The cell was dark， and even during the day the narrow slit of a<br >window near the ceiling gave just enough light to let them make<br >out each other s darkened features.<br > It had been that way from the first. When the heavy steel door<br >had swung open， the light from the comdor had blinded Auguste<br >and he had not been able to see the face of the man who was<br >pushed inside.<br > You can always tell French prisons<br >been the first words Auguste had heard h<br >accented French.<br >the stink. Those had<br >sneak in his Corsican-<br > "You re lucky you arrived when you did，" Auguste had said.<br >"They just emptied the piss bucket. Later it gets worse."<br > They remained together for over two months in the dark<br >sweating stench-ridden hole， talking about their homeland， their<br >beliefs， their friends and families back in Corsica; everything<br >except the actions， committed separately， that now brought them<br >together. Often they spoke about women， because doing so made<br >it easier to be without them. Sartene spoke of his wife .back in<br >Corsica， of their first meeting， their formal courtship and the<br >birth of their son. He spoke more with a sense of reverence than<br >passion， but in his words it could be seen that passion had been<br >there as well. For Auguste the conversation was different. There<br >was no wife， only the available women of Marseille and Bastia<br >and the other seaport towns and cities that had taken up his<br >youth.<br > Together they fought off the loneliness and despair with their<br >words. And with their hands and feet they fought the rats that<br >came out to compete for the dry meat and tasteless soup that was<br >20<br >pushed through the narrow opening at the bottom of the cell do<br >each evening. Sartene said there were five rats， insisting he ha<br >learned to distinguish them by the sound of their movements al<br >methods of attack. The smallest and most devious he had nam~<br >Napoleon， recalling that the king of Austria had once called tl<br >French emperor a Corsican gutter rat and had then given him h<br >daughter for a bride.<br > Sartene s knowledge of military history had amazed Augus<br >at first; his discussions of battles and strategies seemed endles<br >Auguste had not been sure if the stories were accurate， but t<br >had listened to them and discussed them， fascinated， like a sma<br >child hearing Bible stories told by nuns. And he had grown 1<br >respect the man s quiet sense of dignity. Despite the misery<br >the cell， he had never heard Sartene complain， other than expres~<br >ing his contempt for French authority. He had simply accepte<br >what had been forced upon him with the knowledge that he ha<br >[O en~<br >une 2<br >tem. "<br >ing their way with their hands， stumbling on the stone stairs that<br >led up to even brighter light. Ten minutes passed before their<br >eyes began to focus， the pain that had seared them fading into a<br >mild throbbing in their temples. They were in a large stone-<br >walled room， furnished only with a long writing table and a chair<br >placed behind it. A French officer stood next to the chair， but<br >they ignored him， staring instead at each other， two men who in<br >the past months had become as close as brothers， clearly seeing<br >one another for the first time in full light.<br > They were both filthy， their faces and hands crusted with dirt，<br >their beards tangled with bits of food. Sores covered their faces<br >and necks， and between the dirt and the pustules the fragments of<br >skin showing through held the gray pallor of death.<br > Sartene was slightly more than average height， but he seemed<br >taller. His lean， raw-boned body stood erect， and his severe<br >dark eyes were accented by a classically curved nose. His hair，<br >matted and knotted， showed flecks of gray through the filth， but<br >his beard was dark and youthful， even though he was clearly in<br >his mid-forties.<br ><br >