"Not now, Hogan. Can't you see I have visitors?"
Klink uttered the words in the weary tone of a man who had said the same thing too many times to retain any expectation of being listened to.
Hogan looked around the office with a vaguely puzzled air, until his eye alighted on Burkhalter, sitting to one side of the desk. "Oh, sorry, General, I didn't see you there." Given Burkhalter's overall dimensions, it was a bit of a stretch; even if Klink accepted it at face value - which was unlikely - Burkhalter would know exactly what the remark was worth. It was all part of the game. "Signorina," Hogan added, with a slight nod, and a warm smile.
The prima donna, standing by the window, returned the smile, then went back to her appraisal of the compound. She was wearing blue today, of a particularly striking shade; against the drab walls of the Kommandant's office she looked as far from her natural environment as a bird of paradise down a coal mine.
"Hogan, whatever it is, it will have to wait," said Klink, in a fretful tone.
"I don't think it can wait, Kommandant," replied Hogan briskly. "It's an emergency. It could explode any minute. Metaphorically speaking," he added, as Klink jumped up from his chair, uttering what sounded suspiciously like a squeak of alarm. "Of course I don't mean a real explosion - where would we get the stuff for that? You won't even let us have Christmas crackers. And by the way, Colonel, that's another thing..."
"Hogan! Get to the point!"
"Sorry, sir. It's about the men in Barracks 10, Lieutenant Doyle's barracks," Hogan went on. "They're at it again."
"At what again, Klink?" demanded Burkhalter.
"General, I have no idea." Klink was getting more agitated by the moment. He had reservations about Doyle; the circumstances of his arrival at Stalag 13 didn't exactly recommend him to the management. "At what again, Hogan?"
Hogan raised his head, adopted an accusatory manner, and made his denunciation. "They're singing madrigals."
A choking noise escaped from the lady at the window.
"They're singing madrigals?" repeated Klink, dazedly. Whatever horrors he had imagined, that one hadn't made the short list.
"Yes, Colonel. Part-singing, what's more - only three-part so far, but once they get on to four-part - well, you know what that leads to, sir."
If Klink didn't know, he could well imagine. His monocle glittered with indignation. "We'll see about this. General, if you'll excuse me..."
"I will come with you, Klink." Burkhalter heaved his bulk from his chair. "I am interested to see how you will deal with an outbreak of music in the camp. It should be most entertaining. Signorina, would you care to watch?"
"I would be delighted, Generale," replied the prima donna, with a gleam of laughter in her eyes.
By the time they were halfway across the compound, it was clear Newkirk had got the message through, judging by the sound which greeted the approaching party. Doyle might only have a few voices at his disposal, but he obviously knew how to make the best of them. Hogan didn't have a lot of time for Doyle, but he had to admit, within his area of expertise the man could command discipline.
As instructed, he had set up his impromptu rehearsal outside the barracks. This would have been asking for trouble under normal circumstances, but Newkirk had obviously anticipated the reaction which could be expected from Sergeant Beckett and his collection of ruffians in Barracks 9. Hogan could see him loitering outside that hut, ready to step in if the stocky, loutish Beckett or any of his mates showed signs of interrupting the performance. So far, Beckett was holding back, watching with narrowed eyes. He had no idea what was going on, but he clearly didn't like it.
The song was one Hogan vaguely remembered hearing from within Barracks 10 during the last couple of weeks. Like most of the men - prisoners and guards alike - he hadn't paid much attention, writing it off as yet another in the series of straightlaced, respectable pieces with which Doyle interspersed his apparently endless repertoire of sacred works. But now he was struck by the lively, slightly wicked expressiveness of the performance, which told him this little piece of ephemera wasn't nearly as innocent as it seemed.
Now is the month of maying, when merry lads are playing,
Each with his bonny lass, upon the greeny grass...
"Naughty!" murmured Claudia Valensizi, "but they sing very well." She cast an appraising eye on Doyle, as he directed his ensemble. He was a big man, heavily built, but surprisingly light in his movements.
As the song came to an end, Klink strode forward. "Lieutenant Doyle! What is the meaning of this?"
Doyle turned a bright-eyed look on the Kommandant. "You mean the words, Kommandant? Well, barley-break is - how shall I put it - a traditional country pastime. I'm sure you're familiar with...no, perhaps not," he concluded meditatively.
"Don't be impertinent, Doyle. Who gave you permission...?"
"One moment, Klink."
The interruption came from Burkhalter. He had stayed in the background, watching and calculating, and one look told Hogan he wouldn't need to start putting ideas into the general's head. Burkhalter already had plenty of his own.
"That was most pleasant, Lieutenant," he said, in what with him passed for a genial tone.
Doyle bowed his head slightly, a faint smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "Thank you, General, very kind of you," he replied blandly.
"Is this the whole of your group?" Burkhalter went on, regarding the little group of ten men with interest.
"Good heavens, no. This is just the chamber ensemble." Doyle glanced at Hogan, the smile deepening into a full-blown smirk of patient condescension. "The full choir is twice this size." That was an outright lie; Hogan hoped Doyle had some idea how he was going to make good on it.
Burkhalter turned towards Valensizi. "Signorina, are you thinking...?"
"Indeed, Generale. How clever of you," said the soprano, in a tone of wondering admiration. Hogan suppressed a grin. "Perhaps we could hear something more, before you make any decisions?" she went on. "Kommandant, that would be allowable, no?"
The conflict of emotions on Klink's face was delightful to watch. His natural inclination to crush this outbreak of independent activity, and his natural distrust towards the self-possessed Doyle, came into almost audible collision with the overriding drive to maintain a comfortable position directly beneath Burkhalter's thumb. And Burkhalter's expression indicated that the signorina's suggestion met with his complete approval.
Doyle raised his eyebrows at Hogan, then turned back to his ensemble. He didn't say a word, but suddenly pointed one finger at Beckett, and gestured him towards the front row. Then his eyes moved to Newkirk, and he nodded. "Yes, we'll need you too, for this," he said.
He waited until a slightly puzzled Newkirk, and a deeply suspicious Beckett, had taken their places, before he spoke again. "'Jerusalem', gentlemen." He produced a small pipe from his pocket, played one clear note, and a soft humming came from the ensemble as each man found his pitch.
And did those feet, in ancient time, walk upon England's mountains green...
Hogan took a deep breath. That was dangerous. Even if Klink didn't understand quite what that song meant to the English prisoners, Burkhalter was smart enough to be aware of it. Clearly there was more to Tim Doyle than appeared at first glance.
Apart from Newkirk and Beckett, only three of Doyle's boys were English, but the others had obviously picked up on something of the feeling informing every phrase. There wasn't a prisoner looking on who didn't feel it. Even the guards were awed into silence.
There was a hush for several seconds at the end. Claudia Valensizi was the first to applaud, with a little gasp, and a cry of "Bravo!" Doyle, perfectly sure of himself, accepted the ovation as if it were his absolute right to expect it; and from the front row of the chorus, Newkirk sent Hogan a slightly embarrassed grin.
Hogan returned it. He had caught sight of the look of satisfaction on Burkhalter's face. If the general had understood the significance of the choice of song, he was willing to overlook it in the name of expediency. Terms still had to be negotiated, and that would take a bit of work; but essentially the deal was sealed. Doyle had made the perfect pitch, and the plan was already sold.
Notes:
"Now Is The Month Of Maying": Thomas Morley
"And Did Those Feet In Ancient Time" (also known as "Jerusalem"): words by William Blake, music by C. Hubert Parry. They close the Proms with this every year.