Warrior

'And so were you long kept in Badajoz, Colonel?' asked Juana, her accent in large part gone but still with the exaggerated aspirates of her native tongue.

'A few weeks, ma'am. Not long, but it seemed longer.'

She shook her head sympathetically. 'It is a place formidable.'

Hervey did not feel much inclined to speak of his own discomfort at Badajoz, but knew he must be patient with one so well acquainted with the fortress-town. 'It was all a most distressing affair, concerning as it did two former allies.'

'Oh, but I trust not just former allies,' said Juana, raising her eyebrows as she took a pleasurable sip of Sauternes, which was chilled so much as to bring a mist about the glass.

Indeed, Hervey was not sure if she raised her eyebrows at his remark or the wine, but he would say 'amen' to her optimism. Perhaps it was for this reason that the Duke of Wellington, as soon as his new office had given him the power to do so, had recalled the force of intervention which Mr Canning had sent to Portugal the better part of two years ago, for trying to secure a peace between the two factions was as likely to end in the alienation of the victorious party as in earning its gratitude. And whatever the outcome of the Portuguese imbroglio, Spain would not be unmoved. 'Let us say that I should not like to have the Spanish guerrilleros on any side but my own!'

Juana appeared to study him for a moment. 'You do know, Colonel, that I too am Spanish?'

'Indeed I do, ma'am.'

'And I claim a connection with Badajoz, for it was there that I met my husband.'

Hervey smiled. He had wondered when, and quite how, it would out. 'Madam, I do not believe there is an officer in the old Peninsular army, nor many a private man either, that does not know of the circumstances of your meeting.'

Juana returned the smile. 'You flatter us, Colonel Hervey. But tell me, were you at Badajoz – at the time of the siege?'

Hervey nodded, gravely. 'I was. And – I speak plainly – I was never more proud of the bravery of our troops, nor yet so grieved by their conduct afterwards. I fancy you do not like to recall it much, either. An infamous episode.'

He decided, however, that he would tell her the whole story of his part in the siege a decade and a half ago, and its 'Androclean' outcome but eighteen months ago.

She listened, rapt. He told her how he had followed the storming divisions through the breaches and over the walls, how every regiment seemed to be without its officers, who had fallen in the van of the assault, and how some diabolic blood-lust then overcame those men, so that they fell upon the town and its wretched people like wild beasts. He told her how he had had to shoot a Connaught soldier who had despoiled a girl and slit her throat and had then tried to kill him, and how last year, when he had been taken prisoner in the confusion of the incipient civil war in Portugal, he had escaped from the fortress of Badajoz by the help of that very girl's father.

He related all this knowing, too, that Juana's own rescue had been scarcely less dramatic. The protecting arms of a captain of Rifles, as Harry Smith then was, must indeed have been welcome, and marriage to him, within days, sweet. Well, it was amour courtois; amour en guerre. Except that seeing Juana and Harry Smith now, the looks between them, their mutual ease, it was evident that what might at first have been mariage urgent, was now a marriage of the very deepest affection. And he was at once both warmed and discomfited by it.

After a plate of ackee, which neither of them had tasted before, Hervey turned to the wife of Colonel Bird, the colonial secretary. They were not unacquainted. He liked Bird, a shrewd and gentle man, to whom Colonel Somerset had frequently taken an open dislike (it was said partly on account of Bird's being a Catholic).

Mrs Bird, a woman in her fifties, and of maternal disposition, laid a hand on his forearm. 'I am sorry Mrs Hervey was unable to accompany you, Colonel. Her society would have been most welcome, especially now that Lady Somervile is to leave.'

Hervey smiled indulgently. He understood how Mrs Bird must find Cape society somewhat confined and unvarying. In Bengal it had been different: although there the conventions were perhaps a good deal stricter, the society itself was also a good deal larger. 'I am afraid the fault is all mine, ma'am. My return here was somewhat precipitate, and it was not expedient for my wife – or indeed my daughter – to sail with me. And, you may know, my own assignment here with the Cape Rifles, and my troop of dragoons, will come to an end in the new year. So I am afraid it would not serve for them to make the passage at all, now.'

'Well, my dear Colonel Hervey, I shall pray that you are all three restored to each other soon and in perfect health. Bird and I have had the great good fortune to spend the better part of our days in each other's company. It does not do, you know, to become too accustomed to these absences, although it is of course the lot of any of my sex that marries a soldier.'

Hervey shifted awkwardly in his chair at the marital contentment on his either hand. He might have replied to Mrs Bird that it was the determination to accompany her husband that had killed his first wife, but he could not be so cruel (to her nor himself). 'Just so, ma'am,' he replied softly, instead.

'And what do you do then, on return to England, Colonel?'

He brightened at the opportunity to change the subject, before realizing he would be giving further evidence of marital imprudence. 'I go to the Levant, to observe the war with Turkey.' And then, as if a plea in mitigation, he added, 'But I do not suppose the war will last beyond the spring.'

Mrs Bird nodded, and smiled understandingly. 'You are a young man, Colonel Hervey; you need to hear the sound of the guns. Bird was long ago reconciled to his calling with the quill.'

After two curry dishes (fish and mutton), a beche de mer, a savoury of guinea- fowl, Constantia wines of very fine vintage, and easy conversation, the ladies retired and the officers congregated at the head of the table. Port and brandy were brought, and then Jaswant ushered out the khitmagars and the Hottentots.

'Well,' began Somervile, lighting a cigar with the silver grenade which Jaswant had placed on the table before himself retiring. 'This is a most felicitous gathering.'

Hervey fancied he knew precisely what his old friend meant. General Bourke was absent on leave, and Colonel Somerset was absent on duty. There was therefore no impediment to his gathering together those he could trust for, if not exactly a council of war, then a council of something most hazardous. He