The Valley of Bones - Anthony Powell [87]
‘Something awful are the girls of this town,’ said Corporal Gwylt to the world at large, ‘never did I see such a way to go on.’
When we reached Battalion Headquarters, there was a message to say the Adjutant wanted an immediate word with Captain Gwatkin. Gwatkin returned from this interview with a set face. It looked as if subordinates might be in for a bad time, such as that after the Company’s failure to provide ‘support’. However, Gwatkin showed no immediate desire to get his own back on somebody, though he must have had an unenjoyable ten minutes with Maelgwyn-Jones. We set out on the day’s scheme, marching and countermarching across the mountains, infiltrating the bare, treeless fields. From start to finish, things went badly. In fact, it was a disastrous day. Still, as Maelgwyn-Jones had said, it passed, like other days in the army, and we returned at length to Castlemallock, bad-tempered and tired. Kedward and I were on the way to our room, footsore, longing to get our boots off, when we met Pinkus, the Adjutant-Quartermaster, the malignant dwarf from the Morte d’Arthur. His pleased manner showed there was trouble in the air. He had a voice of horrible refinement, which must have taken years to perfect, and somewhat recalled that of Howard Craggs, the left-wing publisher.
‘Where’s your Company Commander?’ asked Pinkus. ‘The Commandant wants him pronto.’
‘In his room, I suppose. The Company’s just been dismissed. He’s probably changing.’
‘What’s this about putting one of the officers of the course under arrest? The Commandant’s bloody well brassed off about it, I can tell you – and, what’s more, the Commandant’s own helmet is missing, too, and he thinks one of your fellows has taken it.’
‘Why on earth?’
‘Your Platoon falls in just outside his quarters.’
‘Much more likely to be one of the permanent staff on Fire Picquet. They pass just by the door.’
‘The Commandant doesn’t think so.’
‘I bet one of the Fire Picquet pinched it.’
‘The Commandant says he doesn’t trust your mob an inch.’
‘Why not?’
‘That’s what he says.’
‘If he wants to run down the Regiment, he’d better take it up with our Commanding Officer.’
‘Make enquiries, or there’ll be trouble. Now, where’s Gwatkin?’
He went off, mouthing refinedly to himself. I saw what had happened. In the stresses following realization that he had forgotten about the changed codewords, Gwatkin had also forgotten Bithel. During the exertions of the day in the field, I, too, had given no thought to the events of the previous night, at least none sufficient to consider how best the situation should be handled on our return. Now, back at Castlemallock, the Bithel problem loomed up ominously. Bad enough, in any case, to leave the matter unattended made it worse than ever. Even Kedward had no copybook solution.
‘My God,’ he said, ‘I suppose old Bith ought to have been under escort all day. Under my escort, too, if it comes to that. It was Rowland’s last order to me.’
‘Anyway, Bithel should have been brought up before the Commandant within twenty-four hours and charged, as a matter of routine. That’s the regulation, isn’t it?’
‘Twenty-four hours isn’t up yet.’
‘Still, it’s a bit late in the day.’
‘Rowland’s going to find this one tough to sort out.’
‘There’s nothing we can do about it.’
‘Look, Nick,’ said Kedward, ‘I’ll go off right away and see exactly what’s happened before I take my boots off. Christ, my feet feel like balloons.’
After a while, Kedward returned, saying Gwatkin was already with the Castlemallock Commandant, straightening out the Bithel affair. When I saw Gwatkin later, he looked desperately worried.
‘That business of Bithel last night,’ he said harshly.
‘Yes?’
‘We’d better forget about it.’
‘OK.’
‘This Anti-Gas course is almost at an end.’
‘Yes.’
‘Bithel