Chapter Eight #2
Watkins sank into the empty chair and rifled through her leather satchel. “Now then, where were we in the Suetonius … my book was just here…”
Watkins’s crumpled suit of charcoal wool, the tea stain on her cuff, and the papers slipping from her satchel did not fill Sidney with confidence in her attention to detail and organization—qualities he would expect in a spy for the Kremlin.
But he had heard the female don lecture enough times to know she brimmed with wit and intelligence, and that would make her an attractive recruit for foreign eyes.
Watkins pulled out a book with a satisfied flourish.
“Now then,” she addressed the circle, thumbing through the pages, “by Suetonius’s account, Caesar had ample opportunities to avert his own fate.
From the many portents that foreboded ill, to his own wife’s dreams, to the warning note delivered to him en route to the senate which he delayed reading.
And for a time, Caesar did waver in his confidence over what to do.
Why do you think he finally caved and entered the senate in the face of such dreadful odds? ”
“He was an egomaniac,” a woman said promptly. “He thought himself untouchable. A god.”
“Caesar wasn’t mad,” a man retorted. “He was a strategic genius, and the senate lashed out in desperation. If they hadn’t feared him so much, they might have dealt with him less harshly.”
“Was he a genius then?” Dr. Watkins asked. “Or a madman?”
“They’re not mutually exclusive,” Craddock said with his aristocratic drawl. “Why not both?”
Dr. Watkins smiled wryly. “History doesn’t usually deem men geniuses who kill so many with impunity.”
Craddock waved a long-fingered hand. “The ancients held different standards in that regard. We mustn’t judge them by modern morals, which would have stemmed the tide of progress. I say let him be a genius.”
The self-satisfied, cocksure manner needled at Sidney.
The man was so secure in his position of power that he didn’t think anyone would question his remarks.
Usually, Sidney would have remained quiet and stewed in his irritation until the feelings ebbed of their own accord.
But on that morning, with Craddock’s disdain for Harold still fresh in his mind, Sidney reached the boiling point too swiftly to stop his anger’s overflow. He needed the man taken down a peg.
“Was Hitler a genius?” Sidney asked.
The other students stiffened, eyes darting back and forth between Sidney and Craddock, who now scowled. Hughes, however, raised his eyebrows as though intrigued.
“I didn’t say that,” Craddock said flatly. “Hitler needed to be stopped.”
“And yet he had his own ideas about progress, didn’t he? Thought he was building a master race by eliminating those he deemed unfit.” Sidney leaned forward on his knees, staring until Craddock met his eye. “That’s pretty forward-thinking.”
“It’s barbaric and mad,” Craddock said icily, “as you well know.” He turned back to Dr. Watkins. “I shan’t be baited away from the topic at hand. We were speaking of Caesar—”
“Who by his own account slaughtered the tribes of Gaul,” Sidney continued. “Was that progress too?”
“It was the building of an empire,” Craddock ground out.
“Which Hitler was also after.”
Craddock’s lips made an annoyed twitch. “I suppose.”
“Then I don’t see how you can praise Caesar as a genius and Hitler as a madman. They’re too alike in many regards.” Sidney leaned back in his chair, sliding one leg over the other. “So, which is it, Craddock?”
A muscle quivered in the other man’s jaw.
Sidney would have bet a bob Craddock wished to remind him to use his honorary title as a point for his own self-esteem, but it would have been a tactical error in the eyes of the circle, most of whom were not aristocrats.
Sidney had the upper hand, and Craddock knew it.
The man gave a small shrug. “I stand corrected,” he said airily. “I suppose Caesar should be regarded as a madman too.”
He leaned back, dusting a trouser leg, but his watery eyes narrowed at Sidney with a glower.
“Thank you,” Dr. Watkins said, “That was most invigorating, gentlemen. Hitler is a fascinating juxtaposition to Caesar, Mr. Braithwaite, and an excellent reminder of how easy it is to romanticize men of the past through the lens of centuries—yes, Mr. Hughes?”
The American gestured between Sidney and Craddock. “Mr. Craddock and Mr. Braithwaite raise interesting points, but we’ve all assumed an implicit moral aspect to the two titles. Couldn’t you also have a saintly madman or an evil genius?”
Craddock rolled his eyes, sinking back in his chair with a soft, derisive snort. But Watkins made a thoughtful hum.
“That’s very true, Mr. Hughes. In fact, I would wager there are more of the latter roaming the earth than we might realize, only most have too modest of ambitions to make their threat known.”
This unifying sentiment drew a round of sage nodding from the circle, and Dr. Watkins continued the discussion of Caesar’s demise without interruption.
Sidney retreated into himself and only half listened, sinking lower in his chair as the exchange skipped and spiraled through his mind like a scratched record.
He wanted to duck out and run alongside the Cherwell until he was exhausted, till his blunder didn’t burn in his memory.
But Sidney couldn’t afford to soothe his embarrassment; he had to regain his footing in the group and hope Dr. Watkins would forget the matter.
Craddock was the sort of Oxford man with whom Sidney had never been friends, and he would have to suffer his presence through future visits to the group.
To succeed on this part of their assignment, he damn sure needed to reinforce the cracks in his armor before meeting Craddock again.
When he dared look around the circle, Hughes was the only one who met his eye, and Sidney chalked up his friendly amusement as a minute victory.
He focused on keeping his pulse even and ignoring Donald Craddock, and the minutes ticked by with agonizing lethargy.
One thing was certain: Ginevra Bishop needn’t know how badly he’d ignored his own advice about discretion.
“We’ll end there for today.” Dr. Watkins closed the book on her lap and smoothed the red binding. “For those who wish to return, we’ll discuss the following chapter next week.” She nodded at Sidney affably and then at Craddock, but the other man was already striding toward the door.
The other students filed out with merry chatter, but Sidney lingered behind. He slung his bag over his shoulder. “Thank you for letting me join.”
“Of course. I appreciate a lively discussion.” Dr. Watkins cleared her throat, fiddling with the fob watch on her jacket lapel.
“I’ve taught Lord Donald for years, and I know he can be tenacious when an idea grabs him.
I would prefer, however, if private matters did not intrude into discussions. If you two have a quarrel—”
“There’s no quarrel,” Sidney said.