Free We Shall Not Sleep by Anne Perry

regiment, the remnants of which are still here at Ypres. I refused promotion because I want to stay with the men, not move back to regimental headquarters."
    Schenckendorff nodded fractionally, both understanding and respect in his eyes.
    "I think it is my brother, Major Matthew Reavley, whom you want, Colonel Schenckendorff," Joseph went on.
    The man's face tightened. It would have been impossible for him to have grown any paler. Joseph realized with a sudden, searing pity what his decision must have cost. He was a man who loved his country and had once believed passionately that it could dominate and govern in a lasting peace. Now he was coming through the lines to betray, in turn, the trust that had deceived him. The courage and the grief of it were overwhelming. For the first time Joseph saw with wrenching power the meaning of defeat, not just of a nation but of individual men and the dreams they had lived and died for. Perhaps heroism could only be truly measured in those who had lost, and faced the ultimate truth without flinching.
    "Yes," Schenckendorff agreed at last. "I would be obliged if I could speak with him. It is ... necessary."
    "He is here," Joseph told him. "I'll bring him as soon as I can. But as you will be aware, we dare not tell anyone else who you are, or why you are so important."
    Schenckendorff did not answer.
    "You must tell no one," Joseph said urgently, lowering his voice even further. "Be as invisible as you can be, just like any other prisoner. We have no idea where the Peacemaker..." He hesitated. "Where your counterpart may have allies," he amended. It was brutal, but he could not afford to be unclear. "He may have guessed that you have come to us, and he will see it as a betrayal, one he cannot afford."
    "I know," Schenckendorff said in no more than a whisper. "He will kill me. Perhaps he will do that eventually anyway. With him the cause was always first." He spoke with difficulty. "Perhaps that is the germ of his moral decay—he cannot see that some weapons destroy the men who wield them in a subtler and deeper way than the enemy they kill with their use. I will be extremely careful, Reverend Reavley." The shadow of a smile touched his lips. "I have to survive in order to tell your prime minister what my ... ally ... has done. He will not believe it from anyone else. Even I may have some difficulty. It will be necessary for you to be there, and to swear to the existence of the original treaty your father took. Do you still have it?"
    Joseph smiled very slightly. "Who is the Peacemaker?" he asked.
    Schenckendorff smiled back. It was a thin, painful gesture but not without both humor and comprehension. "The treaty would help," he said, evading the question. His voice was growing weaker, as if the pain of his broken foot, the shock to the bones, the extensive loss of blood, and no doubt several days of bitter deliberation before the struggle to get through the lines had exhausted his physical and mental strength. He had risked being shot as a deserter.
    Joseph debated within himself whether to tell the doctor in charge here that Schenckendorff was of special importance and to take care that he did not die of neglect to his wound. That was possible in the vast crowd of German prisoners pouring through the lines now in their tens of thousands. Not all of them would be fed, treated, and cared for. And Allied soldiers must come first, always. But he could give no reason. The doctors were harried to exhaustion. Burdening them with secrets was foolish, especially one they would not understand. The risk was higher than any advantage. He decided against it.
    "I'll have my brother here by this evening," he said instead. "Get as much rest as you can. Sleep if possible."
    There was a flash of appreciation in Schenckendorff s eyes that he had not indulged in platitudes. "Good night, Chaplain."
    Joseph managed to find Matthew and get the message through to him. He arrived back at the Casualty Clearing