Hervey winced. A commodore, in common parlance an admiral — he would carry a heavy price if the Carbonari were minded to ransom.
The big man bowed in acknowledgement when the woman translated.
‘The comandante says he is honoured to have so exalted an officer in his company, and wishes to offer you our hospitality,’ she explained, throwing out a hand to indicate their encampment.
They had by now come up to the mouth of a cave, big enough to enter without stooping. A fire burned without smoke at the mouth, and a pot hung above it on a tripod. Beyond that there was little sign of camp comforts. ‘Why do you detain us, sir?’ asked Hervey.
The man appeared to understand much of the French, but he would not speak it, and he waited each time for the woman to explain before replying in Italian. ‘Because if I had let you go on you would have run into Austrian patrols. And if you had gone back it would have been the same. I could not risk you telling them of us.’ He took the pot from the tripod with a piece of leather. ‘Would you like coffee, signori?’
There seemed no reason to decline.
‘But we saw no troops of any sort on the road,’ pressed Hervey.
‘That is difficult to believe, signori. There are always pickets along that road, and in strength.’
‘I assure you, sir,’ replied Hervey, shaking his head. ‘We saw not a man. Although I confess we were sleeping for the past hour or so. But they surely would have stopped us?’
The comandante began hurried consultation with the half-dozen other men who had followed them to the cave. His voice had turned more than a touch anxious. He turned back to Hervey. ‘Do you swear, sir, by your soldier’s honour that the road is free of troops?’
Hervey frowned. ‘I repeat, sir, that we saw none at all in our progress. If they lay concealed in the trees, or ditch or I know not, then I cannot say.’
Clearly this intelligence had some effect on the plans of the Carbonari, but in what way Hervey could neither understand nor deduce.
‘What d’ye think agitates them so?’ asked Peto, becoming weary of the business.
‘I can’t tell. Either they’re planning an ambuscade and their birds have flown, or—’
‘You will stay here, signori,’ said the comandante suddenly. ‘And you will stay with them, Maurizia.’
The woman nodded, looking anxious for the comandante.
‘
When they had gone, Hervey glanced at Peto.
The woman saw. ‘Do not try to leave, messieurs. There are men posted. They will shoot.’
Hervey and Peto exchanged looks which postponed the notion of escape. Hervey sipped his coffee, bitter though it was. ‘Your French is excellent, mademoiselle. May I ask how you acquired it?’
‘Why do you wish to know?’ she replied defiantly.
‘I have no motive other than curiosity, mademoiselle. Mine I was taught by a Frenchwoman who lived in England. I did not set foot in France until I was three and twenty.’
She smiled a little. ‘I have not even been to Rome, monsieur.’
‘Then you too had an able teacher.’
‘King Joachim.’
Hervey did not catch her meaning. ‘How so, mademoiselle?’
‘I was his mistress, monsieur.’
Hervey was stunned. Here was both honesty and history in uncommon measure.
Peto had followed the exchange, and looked eagerly for the particulars.
‘Not his only mistress, of course. But I believe he favoured me above the others for a time. Certainly among those who were not of the quality.’
Her candour was wholly disarming. It was not difficult to appreciate what Murat had seen, for her fierce eyes could surely blaze in an altogether different light. Hervey and Peto looked at each other in some confusion. ‘What are you doing here, mademoiselle, with these Carbonari?’ asked the former.
‘The Carbonari fight for our liberty, monsieur. We want no other sovereign but our own, Italian. And perhaps not even a king. We make a beginning here, in Napoli, but in time there will be Carbonari in all of Italy.’
‘And you yourself, mademoiselle?’
She looked at Hervey strangely. ‘I am Carbonara, too, monsieur. And my place is here, with the comandante, my man!’
Hervey was silenced by her passion.
‘From silk sheets to pine needles,’ said Peto, just loud enough for him to hear, and in a tone more of puzzled admiration than reproach.
Hervey was inclined to admire her too, though who could tell her true motives in being here? Perhaps she herself could not. But the life must hold few comforts. ‘Mademoiselle, what is the comandante’s intention here today?’
Her look at once became distant again. ‘Why do you wish to know?’
‘Well,’ he began, with a smile, ‘we are detained by you, and might wish to know what shall be our end, and when.’
‘You will come to no harm, messieurs.’
‘But why was the comandante so sure we had seen Austrian troops on the road?’
The woman hesitated at first. ‘There is a company in the town a mile or so along the road from here to Napoli. We intend capturing their weapons. They send patrols along the road to the frontier each day. They return about this time. You should have seen them.’
‘Well, we did not. How many men does the comandante have, mademoiselle?’
She did not answer.
‘Mademoiselle, I am a soldier. It is my interest to know, that is all.’
‘Enough,’ was all she would say.
Hervey thought for a moment. ‘Has the comandante placed pickets about the camp?’
The woman looked uncomprehending.
‘I mean, has he placed sentries all around the camp, at a distance, beyond the range of the camp’s noise?’
Again she looked as if she did not grasp the intent.
‘So that an enemy’s approach might be detected in time to have the comandante’s men take post.’
Hervey’s question was answered in part by a distant welter of musketry. He sprang up and past the woman in an instant. From the mouth of the cave it was clear the firing came from the direction they had travelled, but from up the hill rather than the road below.
The camp was now all alarm, running, cursing and shouting the order of the moment —
Hervey moved instinctively to the protection of a tree trunk, taking his pistol from his belt and porting it high. He called and beckoned to Peto, who was still standing at the mouth of the cave as if on his quarterdeck, for a naval officer did not seek cover in an engagement.
Peto almost strolled to the tree.
‘As soon as they’re all atop that rise’ (Hervey pointed with the pistol to where Carbonari were scrambling for all they were worth) ‘we can steal back down the hill and try to find the carriage.’
‘Very well,’ said Peto, as if he were agreeing to nothing more exacting than a change of sail.
The firing was now intense, perhaps no more than a hundred yards off. It was volleying for the most part, and regular enough for Hervey to estimate there was a full company, for no foreign troops could volley at that rate in a single rank.
Shots peppered the silence between volleys, the Carbonari answering defiantly.
‘We must grant they have pluck,’ said Hervey to Peto.
But Peto was dismayed to find that sticky pine sap had dripped onto the shoulder of his coat. ‘I had this made only last month in Naples,’ he complained.
Hervey turned to look, but a ragged volley from atop the hill took him by surprise. A ball hit the branches overhead, sending down pine needles and bits of bark. He looked back to see white coats coming over the crest.
