Whose Business is to Die, page 8
‘True, though I suspect the men feel that since we fight and risk our lives for them they should not resent the loss of the odd chicken or bits of fence for fuel.’
‘That was no chicken,’ Truscott said, ‘but what would you expect of the “bacon bolters”!’ It was an old nickname for the grenadiers, traditionally the largest soldiers in a battalion. They tended to claim that they were also the bravest, although the other companies were apt to say that they were merely the least intelligent.
‘The difference is that the French would take everything, and hang the farmer and ravish his wife. They would do all that whether or not their officers were there, indeed often under orders. At least our fellows make sure we never catch them stealing, and expect no leniency if they are taken.’ Lord Wellington was very strict in punishing plunderers, and if it did not stop the men, at least it placed limits on their abuses.
‘Well, that is a difference, I suppose.’ Truscott’s tone was grudging.
‘It is a great difference. If we are not saints then at least we are far from being the worst sinners.’
Truscott smirked. ‘As I have said before, it is doubtful that the established Church appreciates what it lost when you laid down the Good Book and picked up the sword – what sermons you might have delivered to shape the morals of your parishioners! Theft to supply your own wants entirely justified, regardless of the dire consequences for those robbed. Our reading from the Book of Pringle, chapter one, verse one.’
‘Amen.’
They were far enough away for gentle conversation not to be overheard, and yet still close enough to answer the summons of the drum when the battalion started to move again.
‘I take it that the letter is preying on your mind,’ Truscott said.
Pringle had charge of a letter from Miss MacAndrews to Williams, given in the hope that their paths would cross. The major’s family were in Lisbon and it was not yet clear whether they would join him and the regiment. Much depended on where the 106th were sent and, with the prospect of months of manoeuvring and fighting, they might not come up until the autumn and more settled times.
‘It is. And I truly wonder what it contains.’
The letter was sealed and its contents a mystery, so it was hard to know how his friend would react if and when it was delivered. Billy liked Jane MacAndrews, and not simply because she was a beautiful, lively young lady. He liked pretty women, a subject which blissfully occupied his mind for most of his waking hours. In the case of the major’s daughter prudence and inclination ensured that he had never acted upon the attraction, save for some vividly imagined scenes. There were plenty of other pretty girls, so he saw Jane as a friend and no more.
Williams loved Miss MacAndrews with a devotion which had only grown stronger with the passing years – and that in itself was another reason for never attempting to win favour with the girl. A friend was a friend, after all. Billy felt closer to Williams, Hanley and Truscott than he did to his own brothers, all naval officers and so rarely seen in recent years. He was unsure of the details, but it had seemed in Cadiz that Williams’ dedicated courting was at last beginning to bear some fruit. The girl was almost of age, and perhaps a little more ready to consider a permanent attachment. She was also now of independent means, following a legacy from her mother’s American family. That had placed Williams in a quandary, for he dreaded earning the name of fortune hunter. Even so, the pair appeared closer.
‘I am convinced the news cannot be so very bad,’ Truscott said. ‘I do not quite know why, but I have always felt that one day Bills and the lady would marry. They would surely be very happy, or bicker like cats and dogs.’ He considered this for a while. ‘Most likely both at the same time!’
Pringle had felt much the same, and had become surer of it all last summer. Then they were sent on that disastrous expedition to take Malaga, and Williams was shot down and left behind on the beach. As the months passed without word it became more and more certain that he was dead. The regiment did not return to Cadiz, and so Pringle had not seen the girl, but Hanley visited whenever he was sent to report there. There were also frequent calls from Pringle’s older brother Edward, a naval officer whose brig often visited the port. Ned was only lately a widower after his wife died along with the child she had just brought into the world. His brother appeared to have recovered his spirits with remarkable speed, or perhaps, as Hanley thought, it was the grief which had drawn the two of them together. Ned was a personable fellow when he wanted to be, and as enthusiastic an admirer of the fair sex as Billy, especially when flush with prize money.
‘Edward writes with confidence, if not quite openly, speaking of good news he hopes to share with the family when he next returns home.’ Only six weeks ago Ned had been made post captain, given a frigate and sent to the East Indies. It was unlikely that he would return for a year or more. ‘Yet I am certain there is no engagement.’
Truscott agreed, as he had always done when they had discussed this before. ‘MacAndrews was not there, so at the very least he has no permission.’
‘It is to be hoped that there is not even an understanding. At least not on her part. Ned was always inclined to take anything but a direct and brutal refusal as full assent. I cannot see Miss MacAndrews as a sailor’s wife, left alone on shore for most of her life.’
Truscott said nothing. Pringle had raised the subject so many times that there was nothing fresh to say. Yet it was not really of his friend and the major’s daughter that Pringle had wished to talk. In the last weeks he had been inching towards a decision, a truly important one, and oddly the distant sound of the guns had brought it to the front of his mind.
‘Do you believe it is right for a soldier to marry?’ he asked.
‘The wives help the men a good deal,’ Truscott said, his face relaxing since he obviously believed that the serious conversation was at an end. ‘It amazes me again and again how resolutely they follow the battalion through all weathers.’
‘What of officers?’
‘Oh, I misunderstood, and I would judge that the enquiry is not of a general nature, but specific.’ Truscott watched him closely. ‘Indeed, something of personal import?’
Pringle nodded.
‘Dear me, and I feel that I have failed in the duties of a friend since I have taken insufficient interest in your affairs to know the identity of the lady. Would she be of the Roman faith?’
Pringle wondered whether his friend had heard about Josepha, the lover he had taken when he was on detached service up on the border a year ago. The poor child was fleeing from an unwanted betrothal, and he had given her protection for a short while, but not the permanent union she wanted. For a moment the guilt came back, marring the warm memories of having the girl in his bed. The last he heard she was living with a commissary, but heaven knew where she was now.
‘No,’ he said, for he had not spoken of the Spanish girl. ‘The lady is English, albeit a Methodist.’
‘The letters!’ Truscott roared loud enough to make faces turn towards them from the nearest cluster of soldiers. ‘Why, you cunning file,’ he added in a lower voice. ‘You mean Williams’ sister! But you have only met on a few occasions and then not for a year and a half.’
‘That is true.’ Anne, the oldest of the three Williams sisters, was a golden memory of his last visit home, and over time the place and the person had merged into a dream of peace and happiness.
Truscott whistled softly through his teeth. ‘You do realise that Bills is the head of the household, and so you would have to seek his consent?’
‘Yes.’
‘He does know you very well,’ Truscott said, his tone hinting that this might not prove altogether to Pringle’s advantage.
‘I am touched by your high opinion of me, truly touched. But this is all to run ahead of ourselves. My concern is whether it is fair to ask a lady to bind herself to me when I do not know when I shall return to England. Or if I ever shall. Would you consider marriage, assuming you formed an attachment?’
Truscott did not reply for a while. Pringle noticed that he was again touching his empty sleeve and hoped that he had not caused his friend distress. Did he worry that no lady would be eager to accept the proposal of a man who had lost his arm.
The drums began to beat, and all around the road the men of the 106th stirred themselves. Fires were doused, and as much of the contents of the kettles saved as was possible.
‘We had better go,’ Billy said. ‘Though I notice that you have not answered my question. Is it fair for a soldier to marry when he might any day be killed?’
‘Or maimed …’ Truscott’s voice was sad. ‘Lately, with the boy come to join the battalion, I have come to know what it means to worry. The fear that he will fail, for I do not believe him to be robust or quick witted. Will he become a laughing stock, or still worse be disgraced? And yet most of all I dread having to write home and tell our parents that he has fallen. I suspect they naively believe that I can keep him safe.’
‘You will do all that can be done, and your friends will help,’ Pringle said, aware that it was little consolation.
They walked in silence, and were about to part to go to their companies when Truscott whispered, ‘I know that I have not answered you, my dear Pringle. It is because I do not know what the answer is.’
Formed up on the road in open column, the 106th stepped off at the stentorian command of the sergeant major. They marched for another five hours, stopping for breaks after each hour, and twice more held up by regiments ahead of them. It rained a few times, if never again the deluge of the early morning. The showers fed the already deep mud on the road, and by the time they reached Campo Major every man’s white trousers were covered in filth. The 106th had come out to Gibraltar with new uniforms, and had spent months in garrison. Even so the brief campaign of Barrosa and the march from Lisbon had already begun to take their toll. Pringle noticed that several of his grenadiers had the soles of their boots flapping as they walked, and made a note to have that attended to when they stopped.
As they marched past the town the sun dipped beneath the frayed canopy of clouds and bathed the world in light. It had little warmth, but Pringle felt cheered. The sky to the west was a glorious canvas of pinks and gold, and he felt that no one could see such a sight and not feel hope growing within him.
The battalion was led by a guide to a field beside the road and ordered to bivouac for the night. There was something very familiar and comforting about the routine of the camp, even if for the first time in weeks they were not alone, but had battalions all around them. It was the Grenadier Company’s turn to provide pickets so it would be a while before he had leisure to rest. Doing the rounds he passed an open space to the left of the camp, and noticed some of the subalterns staring at scattered white boulders. Spotting the diminutive shape of Samuel Truscott, distinctive in his immense hat, Pringle wandered over to see what they were looking at.
Young Sam suddenly leaned over and Billy heard the sound of retching.
‘Oh, Truscott, you have covered my boots!’ squealed one of the others.
The boulders were corpses, stripped naked before they were cold, the way he had seen the dead on so many fields. Coming closer he saw the pale bodies rent about the head and arms with dreadful cuts, the blood looking black in the fading light.
‘This was where the light dragoons broke the French,’ Derryck told him. They had heard rumours ever since they approached the town, accounts of a heroic charge and of bungling by generals.
Samuel Truscott stood up, looking paler than the bodies, but then sight or smell struck him again and prompted another loud burst of vomiting. The boy sank down on to all fours.
‘That one is the French colonel.’ Derryck gestured at a body with its head terribly mutilated. ‘They say an officer came across with a flag of truce to find him and then wept by his side. It was his brother, do you see. Poor fellow.’ The sympathy was brief, and in a moment Derryck’s usual exuberance returned. ‘Come on, you fellows, enough of this ghoulish interest. There is a bottle or two waiting and food as well, so come along. Help Truscott up if he cannot stand.’
Brothers were a concern, thought Pringle. He had heard that the Second Division were here as well as the Portuguese and their own Fourth Division, so he might be able to find Williams, and perhaps even learn what damage Ned had wrought on his friend’s hopes.
The sun went down, not with the slow grandeur of home, but still moving enough in its way. Pringle sighed and made up his mind.
8
‘Well, at least we know that they are up to something,’ Baynes concluded after listening to Hanley’s story and questioning many of the details. ‘From what I am told of his activities in the south, Sinclair is fond of besieging fortresses with gold. Which reminds me.’ The merchant fished in his pockets for a note. ‘That ship your friend Williams helped capture last year, the gold found in it is confirmed as lawful prize and will be distributed. This is the sum your friend is due.’
Hanley took the proffered note, read the columns and was suitably impressed. They had found half a dozen chests hidden beneath a cargo of cotton bales. All had contained gold, and it was suspected that the money was intended to be used to bribe prominent men to accept Joseph Bonaparte as their king. The discovery had been kept secret in the hope of catching some of those involved.
‘It will be paid before the year is out, and perhaps sooner,’ Baynes continued, ‘so our young friend may have less need to continue his career of brigandage, though some would say that the best way to remain rich is to spend only when absolutely unavoidable. You may tell him or not, as you wish.’ He took the note back.
The merchant sat down and poured them each a glass of port. He tasted it, winced. ‘Heaven knows how I sell this muck,’ he muttered, and drained the glass. ‘Now then, what do you think is afoot?’
‘It looks very much as if Soult has sent Dalmas and Sinclair to gain more afrancesados whether in Spain or Portugal or both,’ Hanley suggested. ‘They would either pass the money over directly, or more likely provide it to pay agents who would suborn others. It may be simply to win over as many influential men as possible to supporting France, or they may have some specific end in mind.’ He sipped the port, found that it was very good and let the warmth spread from his throat to his chest. It had been a long day. ‘Do we know of any agent living in Campo Major or near by?’
‘No one we thought was important, and the only other one was arrested and taken to Elvas weeks ago. There may be others. There are men willing to turn traitor for pay in every place and every country. I have little doubt that there are plenty of them in London, Lisbon, Cadiz or anywhere else you care to name.
‘So we will leave aside the question of why here for the moment. What of Bertrand?’ Baynes refilled his own glass and topped up Hanley’s. The room was lit by a large fire and a couple of candles. They were in one of the houses near the walls. Owned by a haulier known to Baynes, the place was empty apart from a couple of servants.
‘He was an engineer – quite a good one by the sound of it – so he may simply have come to direct the siege. He was at Ciudad Rodrigo helping to lay out the batteries last year.’
‘Odd to bring his mistress.’ Baynes produced a loaf and some cheese.
‘Yes. That may have been the reason he was ordered here, but there must be more to it. He had debts, very large debts. It appears that he hoped to recover his situation by selling information to us. Perhaps he guessed what Miss Dobson has been doing, or she may have encouraged him.’
Baynes smiled. ‘Miss Dobson – how very proper that sounds. Though is she not really the widow Mrs Hanks?’
Hanley could barely remember the big, quiet, rather dull grenadier Jenny had married. A match arranged by her formidable father when it was widely believed that she was already pregnant by someone else. He could not remember telling Baynes about that, although perhaps he had years ago. ‘Either, as you like. But I am sure she encouraged him. She says that he had papers, listing the strengths and disposition of all three corps in the south.’
‘Useful,’ Baynes said, ‘if unlikely to make us willing to pay off “very large debts”. I sometimes suspect that we are almost as well informed of such things as Marshal Soult himself.’
‘The most valuable material was supposed to be in his head,’ Hanley explained. ‘At least that is what she says.’
‘Unfortunate. Most unfortunate, since his head has such a large hole in it. And does she know what he was holding back?’
‘No, she says that she does not. Nor is she sure whether he planned to desert or to send her across to us and commence negotiations.’
‘Bertrand appears to have been a cautious man,’ Baynes said with a measure of respect.
‘Not cautious enough, though. Dalmas appeared suddenly – though she does not admit it I am sure Miss Dobson and he know each other – and from then on never left his side. Brandt stayed with them as well. They were not formally under arrest. That was why he made a run for it when he saw the chance.’
‘Well, forget him, forget the girl too if you can, at least for the moment. Would you care for cheese? No. Saving yourself, eh? You will find what you asked for in the basket over there, and in the bag. That is for later. As I say, for the moment forget them. In my case I wish that I could forget the execrable dinner provided by Marshal Beresford. Not an experience I can recommend, so perhaps it is all to the good that he rarely issues invitations. However, perhaps I should be grateful for the chance of witnessing the true artistry of his cook – it must take considerable care to ensure that half the food is too hot and half too cold, while at the same time presenting the burnt and the raw in the same dish.
‘The marshal’s headquarters is not a happy place this evening, not at all, save for the delight they took in finding others to blame for all that went wrong. Well, I am no soldier, not at all, but it causes concern. The peer has given the marshal very strict instructions, and I wonder whether they tie his hands too tightly, rather than guiding them to the task. If only Daddy Hill had not gone home – at the very least I should have got a better dinner!’ Lieutenant General Hill had fallen ill and returned to England back in the autumn, and his command was entrusted to Marshal Beresford. ‘With Hill gone, and Craufurd too – now there is a man who knows a thing or two about bad dinners – we have to make do with men of lesser capabilities, and the peer cannot be everywhere at once.
