An Act Of Courage

‘Sixth Light Dragoons, draw swords!’ Lieutenant-Colonel Lord George Irvine, turned-out as immaculately as if on Horse Guards, gave the words of command with the confidence and pride of one who did so under the gaze of both his own and the defeated commanders-in-chief.

Five hundred sabres were drawn from their scabbards with a flourish, to rest, vertical, awaiting the next order.

‘Sixth Light Dragoons, salute!’

The private-men remained braced, as the officers brought their swords first to the ‘kiss’ and then down and outwards, flat-side offered, to their chargers’ right flank.

There was no band, no double lines of infantrymen at the ‘present’. The Earl of Wellington (as lately he had been created) showed courtesy to General Phillipon; he did not render him military honours. Had the French surrendered before the assault on the fortress, they would have been able to march to their captivity bearing arms and colours. Since they had forced the issue – and after a practicable breach had been made – they were lucky to be spared their lives.

Not that there wasn’t a deal of respect – grudging respect – for the tenacity with which they had defended the place: the army had turned its anger on the Spanish in the city rather than on the beaten French.

Out of the San Cristobal fort, to which he had galloped over the Guadiana bridge in the early hours, when Wellington’s redcoats had finally taken the alcazabar, General Phillipon and his staff rode at a parade-walk. At fifty yards, the distance Hervey now stood from him, he looked every inch one of Bonaparte’s generals – the braid, the sashes, the plumes, the ribbons, all resplendent in the late-afternoon sun. A little closer and Hervey would have seen the tired truth, as did Lord Wellington now as he received the general’s sword. Defeat went hard with such a man.

When the Sixth were stood down half an hour later, Sir Edward Lankester sought Hervey out. ‘The provost marshal’s men will want a deposition from you regarding the Spanish girl. Larpent intends putting up the gallows.’

Hervey nodded. Wellington’s judge-advocate-general was a punctilious man; he would suppose there were accomplices to the murder. ‘Of course, Sir Edward, but in truth I saw only the one man – and he can say nothing.’

Sir Edward smiled, but grimly. ‘The deposition is for your own benefit, Hervey. You can’t go about shooting His Majesty’s soldiers without remark!’

‘No, of course not, Sir Edward! I meant that—’

‘I know what you meant. Had I the means last night I’d have had a dozen of them shot down. It was infamous.’

‘Just so, sir.’

Sir Edward fingered the loose bevel on Jessye’s throat plume. ‘This needs the armourer’s hammer.’

‘Sir.’

‘After they’ve seen to the sabres. God, what a sight they were!’

Hervey raised an eyebrow. The fifty yards between Wellington and the regiment had worked not solely to Phillipon’s advantage.

‘Lord George wants to see you.’

‘See me, Sir Edward?’

‘Yes, see you! Do not have me repeat myself.’

Hervey blinked. It was easy to forget that Sir Edward Lankester could be as tired as any of them. He saluted, handed his reins to his groom, and went to find his commanding officer. He did not see Sir Edward smiling wryly.

‘Mr Barrow?’

The adjutant spun round, still holding his charger’s near-fore. ‘What is it, Hervey? I’m deuced busy!’

‘Sir Edward said the colonel wished to see me.’

Barrow gestured to his groom to take the horse’s foot. ‘Dry it and lime-bag it,’ he said wearily, then turned back to Hervey. ‘Come with me.’

They set off for the regiment’s headquarters.

‘What does the colonel want to see me for?’

‘I’ll leave that to him,’ said the adjutant, firmly.

Hervey knew he was guilty of no offence – in any case, the adjutant would have been first to notify him of it – but he was becoming anxious nevertheless. He had never spoken directly to the commanding officer before, other than the usual civilities in the mess.

‘Mr Hervey, Colonel,’ Barrow announced, at the door of the white-walled hut which served as regimental headquarters.

Lord George looked up from his writing table. ‘Come in, Hervey. Thank you, Barrow.’

The adjutant left them, which Hervey knew to be irregular, but Lord George, though tired, did not look like a man about to deliver a reprimand.

He saluted. ‘Good afternoon, Colonel.’

‘Good afternoon, Hervey. Stand easy, take off your hat.’

Hervey did so gratefully.

‘Now, last night: you were witness to murder. The Eightyeighth’s colonel has asked to speak with you on it. I have agreed, and the provost marshal has no objection.’

‘Very good, Colonel.’

‘A dreadful affair, but it was an act of courage on your part that prevented further outrage.’

Hervey said nothing. He knew that the mother and her two daughters had been interviewed already by at least three doctors, a chaplain and one of Judge-Advocate-General Larpent’s men.

‘You shall have a promotion.’

Hervey’s spirits leapt. And then they sank again as he realized it would be promotion for shooting a man in red rather than the enemy – a cruel irony after three years’ fighting. ‘Sir, I had not expected—’

‘No doubt, no doubt,’ said Lord George, leaning well back in an old leather chair. ‘The promotion is not in the Sixth, I regret to say.’

The words were like a cold douche. Hervey’s stomach tightened.

‘There just isn’t the vacancy. It would be in the Royals.’

A promotion in Lord George’s old regiment (and evidently, therefore, of his arranging) – Hervey knew he was rewarded and honoured. ‘I thank you, Colonel. It would be a great privilege.’

Lord George nodded.

‘But I could not accept.’

‘What?’

Hervey was surprised his commanding officer appeared not to understand. ‘Colonel, these past three years I have come to know a good many men in the Sixth, and to trust them – and they me, I believe – and I would see the war to its end in their company. With respect, Colonel.’

Lord George leaned forward again, and sighed. ‘Sit down, Hervey.’

Hervey pulled a wooden stool towards the writing table.

‘I greatly admire your sentiment, but there can be no promotion in the Sixth for a year at least. I don’t say the war will be ended by then, but it can’t run much longer in Spain now that Badajoz is ours.’

Hervey shifted awkwardly. ‘I understand, Colonel.’

‘Do you? This lieutenant’s vacancy is solely on account of circumstances in the Royals. Their colonel has asked me if I have a nomination. That is unlikely ever to occur again.’

Hervey felt his certainty only increasing. ‘Colonel, with the very greatest of respect, I request to remain in the regiment.’

Lord George shook his head, but he smiled just perceptibly, too. ‘Hervey, I shan’t call you a damned fool, though others might. You may, of course, remain cornet in the regiment. And, I might add, I myself shall be pleased of it. You have scarce put a foot wrong since we came to the Peninsula.’

‘Thank you, Colonel.’

‘Very well, you may go. And you may tell Sir Edward that he may collect his champagne when next we are in proper quarters!’