A Lonely Death

1

Northern France, Early June 1920

The sod had grown over the graves, turning the torn earth a soft green, and the rows of white crosses gleamed brightly in the morning sun. Except for the fact that a fallen soldier lay beneath each wooden marker, it was pretty there under the blue bowl of the French sky, peaceful finally after four tumultuous years of war. Even the birds had come back, picking at the grass for seeds, insects, and worms.

The man watched them, those birds, and was reminded of a line from Hamlet, that somehow had caught a schoolboy's imagination and then lingered in a corner of his adult mind-that a worm may feed on a king. Had these fed on lesser dead?

Many had been hastily buried where they fell, others in mass graves. Sorting the dead for proper burial had been gruesome at best. Many had never been identified. Walking down the rows now, looking at names, remembering burial details, broken bodies, bits of them, endless lines of them, he wondered if he was changed by them.

No, on the whole, he thought not. The war had been a part of the fabric of his life, and he had endured it, survived it, and was still steadfast in his purpose.

He stopped, his gaze sweeping the crosses. It was the living who concerned him now. A few had escaped him, but there were still eight left. And he was ready.

Were they?

Not that the state of their souls troubled him overmuch.

He turned his back on the cemetery, striding toward the Paris taxi that had brought him out here. And as he did, the slanting June sun warmed his shoulders.

Listening to the sound of his footfalls, he realized that he hadn't bargained for the silence here. He wondered if those lying beneath the crosses savored it after the noise of battle. Or was it unnerving?

There was a train to Calais tonight. Another from Dover to London. But he was in no hurry.

A good dinner first, if he could find one, a bottle of wine, and then a sound night's sleep.

As the taxi turned and drove back the way it had come, he leaned his head against the cracked leather of the seat and closed his eyes.