The Adventures of Hiram Holliday (32 page)

'Ave,'
cried Hiram Holliday in his lonely room.
'Ave, Marcus Severix !
And, by God, I'll prove it!'

He crashed his typewriter open and began to write the story that he had been searching for in Rome, the story that had been in his mind and soul from the first glimpse he had had of modern Rome shot through with the tall, glorious white skeletons of her past, the story that had needed the message of the sword to free it.

He poured it into his machine. Bluff! Bluff! Bluff! Italy would make no war. The harsh, virile bloodstream of conquest was thinned by twenty c
enturies. The Legionary who had
conquered the earth was gone, and on his bones dwelt a different people.

The Rome of old would have had its teeth in England's throat to obliterate or be obliterated, to be destroyed or destroy as they had shattered Carthage. Romans never had fought as mercenaries as Italy had done in Spain. In old Rome's Pantheon hung the shields of Mithridates, of Jugurtha, of Hannibal and Cleopatra, of Cicengetorix and Boadicea, Aristobulus and Josephus. Not even a puppet king had been captured to grace a modern Roman triumph. Weak Zog had fled to Greece, Haile Selassie, the Lion of Judah, dwelt beneath his umbrella in the English countryside. The disgrace of Guadalajara in Spain had been barely wiped out against a starving, handcuffed nation.

'They never come back!' wrote Hiram. 'Where were the ancient nations ? Greece, impoverished, living under the protection of England. Egypt the same. Spain a bloody wreck, Turkey a bare fraction of her former power, Persia, the Aryan fountain-head, weak and helpless. Where are those dangerous, powerful sprouting seeds of conquest ? In the blood of the Germans and in the rising torrent from the Orient ?

'The twenty centuries' admixture of blood in the Italian has made him culturally and artistically one of the great nations of the earth, but it has robbed him of the feckless, brutal fighting strength of his Empire ancestor, and no amount of posturing and shouting by his leaders, no easy, set-up victories over weak and helpless nations can bring it back.

'Italy will not fight England or France except as the tail to Germany's kite. Read that written on the ruins
!'

He then wrote what was probably one of the most famous 'Notes to Editor' ever appended to a reporter's copy. Beauheld, Managing Editor of the
New York Sentinel,
printed it at the head of Hiram's story. It read:

Note to Beauheld. This may be my last story to you. It’s too long a thing to go into. I’ve been challenged to a duel here. It’s all tied up with this story and anyway its my affair. But, By God, I’ll prove that either they or I am right. Hold this
yarn until you hear. If something happens to me chuck it into the Hell Box. If I give you the word, you can splash it because it will be the truth. I say they can't take cold steel, man to man, no breaks and no edge. Give my regard to all the dopes on the copy-desk.
Holliday.'

It was six o'clock in the morning when he had finished. Outside his door the gardens were dew-lit and bathed in pearl-coloured light. He sealed the story in an envelope with a note to Proggi: 'Get this through to New York somehow, if you have to fly a man to Paris with it. And don't worry about me. I know what I'm doing.'

Then he picked up his telephone and said: 'Get me the apartment of Count Mario d'Aquila. Yes, I know it is early. He won't mind being disturbed. Tell him it is Hiram Holliday asking for him.'

How Hiram Holliday Accepted the Challenge and Named His Weapon and was Visited
by
a Princess

At the stroke of ten, Lieut
enant di Cavazzo and Signor Ara
Pesca were ushered on to the terrace of the Russie overlooking the gardens where they found Hiram Holliday and the Count Mario d'Aquila sipping vermouth. The two men rose and bowed, and Cavazzo was obviously surprised at seeing d'Aquila. The dapper little count with the slicked black hair and small teeth was smoking an elegant gold-tipped cigarette, and his smile was charming.

'Good morning, gentlemen,' said Hiram Holliday. 'Your punctuality bears out everything I have ever read about the ritual of duelling. I see that no introductions are necessary. Count d'Aquila has very kindly consented to represent me in this matter. Won't you sit down, and what may I order for
you?'

Di Cavazzo suddenly spoke sharply in Italian to d'Aquila, who answered him in the same language, and there was a brief bristling passage between
them before d'Aquila turned to Hiram
and said: 'Pardon us, m
y friend. The lieutenant had
the kindness to point out that it might be dangerous for me, an Italian, to represent you, an American, in an affair hinging upon Italian honour. I explained to him that selection of a second was rather a matter of personal friendship than private opinion, and besides that it was my own business. I then invited him to go to the devil. Instead of which he has decided to join us in a vermouth-cassis, a most sensible attitude.'

Hiram heard another warning bell. He was convinced now that more than a simple challenge lay behind the affair. Otherwise Di Cavazzo would have been
at
d'Aquila's throat.

'So
then,' said Ara
Pesca, 'we may take it that you have decided to accept the challenge of Colonel del Tevere, Mr Holliday, a decision which, I may add, does you much honour.'

Hiram said dryly: 'Thank you. I am glad that you are pleased.'

'Good,' purred Di Cavazzo. 'The time and the place ?'

'We leave to your most excellent discretion,' said d'Aquila. 'Except that my principal, Mr Holliday, begs that it be outdoors rather than in the
salle.
A slight touch of claustrophobia -way back in his
family....'

Di Cavazzo stiffened slightly. Was he being laughed at ?

'Very well. And the weapons
?'

'The Roman sword,' said d'Aquila quietly.

Relief appeared on the faces of the two other men. 'Hah!' said Di Cavazzo.' Good. Your choice again does you credit. If I may suggest, there are a number of tested duelling
e
pees
at the
salle
which I will submit to you for your inspection and choice, and
...'

D'Aquila interrupted him gently, as gently as though he were speaking to a child. 'My friend,' he said,
'I
do not think that you understood me. I said nothing about duelling
epe
es.
The choice of my principal, Mr Holliday,' and here his voice suddenly lost its gentleness and became harsh and biting, 'is the
gladius,
the Roman military short sword as worn and used by the Roman Legionary under the Empire.'

In the dead silence that followed the splashing of the little fountains in the garden sounded like a waterfall.

'What ?' said Di Cavazzo. 'Are you mad ?'

'You heard him,' said Hiram Holliday. 'Do you accept ?'

The Lieutenant was badly flustered: 'Why
...
why
...
it is fantastic. I
...
I...
must confer with my principal.
..
I..

D'Aquila leaned forward suddenly and tapped Di Cavazzo on the knee.
'You
must do nothing of the kind, my friend. Under the code, Mr Holliday, as the challenged party, names the weapons. You may either accept or decline. If you decline we will be happy to receive a written apology from Colonel del Tevere for wasting Mr Holliday's time, and a guarantee that there will be no further talk of expulsion from Italy under the circumstances you mentioned.'

Ara
Pesca was purple. 'But this is unheard of. You dare to make a joke of a serious affair. Kindly remember, Count d'Aquila, even though you have abandoned your own, that you are dealing with men of honour.'

D'Aquila flushed. 'Your first statement, Commendatore,
I
will be glad to debate with you at any time under your own choice of arguments. As for the latter, it is exactly what we have kept in mind. Mr Holliday is anxious to spare Colonel del Tevere the embarrassment of having to defend himself against a charge of political assassination such as the American Embassy would undoubtedly bring. My principal is no match for the Colonel either with swords or pistols. He therefore has selected a weapon, no less deadly, with which both he as well as Del Tevere are unfamiliar,
at
the same time graciously yielding that by birth and heritance from the glorious past, Del Tevere should feel the more
at
home with it. It is in short a weapon admirably suited for the settlement of his argument since it places a minimum of weight upon skill and practice, and a maximum upon ah - strength and courage.'

'You toy with imp
ossible conditions,' rasped Ara
Pesca. 'Where are such weapons to be procured?'

'My Principal has acquired a very fine specimen which he will be glad to lend you as a model. There are duplicates of it in the Museo delle Terme, in the Museo Romano, the Museo Mussolini and in the hands of Salvello Salvelli, the collector.'

Di Cavazzo was in a rage. 'You are earnest ? You insist then in making a farce of this affair.'

'Farce, hell!' exploded Hiram Holliday and arose towering from his chair, and it was d'Aquila who noticed at that moment he looked more Roman and rugged, with his sandy hair, drawn face and queerly coloured blue eyes, than any of them. 'Do you want to fight, or don't you ? Will you fight if you haven't got an edge ? You were willing enough to have Del Tevere slaughter me with hi
s own duelling sword. He hoped I’
d pick the weapon of a gentleman, eh ? Well, I've chosen the weapon of a fighter. It's your own. You conquered the world with it once. You're boasting that you'll do it again. Well, you've still got to lick a white man. Let's see him fight with this weapon man to man, until one of us is dead or quits.'

He threw the Roman sword that he had held concealed on to the iron-topped table where it fell with a shattering clang.

'Do you take it or leave it
?'

They stared spellbound for a moment
at
the squat, business
-
like thing with its broad, flat, two-edged pointed iron blade.

'We
...
we accept provisionally,' said Di Cavazzo. 'You
will hear from us.' He and Ara
Pesca bowed like automatons, turned and withdrew.

'Now what the hell does that mean
?'
said Hiram Holliday.

'It means,' said the little Conte d'Aquila, smiling crookedly, 'that they have, as you Americans say, the lost goat.'

D'Aquila called Hiram at noon. He said: 'Del Tevere has accepted. I am given to understand he was furious that Di Cavazzo hesitated. He is a sportsman. He wishes to ask if you will agree to the use of the Roman shield in the combat.'

Holliday laughed. 'Tell him helmet, cuirass, greaves and the S.P.Q.R. standard, if he wants.' He said: 'When
?’

'Tomorrow morning at six. A short distance out on the Via Appia, there is a suitable place in a cypress grove.'

'The sooner the better.'

'You are still determined to go through with this ?' 'Yes, Mario, I am. Can I get a square deal
?'
There was a pause. Then Hi
ram heard Mario say: 'Hiram,
I, too, am an Italian. I swear with my life that it will be a fair and honest combat. I will see you at the hotel tonight.'

'Thanks, Mario. I'll be there after nine o'clock.'

He remained away from the office, though he would have liked to know whether they had succeeded in getting his story through. He spent most of the day in the library of the American Academy, reading. He did not feel nervous and he wondered why. He dined alone in the Ulpia restaurant built into the ruins of the Trajan Forum and returned to the Russie shortly before nine o'clock. There was no message from d'Aquila. He found his rooms lonely and stuffy and closing in on him. He wanted the freedom of the sky overhead. He realized that reaction was setting in. He left word for Mario at the desk and went out into the lovely sombre gardens filled with the scents of jasmine and orange blossom. There he sat on a marble bench, and like a thirsty child, drank in every beauty, the patch of starlit sky caught through the tree-tops, the twists of the flat-topped Lebanon cedars, and the gloomy martial rise of the cypresses, the gentle sound of the fountain and the murmur of the city without, the curved stem of a sleeping flower, its bent head closed for the night, for he was wondering whether he would ever see these things again.