Betrayal

saddle. They cantered off, the horse picking its way. The ground seemed to get rough, its stride interrupted more than once. At one point it jibbed and he lost his grip, sliding down one side and painfully into a cactus. Harsh laughter broke out at his predicament and he was left to remount by himself.

At length Serrano smelt cooking fires and heard voices. They slowed to a halt.

‘?Desmontad!’

He dismounted and the bandanna was removed. He saw he was in a straggling camp of many horsemen; an imposing figure was coming towards him.

Drawing himself up Serrano asked gravely, ‘Sir, do I find myself addressing Don Baltasar, Hidalgo de Terrada?’

‘You do, sir, and you are?’

‘Vicente Ignacio Serrano de Santiago Vazquez y Colon, at your service.’

‘I don’t know you.’

‘I was a messenger in the Legion de Voluntarios Patricios at Juanico,’ Serrano replied.

‘And Martin Miguel de Guemes has spoken to me on your behalf. You have my ear, sir. Now, what matter is so pressing that I must hear you?’

He became aware that behind Baltasar a thick-set man with a chest-length black beard and extravagant ornamentation had appeared. Bustamente.

‘Sir. I’ve been in exile in South Africa since Juanico and-’

‘Why are you here, then, if Africa is more to your fancy?’ Bustamente snapped, difficult to understand in his hoarse voice.

Serrano tried to ignore him. ‘And a meeting by chance-’

The big man lunged forward, caught him by his shirt and lifted him bodily. ‘I asked a question, cerdito,’ he snarled.

‘Leave him, Manuel. Let’s hear what he has to say,’ Baltasar said.

Serrano patted himself down and continued: ‘I became friends with an English officer and learned they planned a strike against the Spanish. I took passage as an interpreter and, once here, I saw my chance.’

‘To act the spy?’ croaked Bustamente, with an evil glint.

‘No, sir.’ He took a deep breath. ‘To offer to them my services to bring the chief of los patriotas himself to a council of war to join an army of liberation.’

The two men stared at him – then Bustamente roared with laughter, holding his sides. Suddenly he stopped and fixed Serrano with a cruel expression. ‘So! You are a high delegate from the English fleet.’ He thrust himself into Serrano’s face. ‘There’s only one trouble with that, little man – we already have one.’

He laughed again, then turned and bellowed, ‘Bring Barreda!’

A tall individual, dressed in black breeches and in a plain naval cocked hat, was brought forward.

Baltasar held up a restraining hand at Bustamente and asked quietly, ‘Senor Barreda, do you know this man?’

Looking at Serrano distrustfully, he said, ‘I cannot recollect ever having seen this individual. No, sir.’

Turning back Bustamente said silkily, ‘This gentleman is from your ship-of-the-flag Diadem, sent by Comodoro Popham, and he does not know you.’

A cold wash of fear came over Serrano. It was the last thing he had expected, and he knew that if his credentials were doubted, they would assume he was a spy for the hated Spanish authorities. ‘That is because I come from another ship, the L’Aurore of Captain Kydd. You may send for confirmation, naturally.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Baltasar said easily. ‘Just be so good as to show us your papers. You have some, of course?’

The cold inside turned into a knot of terror.

‘Do show this gentleman yours, if you please,’ Baltasar told Barreda.

The papers were handed across. They were undoubtedly genuine, from the naval cipher to Popham’s signature.

He had possibly five seconds to save his life.

A way out suggested itself: his very being revolted at the act, but in the longer term, what was the fate of one man against the cause?

He pretended to peruse them, then looked up. ‘Why, these are perfect,’ he declared. ‘So close to the genuine as would fool the commodore himself.’

Barreda goggled at him as Baltasar snapped, ‘Explain!’

‘Very simple. No military commander would put his delegate at risk by having him carry papers on his person – and, even worse, would never compromise his own position to the extent of personally signing an admission of subversion.’ He sighed and handed the papers back to the thunderstruck Barreda, avoiding his eye.

‘And he must explain also why he had the complete confidence to pass through Spanish-held territory so easily, unless . . .’

Baltasar eased into a tight smile. ‘You are vouched for by Guemes, this – by clever papers.’

The smile vanished. ‘Take him away!’ he rapped at Bustamente. ‘And find out what he knows.’

Serrano fought back a tremor as Baltasar asked softly, ‘Now, sir, what is it that you have to tell me?’

A tearing shriek came from the corral, then another.

‘Well?’

‘Sir, the British fleet lies at anchor off Maldonado. It will shortly set sail to fall on Montevideo.’ His voice had become unsteady at the inhuman sounds coming from the corral.

‘This we know.’

‘Er, they are anxious that los patriotas are not denied their just share of glory in the wresting of this country from the Spanish.’

‘You mean, they want us to assist them.’

‘They are saying that the Spanish cannot withstand a simultaneous assault by land and sea.’ There was a last ragged squeal from the corral and then silence. ‘They do respectfully request a council-of-war with yourself.’

Baltasar eyed Serrano thoughtfully. ‘The idea has merit, but there’s much to be settled. First, what guarantee have I that this is not a trap?’

‘Sir, I signal with my red flag from the shore and a boat will be sent to convey you to the commodore. You will see this and there can be no Spanish trap aboard a Royal Navy ship.’

The older man gave a tight smile. ‘You have much to learn in wars of the people, Senorito Vicente. For instance, who is to command? What is to stop the ingles general placing our glorious cavalry before his to take the casualties in place of his own? And if we suffer reverses and the campaign is long, who will supply us, pay the fighters, arm our men?’

‘These things you may discuss with the commodore, sir.’

‘Not so fast, young man. When we face the English it will be with our demands clear, our decisions made. For instance, what is the status of prisoners taken? If this is a war of liberation then they will be in a very different situation from your usual prisoner-of-war. Do you not wish to be avenged on them for your exile?’

‘Sir, time is short. I heard the officers on board the ship complaining that supplies are limited and the sooner they are landed the better.’

‘Quite. But there are other matters to settle, which, because they bear on the whole, can be agreed upon only by the full council of the Sociedad Patriotica. Be tranquil, compadre, I shall summon a meeting.’

A conclave met that very night. From far and near men of legend were called to bring their wisdom and authority to the congress, riding in with wild speed and elan as the true gauchos they were. They sat together around the fire, tales of derring-do echoing into the night, until at last they could be prevailed on to debate the matters in hand. They exuberantly entered into discussion – which then turned to argument.

Beside himself with despair, Serrano could only wait for the interminable to-and-fro to end.

There was much to talk about: to ally themselves with an almost unknown foreign power would need careful consideration and they were not about to rush into this. The arguments raged on through the night, into the next