‘Of course. Until the war ends. I hate you Marius Furst,’ she tried to say but the last words were lost as she choked back tears. Suddenly she stepped forward and threw her arms round him. They held one another tight for a minute. The old priest gave a gentle cough. ‘We are expected on the other side, Master Grimm,’ he said gently. ‘Time to go. Time to say goodbye.’

‘Goodbye forever?’ Marius asked Aimee.

‘Forever is a long time. Who knows,’ she said and ran from the church.

11 November 1918: East of Hirson

Sergeant Grimm and Father Benedict Gaulle walked up to the general in charge of the front-line troops. Grimm was still raging that Father Raoul had told him he’d been carried across the night before. ‘There will be no more rescues now. Tomorrow the war will be over,’ the priest of Hirson explained.

‘By tomorrow the British military police could have arrested us,’ the sergeant said. ‘We’ll have to take a chance. Walk across.’

Father Gaulle nodded. ‘If peace is arriving soon, they won’t shoot a couple of priests. Put the robes on.’

The spies walked towards the front lines of the army. The British soldiers in a new trench were chatting, taking the lice from their uniforms, drinking tea and telling jokes.

‘You are taking a risk, gentlemen,’ the general said.

‘We’ve been sent forward to observe the truce,’ Silver Hand explained. ‘To see the Germans lay down their arms and surrender.’

‘I see,’ the general said. ‘No one told me you were coming.’

Grimm looked surprised. ‘Really? A message was sent yesterday. I guess with this sudden cease-fire everything is a little confused.’

‘It’s been chaos the past few days,’ the general agreed. He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Ten a.m. now. Can’t you wait? The war ends at eleven.’

‘Yes, but we have to be there... on the German side... for then. So if you don’t mind, we’ll cross no man’s land now.’

The general’s jaw went slack. ‘Are you quite mad? They can still shoot you right up to the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. Armistice doesn’t start till then.’

Father Gaulle was getting restless. They’d spent the night before just five miles behind this front line and word was going around the soldiers’ camp. The military police were looking for two men. Traitors. A sergeant with a metal hand and a Catholic priest. If they found them the men would stand trial and hang. If they tried to escape, the police had the right to shoot them down. But no one was looking for two priests and Grimm had hidden his metal hand in a glove. It was urgent that they get across to the safety of their homeland as soon as possible.