The Vengeance of Rome

Hess was clearly glad to be driving. He had already been tortured by what he heard of the compromising letters and drawings and had refused to look at anything. Even Putzi Hanfstaengl had leafed through them, to his dismay. But all Hess had between himself and the chaotic infinite was his loyalty to his leader. He clung to that loyalty as others cling to a religion, in spite of all contradictions and rational evidence. His grip on sanity, on life of any kind, depended upon that loyalty. Hess was oddly disassociated from real life, as if he was watching a film which bore no relation to his ordinary existence. He studied the world with a kind of bemused, accepting smile. Nothing in the universe meant more to him than loyalty to Hitler. He appreciated the influence of men with firm ideas about what was valuable and what was not. It made him a worshipping parrot, a useful man, a typical Number Two. Hitler was fond of him and admired his faithfulness. ‘His very soul is brown,’ he would say.

We raced through dark little medieval villages and quaint hillside towns, past farms which had survived Germany’s troubles since the time of Charlemagne, past ancient pastures and rich orchards, all the wealth of old Bavaria. Röhm made me do something to Father Stempfle to make sure I knew exactly what they were talking about. Stempfle kept his eyes shut through the process and made noises through his teeth. Röhm, knowing how much the perverted divine hated it, grinned from start to finish. The relish he was taking in the old man’s dismay helped me get through the process, I will admit. I felt a kind of secondary pleasure in Röhm’s sadism. Nonetheless, I had to gag out of the window.

‘You’d better not do that later,’ said Röhm. He stroked my shoulders; he caressed my thighs. ‘You know I would never normally ask you for such a sacrifice.’

He looked at his watch. He made me drink some more champagne and eat five more plums. I protested. I did not have the stomach for it. Everything would be over soon, he said.

A huge silver moon hung in the black space between the mountain peaks. The car grumbled and whined up the steep roads. Birch and pine forests fell away below us. There were lights in distant valleys. Tall hills surrounded us. The air was richly scented by the trees and wild flowers. Röhm said this was his favourite time of the year up here. He became strangely melancholic. He knew that something was dying in both of us. The last of the summer wine, he said. He and Hitler had always planned to end their days here when their work was completed. He had a feeling something was stealing his future.

We passed through a dark village. A few more minutes and the car pulled up outside a small lodge decorated with fretwork in the typical local style. It stood on a hill in its own grounds among the trees.

‘The view is stunning at dawn,’ said Hess. ’We were happiest here, eh, Ernstie?’ He and his Führer had spent some of their best times here. Hitler had dictated Mein Kampf to his adoring secretary as his fame grew.

‘Carefree days,’ agreed the Stabschef and sighed.

Gregor Strasser was waiting for us at the top of a flight of wooden steps. He was unshaven and unslept. He looked at me and pursed his lips, as if he shared my own opinion of my inability to play the necessary part. My legs were weak. I could hardly walk. My stomach was churning. I wanted desperately to go to the toilet, but the special clothing I was wearing prevented that.

Strasser led us in. The place was unnaturally hot. It smelled of perfume, boiled sausage and other sourer scents I could not identify. Strasser apologised to Röhm and Hess for the state of the place. He had not thought it a good idea to get a woman in.

I sensed an odd silence about the room, as if we were attendant upon a recent death, a lying-in.

‘This is crazy,’ murmured Strasser. ‘It can’t work.’

‘Then come up with a better idea.’ Röhm, aggressive and impatient, was used to coming to decisions and then moving with them, like any soldier. ‘It’s worked before.’

‘But with a real girl. A particular girl.’

‘Believe me, Strasser,’ Röhm insisted. ‘It’s not a real girl he’s obsessed with. What have you told Alf about this?’

‘He doesn’t care. He’s spiralling down deeper every day. He’ll be completely catatonic at this rate. Like shell-shock. He and Hindenburg will make a perfect pair, each about as gaga as the other. The public will be spoiled for choice.’ Strasser spoke with a fierce edge to his voice, as if he himself were on the point of psychological collapse. ‘Meanwhile, the bastard’s draining the life and soul out of everyone.’

‘You didn’t tell him?’ Röhm indicated me.

‘I said there was someone coming to help him .. .’ Strasser looked me up and down once and turned away, nodding. ‘Well, I’ll admit the make-up’s convincing. Someone’s got a good memory.’

Röhm told me to put on the wig and the mask. He pulled the greatcoat off my shoulders. ‘A little masterpiece,’ he said.

Hess uttered a sudden burst of bovine amusement, as if the Minotaur had at last seen the funny side of things. I don’t believe he had any clear idea what was going on.