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By Root 1648 0

nothing had changed, no disruption to their routine, tireless efforts to carve a small swath of beauty from the rocky soil. Above him, in the high floors of the castle, the occupants remained, French aristocrats, the duc de La Rochefoucauld, a man whose lineage could be traced back through centuries of French history. The duke accepted his new tenant without any vigorous protest, the man’s family keeping mostly out of sight, resigned, as best as Rommel could tell, to the inevitabilities of war. Even the desk Rommel had commandeered had a history. It was massively heavy and ornate, centuries old, and Rommel, hesitant to tamper with this gracious display of French pride, would not clutter the walls and shelves with his own history—no photographs, no official memorabilia. It was a temporary home at best, and no matter how much of himself he devoted to the job at hand, Rommel knew that one day, the duke would return to his rightful place at the head of his own table. Rommel had no illusions that any part of the occupation of France was permanent.

Effective April 15, his chief of staff, General Alfred Gause, was replaced by General Hans Speidel. Gause had been Rommel’s dutiful staff officer from the days in North Africa, but Rommel had grown tired of the man’s surliness. Speidel’s availability had made the decision to remove Gause that much simpler. Speidel shared considerable history with Rommel, having served alongside him in the First Great War. The man brought another comfort Rommel appreciated: He was Swabian, his family from the hill country of Württemberg, so he shared Rommel’s own distinctive accent, which marked them both as southern Germans, so different from the Prussians to the north. That distinction had far more meaning to the Prussians, who considered themselves Germany’s elite. The Prussians brought a snobbishness to the officer corps that had always dug at Rommel, and their disparaging remarks about the peasants of Württemberg had followed him from his first days in the army. Rommel had never measured his respect for anyone based on what part of Germany they were from.

Speidel had been a welcome choice for Rommel, his request passing through the hands of Hitler’s chief of staff, Alfred Jodl. Speidel had been one of the few bright spots for the German High Command during the Russian campaigns, having served several primary commanders in the field exceptionally well. Beyond his qualifications, Rommel appreciated Speidel’s civilian education, the man having long ago earned a PhD in history. Though Berlin rarely paid much attention to intellectual accomplishments, Rommel was the son of a teacher, and Speidel’s rank in the army had much less meaning for Rommel than did the title of Doctor.

Speidel sat across the desk from him, sifting through papers, and Rommel, watching him, suddenly smiled. “You truly look like a professor, you know. Have you never thought about a more flattering pair of eyeglasses?”

Speidel seemed surprised and put a hand to his face. “What’s wrong with my glasses? They allow me to see. I never paid much attention to…fashion.”

“Nonsense.”

Rommel stood now, walked toward the window, felt the thick lushness of the Persian rug beneath his feet. The entire castle was ripe with this sort of luxury, tapestries on the wall, great colorful portraits of the duke and his ancestors. It was an odd setting for Rommel, softness beneath his boots. There was a heavy mist outdoors, the tall glass panes glistening, the view of the Seine distorted. He was suddenly in no mood to work but felt a strange detachment as he watched the boats and barges on the river, sliding past, hauling all manner of goods, most of it destined for his army.

“Is something bothering you, sir?”

Rommel brought himself back into the office and tried to clear his mind, his eyes still fixed on the watery windowpane. “We have a remarkable sense of fashion in this army, Hans. Every uniform on every officer: perfect fit, the medals arranged just so, the polish on the boots. It has always been that way, I suppose, something about