Chapter One

Oxford was swarming with soldiers. Airmen, too, patrolled its ancient mediaeval streets in boisterous numbers. Of undergraduates, there appeared to be very few, this winter of 1941. 'Yes, they're mostly first years nowadays - and those there are will have gone home for the Christmas holidays,' said Frederick Rowlands's companion, when the former remarked upon this. 'All except for the Indian students - too far for them to go, even during peacetime. Now they're stuck here in this beastly climate for the duration, poor devils.'

Rowlands grunted his appreciation of this fact, as he huddled deeper into his army greatcoat, which had stood him in good stead in weather like this for many years. Falling into step with his guide, as both strode briskly along the Broad, he wondered how soon he would hear a more satisfactory explanation of the summons he had received forty-eight hours ago, saying - in so many words - that he should come as quickly as possible.

There's something I need your help with - urgently.

That had been the line that had stood out most starkly from the letter Edith had read to him two nights before, and that had prompted Rowlands to drop everything - his work, his family life - and take the train from Brighton to Oxford station, where the sender of the letter, his friend and mentor, Sir Ian Fraser, had met him. 'Because it's not like the major to make a fuss about nothing,' said Rowlands, discussing this extraordinary missive with his wife - his use of Fraser's wartime rank a habit he found hard to drop.

'If he says it's urgent, it must be urgent,' said Edith, who had known Ian Fraser since her days as a VAD at St Dunstan's, the institute for war-blinded servicemen of which Fraser was the head, and to which her husband had belonged since being invalided out of the army towards the end of the last war. 'You have to go, Fred. He sounds really worried.'

Only now, instead of getting straight to the point about what was troubling him, the major was talking about anything other than that - the fact that so many students had left to join up, so that the university had virtually been emptied out overnight; the large numbers of men from all branches of the services who'd taken their place . 'Women, too, it might surprise you to know.'

Rowlands, with two daughters engaged in war work - one with the Women's Auxiliary Air Force - murmured that he wasn't at all surprised.

'Of course, there haven't yet been any air raids in Oxford,' the major went on, as they turned right along Turl Street. 'The undergraduates still have to do their share of fire-watching, though. Most of the colleges - those not requisitioned by the army - have organised drills. Much as we do at St Dunstan's,' added the head of this institution. 'One has to do one's bit, I suppose.'

Rowlands felt he had heard enough. To have come all this way, in the biting cold (surely he'd felt a few flakes of snow?) only to listen to his friend ramble on about a lot of inconsequential stuff, was too much. 'Major .' he began, but the other put a hand on his arm, as if in warning.

'We go in here,' he said, adding in a low voice, 'I'll put you in the picture as soon as we're alone.'

They passed through a gateway, with the major's guide dog, Heidi, an Alsatian bitch, preceding them - at once attracting the attention of the college porter, who left his lodge in order to make a fuss of the animal, 'Who's a lovely girl, then?'

'Any messages for me, Dobbs?'

'No, sir . Least, Professor Challoner asked if you was back yet, that's all.'

'Yes, I'll be seeing him later. Put Mr Rowlands's bag in the top guest room, will you? Thank you, Dobbs. A good man,' said the major to Rowlands, as the two of them, with Heidi padding alongside, crossed the grassy quadrangle to the first of the college's mediaeval buildings. 'Lost an arm in the last show. Came out of retirement when his predecessor, Samuel Noakes, joined up.'

Rowlands nodded. It was a familiar story. Since the onset of hostilities, many such jobs had been filled by those too old to fight - or by women, in some cases. 'Can't you give me at least an idea-' he began, but again the other cut him off.

'Welcome to Brasenose,' he said, directing his friend with a touch on the arm to turn left. 'This part of it's called Old Quad.' They crossed what Rowlands sensed from the sudden quiet after the bustle of the streets to be a wide grass-covered space, and passed through another gate into the building. A few more steps brought them to a door. 'We'll talk in here. It's the senior common room. We shouldn't be disturbed until the hordes come in at teatime.'

The room, which was large, had the distinctive smell of most rooms dedicated to masculine society: a compound of stale tobacco smoke, worn leather upholstery, and the faintly musty odour of ancient tweeds. It was at least warm, with a log fire crackling in the large stone fireplace that took up much of one side of the room. 'Sit down, won't you?' said Major Fraser. 'There's a wing chair on one side of the fire - and another on this side,' he added, taking a seat. 'I think we've got the place to ourselves. Hello,' he called, raising his voice slightly. 'Anybody here?'

There was no reply to this tentative enquiry. It seemed that they were indeed alone, and so, after both had thrown off their coats, and lit cigarettes, Fraser began speaking without further ado. 'I may have mentioned at some time in the past that I knew someone in British Intelligence during the last war,' he began, then, to the dog, 'Settle down, Heidi! She's still young,' he said apologetically, but Rowlands wondered if it was more than that. Dogs were sensitive creatures, he knew. Was there someone else in the room after all? He dismissed the thought, and concentrated on what Fraser had said.

'I believe you did mention it,' he replied.

'Thought I had. Interesting chap, Challoner. Of course, we were both young men at the time,' the major went on. 'Same battalion. Thrown together - the way one was, at that time. I expect you remember .'

'Yes,' said Rowlands.

'Brainy chap, old Challoner, even then. Of course, they soon picked him for special duties. Listening in to the enemy's signals. All very hush-hush, you know.' He was silent a moment, as if transported back to those far-off days, when living so close to death had given life a peculiar intensity. 'Then I got my Blighty one - invalided out - as you were, too, Rowlands, and that was the last I saw of Donald Challoner for many years. Imagine my surprise when I turned up at a college reunion dinner - it must have been '38 or '39 - to find he'd ended up back in Oxford. Professor of classics, no less. Always was a clever fellow. Still acts as a kind of advisor to MI5, I gather. They're based at Blenheim Palace, would you believe? Challoner's highly regarded by that crowd, from all I hear.'

He paused, as if gathering his thoughts. Once more the dog at his feet stirred uneasily, and let out a soft growl. 'Be quiet, Heidi! Anyway, we kept in touch after that - the occasional letter, you know - although we were both pretty busy, with one thing and another.'

Rowlands smiled at this characteristic understatement on his friend's part. In recent years, Ian Fraser had combined running an organisation - St Dunstan's - catering to the needs of several hundred war-blinded members and their families, with being a Member of Parliament.

'Then, a fortnight ago, I received a letter from the principal at Brasenose, inviting me to a reception for the "Men of 1914" - that's when I was up, you know. Never took my degree, as I joined up the following year. After that .' He gave a wry chuckle. 'Things took a different course for me, as they did for you, Rowlands.'

Both were silent a moment, thinking of all that had passed since the fateful day - in July 1916 for Fraser; almost exactly a year later, for Rowlands - when both had received the wounds that took away their sight, and changed their lives forever.

'Anyway,' Fraser resumed. 'The wife raised no objection to my coming up to Oxford the week before Christmas - it'd get me from under her feet, she said - and so I arrived the day before last. Thought I'd make a little holiday of it, you know. Look up a few people I used to know. Revisit a few old haunts. Only as you see,' he added ruefully, 'the whole place has been turned upside-down by...