A Dark Song of Blood Read Online Free PDF

for their tenth wedding anniversary. Near the grand piano, Bora saw Dollmann conversing with a man in a similar uniform. Both were slim, fair, with slicked-back hair and angular, sly features, and both were looking into the room.
    Mindful of Westphal’s advice, Bora came to greet the SS officers. Soon Dollmann walked back with him toward the refreshments table. “Kappler was dying to meet you.” He smiled.
    â€œI don’t know if I should be flattered, Colonel.”
    â€œBecause he’s head of the Gestapo in Rome? Don’t be a prude. He’s a charming enough man. Here, have some caviar.”
    Bora looked straight at him, which was a frank habit of his and often unnerved people. “There is much in this assignment I could learn from you – we both like Italian culture.”
    â€œOh, Kappler does, too. Collects art. Ancient things, preferably.” Dollmann looked around with his vulpine eyes. “Unlike men who collect young ones, like the Reiner girl. What else do you know about the story?”
    â€œNo more than you do, Colonel. The word is accident or suicide.”
    â€œBut of course you don’t believe that!”
    â€œI believe even stranger things these days.”
    â€œShe dated a couple of ruffians. Speaking of which, the Allies have taken Cervara, and soon will have it all from Ortona to south of Gaeta.”
    Bora drank slowly, so as not to have other drinks forced on him when he wanted to gather information.
    Dollmann suavely upbraided him. “Finish your drink, I want you to taste some real vodka. It came from better days at Kursk.” He reached for a square of toast topped with a creamy mixture. “By the way, what was your specialty in Russia?”
    Bora was sure the SS knew already. “Counter-intelligence, related to guerrilla warfare,” he answered nonetheless.
    â€œAnd in northern Italy, as we hear. So. Do you have nightmares?”
    â€œNot about guerrilla warfare.” Bora finished his cognac. He took from the closest tray two glasses of vodka, and offered one to Dollmann. “To Rome, caput mundi .”
    â€œYes. Head of our world, at any rate. Does it include the Vatican?” Dollmann held the vodka before his lips without drinking. “You were at its doorstep twice this week.”
    â€œIt’s the army that keeps me devout.” Candidly Bora glanced up from his drink. “Please instruct me if there are more people I ought to meet, in this room and around the Vatican. You are the Reich’s prime interpreter and man about town, while I’m new to Rome at war. And I’m not sure I know what ruffians means in the context of the Reiner case.”
    â€œOne at least was our own. And that’s all you’ll get from this round of drinks.”
    Midway through the party General Maelzer showed up, merry with drink already and eager for conversation. Bora was introduced by Dollmann. The general went through some pat routine of questions and then said, “You’re young, Major, you’ll get in the thick of things quickly enough – I don’t mind if you screw someone, but I don’t approve of liaisons with Italian women.”
    â€œI’m happily married, General!”
    â€œIf you were happily married you’d be with your wife. You’re as well married as wartime allows you.”
    With this, Maelzer moved on to another circle of guests and a new round of drinks. Bora, who’d married in a hurry on his way to war, was not nearly as secure as he showed. Asensitive and in many ways romantic man, he had for five years shown steadfast commitment in the face of rare furloughs and a superficial wife. As for other things in his life, his love for the object might be well in excess of what it deserved, from the same idealistic stance that made him obdurate in his work.
    Moments later, Dollmann rejoined him. “What did he say? There’s no getting angry at the King of Rome