Rumours Of War

Shorncliffe-fashion.

‘See, black buttons and plumes and all,’ said Hervey, glancing at Isabella to see if she understood. Indeed, it was only the brown zaragoza cloth that would have distinguished them from Major Cope’s men at that moment, reckoned Hervey. That and the figure 1 on the shako: the atiradores company of the 1st Regiment of Cacadores; the best of the best.

And then he had second thoughts. ‘Senhora, I think, if you will, it is better that you remain here now. I believe we shall be able to make ourselves understood.’

The atiradores’ serjeant stepped forward one pace to report his men present.

Hervey thought he had better observe the formalities. He dropped his reins and advanced to the middle of the courtyard.

The serjeant slapped the butt of his rifle with his right hand. Hervey returned the salute. Then followed a declaration he imagined was incapable of translation.

Isabella was more than a match, however. ‘The company of atiradores is ready and at your command, sir.’

‘Thank you,’ he replied, a little awkwardly. ‘Please tell the serjeant I am marching towards the sound of the musketry and would be obliged if he would follow.’

Isabella conveyed the request and the serjeant’s ready assent, though the latter was obvious enough.

But Hervey was still of a mind that Isabella should remain within the citadel. He turned to her, saluting. ‘Thank you again, senhora. I am much obliged to you. Let us say goodbye, then, until later.’

Isabella spoke firmly. ‘Major Hervey, you will surely need me more once you are outside the castle. My father would wish that I stayed with you.’

Hervey nodded. ‘Your help would be inestimable, senhora, but the situation is too perilous. Besides, there is a universal language between soldiers in the face of the enemy.’

Isabella was affronted. ‘I do not doubt it, Major Hervey! But there will be more to this than barking orders, I would imagine?’

Hervey reeled with the vehemence. It was like being assailed by Elizabeth and Henrietta at the same time. He said nothing.

There was a sudden increase in the musketry, but no nearer than an hour ago. He reckoned the picket must be putting up a strong fight.

‘Shall I take point, sir?’

‘Thank you, Corporal Wainwright, yes. Along with the atiradores’ serjeant here. We’ll leave the horses.’ He beckoned the serjeant forward.

‘To the sound of the fire, sir?’

‘Yes, I think so. We had better try to join the picket from behind, though, to avoid any mishap.’

Wainwright handed him the torch, drew his pistol and led off with the serjeant, followed by six atiradores, then Hervey and Isabella at a dozen yards, Johnson covering, and then the remaining riflemen.

There was shouting ahead – Hervey couldn’t catch what – then cries, the unmistakable sound of a fight with steel and clubbed rifles. He drew his sabre and cocked a pistol, waiting for the atiradores to fall back.

It was all done in less than a minute. Wainwright came doubling back, breathless. ‘We ran into some of the rebels, sir. Supposed to be sentries, I reckon, but no challenge or anything. Napping most like.’

‘Have you any prisoners?’

‘One, sir, but he’s in a bad way.’

That was a pity. ‘Very well, we’d better go carefully. And by another way.’

But in five minutes more they were challenged again. ‘Quern va la?’

Wainwright and the serjeant edged forward.

Hervey looked back to Johnson: he had put down the torch and was standing at the ready with his carbine. Either side of him stood atiradores, rifles at the ready too – a model patrol.

In another minute Wainwright and the serjeant came back with a man in a cloak and forage cap.

‘The watch?’ whispered Hervey.

‘I think so, yes,’ said Isabella.

Hervey nodded to Johnson behind, just to be safe.

Johnson came forward a little, and to a flank so as to have a clear shot if the man proved false.

The serjeant saluted. ‘Senhor major . . .’

Isabella translated as he spoke. ‘He says this man is the foreman of the town watch. They are in a house round the corner. They have a good view of where the shooting is coming from.’

‘Ask the foreman how many men they can see, and what they do.’

Isabella pressed the foreman on several particulars. ‘He says twenty, perhaps thirty. All they do is fire in the air from the place in front of the church of the Virgin.’

‘In the air?’

‘I asked him twice, and he said they just fire in the air. They have been there half an hour and more.’

‘Are they drunk? Why does he not arrest them?’

Isabella put it to the man.

‘Nao, senhor . . .’

‘The watch has only six men there. The master of the watch has gone with the picket-lieutenant to the west gate in case more should try to join those in the square.’

Hervey was puzzled. A couple of dozen riotous soldiers, and very likely drunk: a serjeant-major and a resolute quarter-guard would be all that was needed to disarm them. But whatever their game, twenty riotous men with muskets could do mischief enough. ‘I’d like to look for myself. Will the foreman take me?’

‘Sim, sim, senhor.’

Hervey turned to Johnson again. ‘Come up with the tiradores to the corner yonder.’ He nodded to where the foreman had come from. ‘I’ll go on with Corporal Wainwright and the serjeant.’

He might have added ‘and the senhora’, for Isabella stuck close.

It was still very black, though Hervey reckoned that dawn could not be more than an hour away. They edged round a corner until they were in a little courtyard, and then inside a house by the rear door, a good-size house. Candles burned in wall sconces, the windows shuttered, but there was no sign of the regular occupants. The foreman went up the stairs. Hervey hesitated, but it was too late now; and he had his pistol.

There was another fusillade – not a volley but a roll of musketry, or pistols perhaps. He reckoned twenty, give or take; and from the front of the house.

He half stumbled to the top of the stairs, his eyes not yet accustomed to the light. He glanced back just the once to see Isabella safe. Then he was in a long gallery of sorts, dark, with the shutters of a window open, so that he could see the stars.

‘Senhor!’ The whisper was insistent.

He moved to the window.

‘Olha, senhor!’

He could see very well. There were two braziers in the plaza, both burning bright. Around each stood a dozen men, in uniform of sorts, perhaps in shakos, even, loading muskets in a leisurely manner. Hervey winced: it was unmilitary and hazardous, no matter how little powder they carried, cold morning or not.

He stepped back from the window. What real threat did these men pose? They were scarcely hostile. It looked like a business for the provost men. And yet there had been a picket in the road leading to the square. Why would an undisciplined rabble of soldiers post a lookout, and then make noise enough to rouse the whole garrison? It might just be the confusion of soldiers no longer under discipline. But that was an easy answer. Whose soldiers? Had no one at the citadel any knowledge of men absent from their quarters?

He looked at his watch. Almost six – it would indeed be getting light soon. If he wanted to slip away it were better done now.

‘Isabella.’