Page 62 of Resistance
36
Polo and the Traitor
France, 1944
Vincent looked exhausted. He told Polo, who was watching with wide eyes, that it had been a traumatic trip, the road from Nantes had been fraught with danger with patrols and road blocks everywhere. Vincent was agitated, speaking quickly, pacing, thinking, telling Polo about Estelle and that everyone was in danger. He’d gone back for the propaganda leaflets that he kept underneath the bed, saying he needed to burn them. They would bring trouble to the village if they were found. In his bag he had documents from Nantes, they had to get them to England.
The frantic nature of Vincent’s words and actions were scaring Polo and hearing the word England sent a shockwave through his body. Claude was English, he was bad. Polo panicked and just blurted it out, stopping Vincent in his tracks.
‘Vincent, I know who it is, the traitor. I saw him leave a note for the Boche.’
At first Vincent didn’t speak, instead he sat down on the bed and said simply, ‘Who was it? Tell me what you saw.’
While Polo explained what he had seen, Vincent remained still, his face ashen, eyes like dark angry holes. Once the tale was told, he dragged his hands across his face, pulling stubbled skin downwards, tired red-rimmed eyelids looking ghoulish in the half-light. Then he spoke.
‘We are in more danger than I thought. Thank God I told the others to disband and Yvette to change her plans… but she needs to know about Claude.’
Polo was wide-eyed and frightened. ‘Why are we in more danger, Vincent? I don’t understand.’
‘Because Claude has betrayed us to the Gestapo. He knew about Estelle and I fear that soon they will start to round us up, it could even begin tonight. He’s met all of our group, I took him to the forest but thank God I never showed him the cave. Are you sure he didn’t see you today, has he ever spotted you before, with me perhaps?’
Polo’s mouth was dry, and his legs trembled. He had never seen Vincent like this. ‘No, I am sure he doesn’t know me. I only saw him once, when he met you in the café, but I was hiding round the back. I peeped through the window then listened at the door. I was scared of his spotty face.’
Vincent exhaled and ruffled Polo’s hair. ‘Good, this is good. But he knows me and Yvette. Florian had taken a message to Xavier and the others at the forest, if they do as they are told they should be long gone before they are raided but if they take one of us…’ Vincent seemed to falter. ‘Never mind that, I need you to do something for me, and you must hurry.’
Polo nodded even though he wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to, but for Vincent, he would do anything. He watched in silence as his hero scrabbled in his bag and eventually pulled out a carpenter’s pencil with a thick stubby nib. Taking one of the propaganda leaflets he wrote a message on the back then he folded it three times.
Vincent stood and held the squared piece of paper in front of Polo. ‘I want to you to take this to La Motte Glain. You know, the shrine by the fountain that’s in the chateau grounds? Yvette will be there with the evaders. She is waiting for Florian to bring the transport, he should go straight there after he has been to the forest. On your way do not speak of this with anyone. Once you have given Yvette the note, go home and stay there. She will know what to do. Do you understand, Polo?’
Polo gulped and nodded. Taking the note, he slipped it inside his boot, pushing it down as far as he could. Then he asked a question, dreading the answer. ‘I understand, but what about you, where will you go, when will I see you again? I want to come with you, please don’t leave me behind, Vincent.’
Vincent crouched in front of Polo and placed one hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘I cannot take you with me this time, Polo, but once the danger is gone, I will come back. It might not be for a while, but you will see me again, I know it here.’ Vincent’s free hand tapped his heart.
But still Polo wasn’t satisfied. ‘But where will you go… south to the mountains, to Spain? I would like to see a new country and you will need food, let me bring some from Tante Elise and then we can go together. I will not slow you down, I promise.’
‘No, Polo, it is too dangerous and I could not bear for anything to happen to you, and there is no time for food, my friend. And I am not going to Spain, so don’t worry. There is something I must do first. Then I will hide.’
‘What must you do? I can help.’
Vincent sighed. ‘No, Polo. You must go, now. Time is running out. Yvette will be leaving soon and if you don’t go now you will miss her.’
Tears welled and from deep inside, panic erupted. Polo stood firm, surprised by his own desperation. ‘Tell me where are you going?’
Vincent didn’t flinch. ‘I am going to find Claude and then I am going to kill him.’
Polo was finding it hard to keep up with Vincent who seemed to be in a great hurry as he followed the track through the forest. Once or twice Polo had been forced to dart behind a tree when Vincent glanced behind him, but it was dark and almost impossible to see, the glow from the moon barely enough to light the way. Only those who were familiar with the trail would make it through without getting lost and the two bravehearts who took the challenge that night were exceptional trackers, emboldened by stealth and knowledge. Polo knew that if Vincent saw him, he would send him home, but this was hismétier now, his one and only job, shadowing his idol, watching his every move and keeping him safe.
After saying goodbye to Vincent, Polo had only got as far as the top of the bank when he faltered. Tears blinded his eyes and his heart felt like it had a crack in it, the pain really, really hurt. Pausing for breath Polo had repeated over and over in his head what Vincent had told him.Speak to no one, take the note to Yvette, then go home.But why, why should he run to her? Vincent was in danger, too.
Claude did not know where Yvette was, she was safe, but Vincent was not. Polo had to protect their leader. He had his grandfather’s pocketknife and would stab to death anyone who threatened Vincent. It was in his sock, where all fighting men kept their secret weapon. The decision made, Polo had crouched behind a tree and waited. Within moments Vincent appeared, then scrambled up the bank and headed in the opposite direction to Polo who had counted to ten and then followed.
The only sounds were of screeching foxes and Polo’s own shallow breath that he fought to regulate; keeping pace with a grown man was exhausting. When, for no apparent reason Vincent came to a sudden halt, Polo froze, no time to dart, the sudden movement might catch his eye. So instead he stood stock-still and watched from the darkness as Vincent rested, or was he thinking, his right hand on the back of his head. Decision seeming to have been made, Vincent swiftly removed the hunting bag from across his shoulders then crouched beside a fallen trunk. He took something from inside and placed it on the ground then wedged the bag between the earth and the bark. He then snapped off smaller branches and covered the bag with a leafy blanket. He picked up the object from the ground and when he stuck it in the waistband of his trousers, behind his back, Polo knew it was a gun.
Vincent then continued at pace, finally breaking through the edge of the forest, he skirted along the final row of trees, keeping close to the hedgerows that bordered the farm. Ahead there was a small cottage, isolated and in darkness and Polo knew this was where Claude would be. Polo couldn’t break cover so stayed put until Vincent was out of sight and then ran, desperate to catch up.
By the time he’d reached the barn Polo was wheezing, he had a terrible stitch too, but forced himself forward sucking in air and holding his side as he crept closer. Peering inside the barn Polo spotted the Solex belonging to Claude. Edging towards the door, that was open just wide enough to slip through, Polo listened and then heard a match strike, the whiff of cigarette smoke tickling his nostrils. Then a voice, Vincent’s.
‘Are you going somewhere? You seem to be in a hurry.’
