as a description of how she would prepare it. All this as she fussed over their injuries and called on the good Lord to do something about the SA, who, it seemed, were throwing their weight about in Berg.

Eventually, Rowland decided that he’d best change, so that Richter didn’t think he’d opened his house to street brawlers.

Edna’s brow furrowed with concern, as he stood to go with a cloth packed with ice still pressed to his shoulder. “Do you need any help?”

That was too much for Milton.

15

CHALLENGE TO PARIS

As World Fashion Centre