An Untrustworthy Army

by Lynn Bryant

  Simon looked at him in the firelight for a long time. Finally he nodded grudgingly. "Only if it's bad," he said.

  "If I'm dying, it will be pretty bad," Johnny said gravely, and Simon laughed again.

  "You don't sound like you're going to die, sir."

  "Well, I'm not going to sleep either, so talk to me. I realise I know nothing about you, Lieutenant."

  "Other than who my brother was," Carlyon said.

  Johnny smiled tiredly. "I'm not that interested in your brother; I didn't like him. Tell me about the rest of your family."

  "My family?" Simon sounded tired, but curiously relaxed. "Only me left now, and my parents. My father has a small estate in Yorkshire, a few miles from Thorndale. He served as MP for the district for a long time. Retired a few years ago. He got sick of London, I think. He and my mother like to be at home. They entertain locally and go to church and he likes to ride out with the hunt, although I think these days he isn't at the front of the pack." Simon paused. "Robert broke their hearts. And then I broke them all over again when I refused to sell out and go home. I don't know how much you know about the Howards - Mrs van Daan's family. In Thorndale, they matter. Every year, twice a year, they give a ball for the entire neighbourhood. Summer and Christmas. It used to be the highlight of my mother's social calendar. They still invite her, but she won't go. Makes an excuse. She's so ashamed of Robert..."

  Johnny felt his heart twist in sympathy. "Christ, I'm sorry, lad."

  "It probably seems silly, that something like that should matter. When so many people are dying here."

  "It's not silly. It's real life. Out here, what we do, isn't real to the people back home."

  "No." Simon turned his head to look at Johnny. "What about your family?"

  "I've none to speak of. My parents are dead. A respectable family but no money. My father was a lawyer. I'd an uncle in trade and he provided the money for my first commission and then my promotion to lieutenant. After that I was on my own."

  Simon regarded him through the firelight with something like awe. "But you're a colonel."

  "In charge of a regiment that nobody wanted. The 112th was in so much disgrace when the first battalion arrived out here, everybody expected it to be disbanded."

  "Then how in God's name did it end up as part of the light division?"

  "That was the colonel's doing, not mine. But they've come a long way and I'm honoured to command them." Johnny studied the young face in the firelight and smiled. "Lieutenant, I've been very lucky. And I've also worked very hard. But sometimes it is genuinely about who you know. I was fortunate enough to serve alongside Paul van Daan, who was on his way up. But I hope you do as well; you deserve to. Now stop talking. I can see you need to sleep and I do too. We're not going to get attacked here. Tomorrow we'll have a look at this road and see if we think I can make it any further. Good night."

  Chapter Seventeen

  The arrival in Ciudad Rodrigo passed in a blur for Anne. The narrow streets of the old city were crammed with wagons and carts trying to get out to take supplies to the starving and exhausted soldiers who were bivouacking nearby and officers streaming in to the city to try to find shelter and food and accommodation for their horses.

  "This is bloody chaos," Paul said, after Anne's carriage had to pull off the street for the third time to allow a convoy of carts, pulled by mules and piled high with bread, barrels of beef and bags of tack biscuits, to make their way past. "We'll be here until midnight at this rate."

  "Where are we going?" Anne asked. She had hardly spoken during the last few hours of the journey. It was as if, knowing herself so close to safety, her brain had quietly closed down, and speech was too difficult.

  "We've billets by the eastern wall; Captain Cartwright rode on ahead and worked his magic. The men will stay in camp outside the walls, but the minute we're reunited with the rest of the baggage, we'll have tents up and a full camp. I've left Carl in charge of it, he needs something to do. But I'm under strict instructions from the commander-in-chief to get you settled before I do anything else. Which I will do, if we can ever bloody get there. Oh for fuck's sake, now we have goats."

  The extraordinary statement revived Anne's interest and she leaned further out of the carriage window to look. The street was blocked by jumble of supply wagons, a gun carriage, and a train of eight mules roped together and being led by a wiry Spaniard. The noise was unbelievable, a combination of creaking wheels, braying mules and yelling drivers. A herd of goats suddenly burst from a narrow side alley, bells jangling loudly from their necks. They launched themselves, with joyous enthusiasm, into the fray, weaving their way in and out of the stranded vehicles, bleating loudly enough to drown out all other sounds, while the goatherd, a skinny boy of around twelve, chased them in circles, calling their names in impotent fury. Craufurd, who had been dozing peacefully at Anne's feet in the carriage, was awoken by the noise and sat up, staring about him indignantly. He then shook himself, jumped up onto the seat beside Teresa Carter, stuck his shaggy head out of the window and began to bark loudly.

  The goats bleated louder. One of the mules took fright at Craufurd's intervention, and bucked, kicking the mule behind him in the train, which in its turn, swivelled round and bit the mule at the back of the train. Little Ana, who had been sleeping in her mother's arms, woke in fright and began to yell. Anne started to laugh uncontrollably.

  Paul surveyed the melee grimly, then moved Rufus forward and addressed the officer seated on the box of the first wagon beside the driver, a red-haired lanky ensign, who was watching the chaos with an expression of sheer enjoyment.

  "You, on the box over there. What's your name?"

  The officer saluted. "Ensign Dodd, sir. District quartermaster's department."

  "Well, Mr Dodd, I can see how much you're enjoying this, and in your place I would be too. Glad to have provided entertainment, but my wife is in this carriage, she's pregnant and she's not well, so my sense of humour's not what it was. You've got about three minutes to get those wagons off this street before I come over there and rip your bloody head off. Are we clear?"

  Anne saw Dodd's eyes widen slightly in surprise, but he saluted again, more smartly. "Yes, sir, very clear. Only it's a bit difficult, sir, with the mules and the goats..."

  "I'm coming to that." Paul's voice raised a notch. "Mr Bell, if that's you making a pig's ear of moving that gun carriage over there, get it shifted if you have to carry it out of here, or I am going to insert it up your arse. What the bloody hell is it doing here anyway, it's not like the French are invading. No, don't answer that. Just move it." Paul switched to Spanish. "You, with the mules. Stop trying to force them through, there's no bloody room. Take them down that street over there and keep them out of the way until this is cleared, or I will feed them to my wife's dog, he's bloody hungry. As for these goats..."

  Anne was crying with laughter. "There are a lot of goats, Colonel."

  "An impressive number." Paul surveyed the goatherd, who had stopped running and was regarding him with wide, innocent brown eyes. "The only use I have for a herd of goats right now," Paul said, in Spanish and in matter-of-fact tones, "is to feed a thousand hungry men of the light division. They'd be very grateful. Stop chasing them around, stop making that noise, get them calmed down and get them out of here. Understand?"

  "Si, Senor."

  "Excellent." Paul turned to look at Anne and his lips twitched into a smile. "I see it's woken you up a bit. Let's see how long it takes them, shall we?"

  The road was cleared surprisingly quickly. Anne called Craufurd down off the seat although she was pleased at how easily he had jumped up; whatever had ailed his back leg was healing fast. Teresa had settled Ana to feed, to calm her down, and Keren was arranging a shawl about them both. Anne looked over at Charlie Bannan and smiled.

  "Almost there, Charlie. I wonder what's for dinner?"

  "Dinner, ma'am?" The child's eyes were wide. "You mean like real dinner?"

  "I think so
."

  "I wonder if my Da will have dinner," Charlie said wistfully. "Shall I go and find him?"

  "I've a feeling he might be a bit busy for a day or so, getting his men fed and settled," Anne said. "Do you think you could stay with me for a little longer? Craufurd would appreciate it."

  Charlie stroked the dog with his feet. "Can I, ma'am?"

  "I'm hoping you will. You look as though you need a good meal."

  "So do you, ma'am." Charlie's eyes were scanning her face. "Ma'am, are you sad?"

  Anne was startled. "Sad? Oh - yes, I suppose I am a little. One of our friends was killed and two more are missing and might be prisoners."

  "I'm sad about Mam."

  Anne stroked his head. "I know," she said gently. "Why don't you move closer and give me a cuddle? I think we both need it."

  The boy shifted along the seat and snuggled into Anne's side and Anne put her arm about him. Opposite, she realised that Keren's eyes were on her face.

  "What is it, ma'am?" she asked.

  Anne shook her head. "Major Corrigan. Colonel Wheeler. Mr Carlyon."

  "I know, ma'am, it's horrible. But I don't think it's just that. Something else is bothering you, you've been so quiet. You don't have to tell us, ma'am. But I wish you would. Because..."

  "Because we are your friends," Teresa broke in. She too was watching Anne, and Anne blinked, feeling tears hovering just behind her eyes.

  "I don't want Paul to know just yet," she said. "Please don't tell him."

  "The baby?"

  Anne nodded. "I've not felt it move for a couple of days now," she said. "Not since that day in the river. I've been trying to tell myself that it means nothing. That it could still be all right."

  "It could be, ma'am," Teresa said quickly. "It happens many times. With rest and good food and..."

  Anne wiped her eyes with both hands and tried to force a smile, although she suspected it was a poor effort. "I know," she said. "I've not lost all hope. But please don't tell the colonel, not yet. He's so worried about his men, and about Johnny and Simon. And Lord Wellington, who hasn't been at all well these last few days. I don't want to add to that, when there's nothing he can do."

  The carriage was moving, bumping over the cobbles. It drew up outside a tall town house, and Paul dismounted, handing the reins to Jenson, and came to lift Anne down from the carriage. He did not set her down, but carried her through a wrought iron gate and into the dim recesses of a panelled hallway.

  "Up this way, sir," Captain Cartwright said, and Paul carried her up a wooden staircase and through into a bedroom. A late winter sun was shining through the panes and to Anne's complete astonishment, a bed was already made up and her boxes and bags, mud splashed and slightly battered, were neatly piled in the corner of the room. Paul set her down gently on the bed and Anne looked around her and unexpectedly burst into tears.

  "I'll be downstairs, sir," Cartwright said quickly, and whisked himself out of the room. Paul sat down beside her and put his arms around her.

  "It's all right, bonny lass," he said, kissing her very gently. "You're safe. We're all safe."

  "We're not," Anne sobbed. "Pat will never be safe again."

  "You know you don't believe that, love. Nor do I. He's safer than any of us. Probably getting a bollocking from Bob Craufurd for getting himself killed. I wonder if the afterlife has mellowed that grumpy bastard."

  Anne gave a watery chuckle. "You are so irreverent, Paul. But I'm so worried about Johnny and Simon. I wish we knew for sure."

  "So do I. As soon as I've got the brigade fed and settled, we'll do a proper roll call and then I'm going to start chasing, to find out how many of ours were taken prisoner."

  The door opened, and there was a familiar tip-tap sound on the boards. Anne turned to smile as Craufurd advanced, sniffing interestedly at the faded counterpane on the bed. "At least I don't have to worry about him," she said.

  "No, he's recovering very fast. I'm going to send Keren up to you, Nan. Kelly and Browning have gone out to buy food, we are going to eat properly tonight."

  "Invite Lord Wellington, will you, Paul, or he will eat nothing sensible."

  Paul laughed aloud. "My poor love, you're always worrying about somebody aren't you?Get some rest. I wish I could stay, but..."

  "No, you have to go. Will you thank Davy for this, I have no idea how he did it, but I love him for it. Take Craufurd back to wherever Charlie is, will you?"

  "I will. Sleep love."

  ***

  The road towards Ciudad Rodrigo resembled a reeking battlefield, with men and animals lying dead, in pools of stagnant water. The rain had stopped but there was no warmth from the sun. The smell rising from the corpses was horrible, but Simon Carlyon hardly noticed it as he half dragged, half carried Colonel Wheeler, step by agonising step.

  The track was narrow and muddy, deeply rutted by those men, horses and wagons that had not fallen by the wayside, and the weeks of rain had created pools that reached as far as the knees in some places. There was no conversation along the route; Wheeler was in too much pain to speak and Simon was too exhausted. He had abandoned the musket after the first day; there was no sign of the French, but if they did appear, the only option was surrender anyway. Simon had decided to keep the pack. He carried blankets against the cold and looted two more from dead men lying by the wayside. The spare shirts and stockings had all been ripped up to replace the bandages on Wheeler's leg, which were filthy by the end of each day's march.

  They rested at night in the shelter of trees, lighting fires of green wood which smoked horribly but confirmed Simon's belief that all French pursuit had ended; they would have seen the smoke for miles. On the third morning he believed, for a horrible moment, that the colonel had died in the night, and he shook him, relieved when Wheeler stirred and groaned.

  "Sorry, sir. I thought..."

  Wheeler opened grey eyes, dull with pain. "Not quite," he said. "But I don't think it'll be long now. Look, we need to talk."

  "We should get moving, sir."

  "I'm not going anywhere," Wheeler said quietly. "Simon, put your hand on my head."

  Simon reached out and touched the older man's forehead. He almost jerked it away, feeling the burning heat.

  "I've got fever," Wheeler croaked. "I'm burning up and I'm shivering, and my leg feels as though it's being run through with a hot iron. I don't need a doctor to tell me I'm in trouble. Either I've got an infection in the wound, or this is the result of being cold and wet and exhausted for days. It doesn't much matter. I can't walk another day, I'm sorry. It's time to leave me."

  Simon felt physically sick. "Look, sir, you just need to rest for longer. Have some water. I'm going to see if I can find some food. I'll..."

  "Stop it," Wheeler said, and there was a gentle finality to his voice that chilled Simon. "You're grasping at straws. If there was any wildlife in this area, the rest of the army cleared it out when they went through. You caught nothing yesterday, and you'll have no luck today. If you hang around here waiting for me to recover, you're just going to get weaker yourself while you watch me die. Mr Carlyon, it's time for you to take an order. Get out of here."

  "Sir, I can't leave you."

  "You need to get moving. A day's march and you'll reach the lines. If you stay here, you're going to starve to death. Or freeze. Or both. Go."

  "No," Simon said stubbornly.

  "Please," Wheeler said, and it came out a croak. "I don't need you to sit here and watch me die. I can do that without you."

  "I don't want you to die alone," Simon said, and he realised suddenly he was crying. He reached for Wheeler's hand. Unlike his head, it was very cold. "I don't want you to die at all. Not now. Not just as I've got to know you."

  Wheeler did not reply. Instead he covered Simon's hand with his other one. "I know," he said gently. "It's a bastard, isn't it?"

  They sat without speaking for a long time. Wheeler had closed his eyes and Simon watched his face. It was white and waxy with
pain and exhaustion and fever, the unremarkable brown hair plastered to his head, no longer neatly tied back as Simon had always seen it. Without the slate grey eyes, there was nothing distinctive about Colonel Johnny Wheeler's appearance, but Simon thought he was probably the most extraordinary man he had ever met.

  Simon had watched, with growing admiration, as the colonel had struggled through these past days. His agony was written in deep lines on his face, but during that time he had never complained, never snapped, never once expressed anything but appreciation for Simon's efforts. Simon knew himself to be capable of immense bravery in battle, but he was not sure that he had the quiet courage to endure this much pain and hardship with the dignity that this unassuming man had displayed.

  "I'm so sorry," Simon whispered.

  Wheeler opened his eyes and attempted a smile. "Oh, don't be, Simon. You've done everything a man could have done."

  "I didn't mean that," Simon said. "I meant about before. About how I was with you, when I first joined. I didn't know you then. And it's bloody obvious that I didn't know Robert either. I was an idiot, the evidence was very clear, but I just think I couldn't bear to accept that my brother was that bad. I'm glad you did what you did. I'm glad you saved her; she was worth saving. Whatever happens here, I'm going to put him to one side and focus on me. I don't need to live him down. Thank you for that."

  Surprisingly, there was a gleam in the grey eyes. "Those are very wise words, Lieutenant Carlyon. You don't owe me an apology. It's possible I might owe you one. Look, before you go, there's something I'd like to tell you. It can't possibly make any difference to either of us, but I want you to know. It's about your brother."

  "It's all right, sir, you did what you had to do to save her life. I understand."

  "Simon, I arrived at the farm that day with a ball in my calf after that God-awful mess at the Coa. I'd left the rest of our wounded in the field hospital and I rode in to see Nan. The place was deserted, I thought she might have gone back to Lisbon after all, but then she appeared at the top of the steps which led up to her room - she'd a billet over the stables, I seem to remember - and she came towards me. She was black and blue, her lip was split and her face was bruised. One eye was almost closed where he'd hit her so hard. She was shaking."