ever.'
It was another kind of war but in the warmth of the evening's cordiality it seemed far removed. Yet here he was, enjoying the regiment's hospitality not only in the middle of enemy country but presumably on a battlefield with enemy soldiers perhaps creeping through the night.
'What's out there? I mean, what's to stop th' Spanish coming suddenly while we're enjoyin' our supper?' Kydd did not mean it to come out so nervously but he preferred the direct ship-to-ship fighting at sea where the foe was visible rather than the uncertainties of land.
'Well, armies don't fight at night as a rule,' the officer said, with only the glimmer of a smile. 'But if the Spanish see fit to counter-attack in the dark—presuming they have precise knowledge of our position—then first they must find a way to get past our vedettes and outer pickets before our sentinels can take alarm, but even then you may sleep soundly, I believe.'
The brass baying of trumpets woke Kydd. Before he had struggled into his clothes the stillness was rent by hoarse cries of sergeants and shouts of command from impatient officers as the camp came to life. First light appeared as the soldiers bolted down their breakfast and prepared for the march, buckling on equipment and loosening limbs.
The damp smoke of breakfast fires still hung about in the grey-ness of the pre-dawn as Kydd drew up his men to address them. 'I'm L'tenant Kydd, and this is th' Port Mahon naval detachment. You're not going t' pull the guns any more—but you are going t' march. This is what th' lobsterbacks call a 'flying column,' which is to say we're going to move
His hand dropped unconsciously to his cutlass hilt as he continued, 'We're not here t' do the assault. That'll be the lobster-backs' job, an' they're good at it. What we'll be doing is t' wait until they've got a breach and marched into the town. Then we'll follow and go to the harbour an' set about any shipping we find—not forgettin' the dockyard, that the Spanish don't start fire-raisin' there.'
He regarded the men dispassionately. Lithe, intelligent, these were the skilled seamen who were achieving more at sea than any before them and he felt a deep pride. 'So we'll be on our way— this is Kane's highway to Mahon an' it was laid by us eighty years ago. Now let's use it!'
But they had to stand aside as the professionals formed up. Scouts clattered off ahead into the early morning and others fanned out to each side of the line-of-march. Yet more galloped urgently backwards and forwards for some arcane military reason. Finally, officers on splendid horses took their place at the head of their men and with a squeal and drone of bagpipes skirling and the rattle and thump of drums the column set off.
Kydd had refused a horse, feeling unable to ride while his men marched, but after the first hour he regretted the decision. It was good to swing along to the stirring music, seeing the soldiers moving ahead economically and fast but he was unused to the discipline of the march and felt increasingly sore.
After five miles they reached the small market town of Alayor. The inhabitants watched them pass, some with grave expressions, others fearful. On the far side they stopped for fifteen minutes' rest. The soldiers joked and relaxed, some not even bothering to sit, but the sailors squatted or sat in the dust.
A cheerful sun was abroad when they got under way once more; there were no disturbances or threats of attack and after another five miles in a countryside of sinister quiet they were pressing close to Port Mahon. A halt was called while the town was still hidden in the low hills ahead, orange orchards and neat garden plots betraying its proximity.
But there was no sign of the enemy. Could it be that they were lying concealed, waiting for the whole column to enter before springing their ambush? The soldiers did not appear unduly concerned, and Kydd reasoned that as the detachment was only about three hundred strong, it was more a reconnaissance in force than an assault and could withdraw at any time. His worries subsided.
Then his mind supplied a new concern: was the main body for the real assault approaching from another direction? The anxieties returned—not that he had any doubts about his courage, but as an officer of rank what would be expected of him should the army 'beat to quarters'? He forced his eyes closed.
'Sir.'
Kydd opened his eyes and saw a youthful subaltern saluting him in the odd army fashion with the palm outwards.
'Colonel Paget desires you should wait on him.'
At the head of the column Paget was at the centre of an animated group of officers, each apparently with a personal view on recent events. Kydd took off his hat and waited for attention.
'Ah, Mr Kydd. Developments.' He looked distracted and barely glanced at Kydd. 'Scouts have returned, they report that the Spanish in Mahon want to parley.'
'Sir?' It could mean anything from abject surrender to an ultimatum—or a Spanish trick, Kydd told himself, to control his sudden rush of excitement.
'I'm inclined to take it at face value. I shall go forward under flag o' truce and see what they want. I should be obliged if you would accompany me in case they try any knavish tricks concerning sea matters.' He glanced at Kydd. 'Kindly remain silent during the proceedings unless you perceive anything untoward at which you will inform me, never addressing the enemy. Do you understand?'
'Aye aye, sir.'
Paget heaved himself up on his horse, which was patiently held by a soldier. 'And get this man a horse, for God's sake,' he threw at an officer, as he looked down on Kydd's rumpled, dusty appearance.
The little group of officers walked their horses down the road, preceded by a mounted trooper holding a pennon with a vast white flag attached. Ahead, in the distance, a blob of white appeared, resolving by degrees into a group, which to Kydd looked distinctly non-military.
'Halt!' A trumpeter dismounted and marched smartly to the exact point of equidistance and sounded off an elaborate call. There was movement among the figures opposite but no inclination to treat that Kydd could discern.
They waited in the sun: Kydd could hear Paget swearing under his breath, his horse impatiently picking at the ground with his hoof. At length there was a general advance of the whole mass towards them.
'What the devil!' Paget exploded. 'Stand your ground!' he roared back over his shoulder to his officers.
