A Call To Arms by Allan Mallinson Read Free Book Online Page A

college then?’
    ‘No; on second thoughts I’m a little weary. My eyes are aching again. I have not slept well these past nights. And I want to engage someone at once to find other lodgings. You do not forget Signora Dionigi’s party tomorrow evening?’
    ‘No, indeed.’ Hervey brushed the dust from his hat and placed it on his head a shade more carelessly than usual.
    Shelley looked at him quizzically. ‘I perceive a sudden spring to your step – at last.’
    Hervey failed to hear more than an easy remark. ‘Very well, then. Do we meet at the same time tomorrow?’
    Shelley nodded, and with a wry grin. He had no words. And as he watched Hervey walk from the Caffè Greco, he wondered at the comradeship which black powder so evidently made.
    There had been a night of rain and the Tiber had risen, so that the sewers were stagnant again and enterprising hawkers were doing a brisk trade in nosegays. Hervey made do without, though now the stench was so bad that he clutched a handkerchief to his face, and consoled himself with the thought that there would be incense enough to cover this rankness at the college. He quickened his pace, too, almost to double time, so that it was not long before he was pulling the bell handle at the ironclad doors ofthe English College, the Venerable College of St Thomas de urbe .
    The portiere opened them, but he spoke no English, much to Hervey’s surprise – disappointment even – for John Keble had said the place was truly a piece of England in the heart of the old city, though he had not himself been to Rome. At length there came a tall man in a black cassock, and by the portiere ’s manner, and a few of his words, Hervey supposed this must be the rector, which indeed the man confirmed as he held out a hand in welcome.
    Father Robert Gradwell was striking in both appearance and bearing. Eyes that felt as if they pierced to the soul, albeit with gentleness, at once engaged the visitor; and when Hervey had detached himself from their hold he saw a face that might have been the Duke of Wellington’s own, for the features were spare, hawklike, fervent. Indeed, so arresting was the comparison that Hervey made a very faltering introduction for himself, and took a little time to explain that he would deem it a great privilege if he might see inside the seminary. He half expected to be asked for what purpose, but Father Gradwell did not enquire; he simply welcomed him, warmly and without condition.
    Although it seemed otherwise, Hervey knew that the rector could not have had long experience of showing the college to chance visitors such as he. The house had only lately reopened following Bonaparte’s long occupation of what had variously been described as the Roman republic or the vassal kingdom of France’s. But mercifully, the evidence was not as great as it might have been, although horses had been stabled where the venerabili prayed, and the tombs had been opened for their imagined treasure. Least spoiled of all was the little garden, a very singular feature according to the rector, for where in other palazzi there would be a cortile , with pots and running water perhaps, here was a place where in but a few moments an Englishman might think himself at home. Hervey, certainly, was able to cast his mind to Horningsham and to conjure an image of his parents, his father especially, for in no man could there be a closer unity of chancel and garden than in the Reverend, indeed now the Venerable, Thomas Hervey.
    When the garden had pleased enough, the rector showed him some of the college’s treasures – memorials rather than fine plate – and then conducted him to what he called the chapel of the Martyrs. ‘I expect you shall wish to be in peace here. It is ourcustom to offer hospitality to any visitor. Please come to the refectory when you are quite ready.’
    Hervey murmured his thanks, and the rector took his leave. He stood at the chapel door for some time before he felt ready to