The sling that Doctor Blake had recommended made it easier for Jean to deal with her sprained shoulder, but the other injuries, both physical and emotional, still kept her confined to her mat in the corner for most of each day. Young Christopher was perfectly willing to spend his time at her side, ready to help in any way he could, but the more boisterous Jack was tired of being restricted. When the sounds of raucous shouting from the other children reached him, he darted away to join the fun.
"Do you want me to keep an eye on him, Mum?" Christopher asked.
Jean looked at her elder son, so much like herself - doing what needed to be done regardless of the cost. Remembering her own dreams at his age, she decided it was time she started acting like his mother again. "You should play, too," she told him.
"What about..."
"I'll watch," she insisted. Slowly, carefully, she got to her feet. Ignoring the stares and whispers of the other women, she went to the doorway with Christopher and sat down there. With a shooing motion, she sent him to join the impromptu soccer match the children were playing with a "ball" made of rags tied together.
As she sat watching, she had to admit that it felt good to have sunlight shining on her face. She shaded her eyes with her left hand so she could look around the compound. Jean felt rather like a bear emerging from a long winter hibernation.
The guards seemed to be more omnipresent than previously, especially those watching the Australian soldiers' camp. Evelyn had told her about what happened in Selerang Square. The Japanese must have seen the signed declaration as just as worthless as the Australians did. She wondered if it might inspire more escape attempts than it prevented.
Returning her attention to the children, she saw how Jack fought tenaciously to keep up with the older children while Christopher ran interference for him, clearing others out of his way. Jack kicked the ball up into the air, and as Jean's line of sight tracked it, she caught sight of Doctor Blake and another soldier standing in the doorway of their own camp, watching the match with amusement. The doctor must have noticed her at the same time. He lifted a hand in greeting. Jean's sore ribs and breast allowed her only a half-hearted wave in reply, but she saw him grin. He really had a lovely smile, she thought, before returning her attention to the match.
Lucien had learned from Private Morris that the Japanese had a stockpile of tinned pineapple in their storeroom. "So much they'll never miss some," said Harold. "The only problem is getting in and out without them noticing."
"Yes, of course," Lucien agreed. "Any suggestions?"
"Sorry, Captain. I've been trying to time their routine, but so far no luck."
"Let's have a look at them, shall we?"
The two of them walked over to the doorway. Conveniently, the children in the women's camp were playing soccer, which gave the soldiers an excuse to be standing outside, watching the match.
They stood there for a while, one eye on the children, the other on the guards.
"Looks like they don't work shifts now," Morris noted of the Japanese soldiers.
"Yes, they change one man at a time, about every hour. And each one seems to go out to check the perimeter as he leaves the watchtower."
"Doesn't give you much time to get into the storeroom, find what you need and get back here. You sure you want to do this, Cap?"
"It's the least I can do," Lucien sighed. "Mrs. Beazley was hurt because she saved the lives of Alderton and Evans. They couldn't have survived four days on their own."
Morris glanced at him, then returned to studying the guards. "My Evy, that is to say, my contact in the women's camp, thinks pretty highly of Mrs. Beazley. They both lost their husbands just before the war really got going. She says Mrs. B was a big help then, and now she's kind of a leader over there. Not so much with the talking, she just gets things done."
"Yes, that's my sense of her as well," said Lucien.
As he was watching the children, he saw the subject of their conversation appear.
Morris saw her too. "There she is now. Must be feeling better."
"I don't think so," said Lucien, while waving to her and smiling. "Look at how stiffly she's still moving."
"Yeah. But Cap, you really don't want to do this. I know I take some chances I probably shouldn't with my whiskey making and all, but even I think this is too dangerous right now. I mean how will she feel if you get caught and she's the reason for it?"
Lucien turned on him sharply. "She's not to know, Private. Not under any circumstances. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir." Morris wasn't much of a soldier, but he knew an order when he heard one.
Her brief foray into the sunlight had worn Jean out. As soon as darkness fell, she gathered her boys close, and for a welcome change she fell asleep almost immediately.
She was walking through fields of golden wheat, enjoying the sun on her face and the soft wind rustling her hair. The gentle sounds of sheep and birds reached her from a distance, carried on the breeze as she strolled along with no particular destination in mind. She smiled as she saw him coming toward her, his clothes well-worn but his dark eyes and chestnut curls were shining, his devilish grin delighting her.
She hurried into his arms, loving the wiry strength that held her tight against him. Strangely, his chest seemed broader than usual. "Have you been lifting weights?" she asked, looking up at his face.
To her surprise, the eyes had turned sapphire blue, his curls golden, but the arms were just as secure and the grin different but just as devilish.
The sound of gunfire startled her from sleep, and the boys both jerked upright beside her. There were murmurs all around as everyone tried to figure out what was going on.
Eve Neville crept toward the doorway to peer outside where the searchlights made it almost as light as day.
"What's happened?" Jean called softly.
"The guards are dragging someone... One of the soldiers, it looks like."
"Is he dead?" asked Jean, a hand over her mouth in shock.
"I can't tell. Now they're tying him to that post in the center of the ground," said Eve in a hushed voice. Then she gasped.
"What is it?" Susan Tyneman demanded.
"I know who it is. It's Captain Blake. The doctor!"
Jean closed her eyes in horror. With a shock, she realized that the man in her dream, the one who had started out as her Christopher had turned into Lucien Blake. Had it been a premonition or something else?
The sun was in his eyes when Lucien opened them. He tried to raise a hand to shield them, and only then did he realize just where he was: bound to a post, the ropes around his wrists keeping him upright. He was naked from the waist up with drying blood covering one side of his face.
With some effort he recalled the events that had led to this: under cover of darkness he had made it safely to the storeroom, picked the lock, and slipped inside. He didn't have a torch and turning on the lights was out of the question, so he had to depend on the faint moonlight coming in through the windows as he tried to locate the supply of pineapple Morris had mentioned.
It took him longer than expected, but he finally found the stores. They were large cans, and he hefted one from the back row, hoping it might not be missed. Then he just had to get out and back to the barracks without being noticed. That's when it all went wrong. As he opened the door to leave, shots were fired just over his head. Knowing he had no way out, he dropped the can of pineapple and raised his hands in the air. The guards advanced, shouting at him, and when they reached him, something had struck his head.
He knew nothing else until he had come round tied to this damnable post. He tested the strength of the bonds, although he had no idea what he could possibly do if he were to work himself free anyway. He'd just be shot. Which was probably what they were going to do anyway.
Regrets bombarded him. His darling Li, wherever she was, would grow up never knowing how much she was loved. He had failed in his promise to General Percival to lead his men. He would never be able to put things right with his father. The people who depended on his medical skills would have to do without. He would never again have the pleasures of lying with a beautiful woman.
The face of Mrs. Beazley floated before him, not from regret at trying to help her, but because he wished he could have known her better.
Slowly the compound around him came to life in the morning heat. This is it, Blake, he told himself. Whatever happens now, take it like a man. Your men will be watching, along with all those women and children. Do your best.
The Japanese soldiers assembled. Suga was not present, which Lucien took as a very bad sign. He wasn't afraid of dying, not really, just of making a bad job of it.
He tried to keep his focus on the Japanese so he wouldn't have to meet the eyes of anyone he knew. Spare them that, at least.
The captain of the guard addressed him in heavily accented English, so heavy that he could only make out parts of it. Stealing, punish, example, forty days. Maybe they weren't planning to execute him after all?
The captain barked an order to one of his men, who stepped forward brandishing a flexible rod, somewhat similar to a riding crop. Before Lucien could even brace himself, the first blow struck his bare back. The intense pain was immediate, exploding everywhere, surrounding him.
Jean had ordered her boys back inside, but felt it would be disloyal somehow not to watch and send her best thoughts in his direction. She had certainly seen children beaten with a rod at school, but nothing like this. With each blow she winced, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands. The only sounds were the crack of the rod as it struck and the gasps of the women around her.
She didn't know how many blows were struck or how long it lasted, only that the captain seemed to sag after some time, with the ropes around his wrists the only reason he remained upright. She was unaware of the tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched the blood splatter from his back with each new strike.
Finally, mercifully, the guard with the rod lowered his arm. Two others stepped forward, untied the ropes and began to drag his limp form, but not toward the soldiers' barracks. Instead, they took him a short distance, in the direction of the women's camp. Another guard lifted up what looked like a door in the ground, possibly a storage area of some kind? Captain Blake's body was tossed down into it, his limbs being folded to fit inside, and then the heavy door was closed on top of him.
Jean felt nauseous. Growing up on a farm, she had seen violence, but never such cruelty deliberately inflicted by one human on another. Stumbling back inside, she sank down onto her mat and buried her face in the crook of her elbow, but with her eyes closed she kept seeing it again and again: the blows striking, his body contorting, blood everywhere. Abruptly she sat up, staring anywhere, just to keep her eyes from replaying the sight of that horrific punishment.
The boys did not know what had happened, only that it was bad and had upset her. They both went to her, and she wrapped her arms around them, holding them so tightly that Jack had to protest.
"Mum..."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she murmured, kissing the top of his head.
"It's okay," Jack said as she ran her fingers through his hair to soothe him. "Mum, can you sing me a song?"
"A song? What would you like, darling?" Anything to take her mind off Doctor Blake.
He thought for a moment. "Bingo," he decided. He had just learned the alphabet at their makeshift school.
"Very well, then," she said, smiling down at him, "but you need to join in with the spelling. Yes?"
He nodded, and she began to sing, "There was a farmer had a dog..."
Her attention, though, was still on that hole in the ground, wondering if he was still alive.
He came back to consciousness slowly. Everything hurt. When he opened his eyes: nothing. His head ached so much he thought he must have gone blind. He tried to move, to ease the pain in his back. Very little movement. Was this hell? He panicked. Pounded the walls, the floor. No response whatsoever.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm down and assess the situation. What had happened? He remembered breaking into the storeroom. A blow to the head - that accounted for the headache, but the blindness? Despite the pain, he moved his head as much as the cramped quarters would allow. There - a tiny shaft of sunlight coming through what must be a louvered opening. Was he underground? That would account for the lack of sound from the floor and walls. With that opening at least he wouldn't suffocate.
Then he recalled the beating, or as much of it as he had endured before blacking out. He must have been thrown in this hole afterwards. He held his breath, listening for any sound that might identify his location. Was he still in the camp compound? Did he dare to call out or would that make things worse? Could they get any worse, short of killing him outright? And was that worse than this? Had they said forty days? He'd go crazy long before that, with no human contact.
He shifted as much as the dimensions of the hellhole would allow, moving to a foetal position so that his back was no longer in contact with the surface beneath him. That made the pain a little less unbearable. If he could just figure out where he was maybe he could find a way to cope.
Again he listened for any sound, and he heard something. Was that singing? A lovely female voice. He strained to make out the song. "And Bingo was his name-O."
Lucien nearly laughed with relief. He knew exactly where he was. All right. He could do this. He wouldn't let the Japanese defeat him. He would survive!