A Prospect of Vengeance

— and he had got it to the last syllable. 'Like . . . the Charge of the Light Brigade — ?'

'No — not at all!' Ian's voice was stiff with contempt. 'He must have been in General Le Marchant's charge — ' He began by addressing her, but then dismissed her, to turn the words back to Cathy Audley ' — and General Le Marchant was killed up there, too — in the moment of victory — ?'

'That's right — gosh!' The child was quite enchanted by this supremely useless piece of information. 'You know about the dummy2

battle, Mr Robinson?'

'I know about Le Marchant, Miss Audley.' Whether Ian really knew about 'General Le Marchant' hung in the balance for an instant: it could be either that he had always known, because it was the sort of thing he knew: or it could be that he had just done his homework last night, to know just enough, but no more than that. 'He was the one man in the army who was a scientific soldier — ? A Guernsey man — from the Channel Islands?'

'That's right!' Cathy Audley positively bubbled with pleasure.

'You really do know about the battle, don't you!' Then she frowned. 'But that's silly, isn't it!'

'Silly?'

Not silly, thought Jenny, amending her previous contempt abjectly as she realized what Ian was doing — and what he had done, which she hadn't even thought to do —

'I don't mean you — gosh! I mean me.' Cathy hunched her shoulders. 'I mean . . . you wouldn't be here, traipsing around like this, if you weren't interested in the battle. So ... you're probably a historian — are you a historian?' She cocked her head at Ian, but not coquettishly: it was a simple, straight question, as unfeminine as it was unshy, but with logic behind it. 'Or are you a dragoon?'

'A — ?' Ian was good, having done his homework. But he wasn't that good. 'A ... dragoon, Miss Audley?'

'My father was a dragoon, in the war . . . Not the Peninsular dummy2

War, I mean . . . but his war.' Cathy threw out her inadequate chest with filial pride. 'He wasn't on a horse, of course — he was in a tank ... He doesn't even like horses . . . But, then, he doesn't much like tanks, either. Even though he's always talking about them.' Pride quite vanished beneath honesty.

'But. . . my great-great-great-grandfather was a horse-dragoon, you see. And he was shot right beside General Le Marchant — in 'the moment of victory', just like you said . . .

And my father says all British dragoons should come here, because this was one of the best charges they ever made. But, of course, he wanted me to see it because of great-great-great-grandfather . . . Are you a historian, Mr Robinson?'

'Not a historian, Miss Audley. Or a dragoon. But we are writers, Miss Fielding and I.' Ian smiled and nodded at the child. 'And we are thinking of writing a book on Spain —

aren't we, Miss Fielding?'

'Possibly, Mr Robinson.'

'And if we do, we shall certainly mention the battle of Salamanca, Miss Audley — General Le Marchant's charge.'

'And the dragoons, Cathy.' It was Jenny's turn to smile. 'At least, we will if your father will tell us all about them — would he do that, do you think?'

'Oh . . . yes — ' Cathy looked up towards the Greater Arapile '

— well, I don't see why not.' She came back to Jenny. 'So long as you make allowance for him not being in a very good mood, I mean.' She made a face at them both. 'He's been like that ever since — ' She stopped abruptly.

dummy2

'Ever since — ?' Ever since they tipped him off that there was trouble back home, thought Jenny. It was only to be expected. And with Fielding and Robinson on the loose it was doubly to be expected. 'Something he ate, dear?'

'Oh no!' Cathy was quite disarmed by the fatuousness of the suggestion. 'He just got a phone call from home. And he hates being bothered by the office when we're on holiday, you see.'

'Don't we all, dear!' Jenny laughed. 'But ... is that him up there, watching over us? Up by that . . . what is it? It looks like a sort of monument — ?'

'Yes.' Cathy followed her glance. Then she waved suddenly.

'All right — let's go and see him, then — '

Once she had her second wind the climb wasn't so bad, really: even, it was preferable to the corn-stubble, so long as she took care to avoid the occasional thistle.

'See these walls, Jenny?' Ian had stopped to let her catch up, while the child bounded ahead. They must have cultivated this land right up to here in the old days — ' He spoke loudly, but then dropped his voice as she came level with him ' — if Mitchell's phoned him he'll know who we are, and what we're up to. So he may even be expecting us, Jen.'

She waved at Cathy, who had also stopped now. 'Surprise, surprise. So he's expecting us, then.' She turned, as though to admire the view, and saw that the deceptive undulations of the fields had already flattened out far below her. It was hard dummy2

to imagine that flesh-and-blood could ever have been so brave (or so stupid?) to march all the way she'd come, buttoned-up and constricted in silly uniforms and weighed down by weapons and equipment, and through a hail of Cathy Audley's elusive musket balls. But then, it was also fairly way-out, the process which had brought her so far from home, to this unlikely place: she was here because Philly had once carried Daddy on his back in far-off Korea (another unlikely place, by God!) — and because an Audley ancestor had once charged to death-and-glory here, to find his unmarked grave.