Once a Soldier

by Mary Jo Putney

  Gordon stripped off the shabby greatcoat he was wearing. “I’ll cut this up for the binding.” He used another piece of broken pottery to saw the heavy fabric into strips.

  They all worked together to bind Chantry’s ribs, the activity a welcome distraction. Will had just tied off the last bandage when they heard sounds in the tunnel.

  A few moments later, Duval’s head emerged. “We are saved!” he said jubilantly. “The tunnel ends in an old stone shed that is one of a cluster of outbuildings. When I looked out, I saw no soldiers near. It is raining, so wise men stay inside.”

  As Will helped the muddy Frenchman get his feet safely on the ground, Hawkins said tersely, “Then it’s time we made our escape. Chantry, will you be able to make it up there with your cracked ribs?”

  “What’s a little pain compared to fast-approaching dawn?” Chantry replied with a twisted smile. “I’ll make it.”

  “The rest of you go first,” Will said. “If the tunnel is too narrow for me, I don’t want to block anyone else from getting away.”

  Duval frowned as he studied the width of Will’s shoulders. “It will be difficult but not, I think, impossible. Perhaps you should remove your coat and shirt. A small difference might be enough. I will carry your garments up the tunnel for you.”

  “Good idea.” By the time Will had removed his coat and shirt, Gordon, Chantry, and Hawkins were crawling toward escape. Chantry gasped with pain as Hawkins helped him up into the tunnel, but he didn’t complain, just started inching doggedly upward.

  Duval wrapped Will’s garments in a tight, flat bundle, then used his cravat to tie them to his lower back. “The tunnel is tight and somewhat damaged in places, but I do think you will be able to get through. I will not be far ahead. If you get into trouble, call. We will find a way to bring you to freedom.”

  Will had his doubts that would be possible, but he appreciated the sentiment. “If I become impossibly stuck, for God’s sake, get away! There’s no point in all of us dying.”

  “I am not so easily dismissed, Masterson,” Duval retorted. “I shall see you on the surface.” He climbed into the tunnel and began working his way up again.

  Will took a deep breath, then followed. He was not fond of confined spaces at the best of times, and the climb out through stifling blackness would haunt his dreams for years, assuming he made it out. Even without his coat and with his bare torso slick with water and mud from the damp, there were times he thought he was lethally stuck. He learned how tightly his shoulders and chest could be compressed, and it was barely enough.

  The tightest place was the very end, where the tunnel opened into the shed. After two attempts, Will grimly accepted his fate. “I can’t make it,” he said flatly. “Leave without me.”

  “You damn well will make it!” Gordon retorted. “Back up a couple of yards and cover your head while we widen this hole.”

  Will summoned enough strength to back down a few feet and wrap his arms over his head before debris began falling on him. It took only minutes before Gordon said, “All clear!” Then he extended a hand into the tunnel.

  Grateful for the help, Will managed to crawl the short distance out onto a cold, muddy floor. He lurched to his feet, then pulled on the shirt and coat Duval had carried for him, grateful for any slight warmth.

  “Quickly now,” Chantry said. “The night is almost over and we must get away. We’re in luck. The building to our right is a stable and Hawkins has liberated five horses. I know roughly where we are and can lead us to open country. As soon as we step outside, we must be swift and silent. Ready, Masterson?”

  After Will nodded, Chantry opened the door of the shed. The heavy rain made the darkness almost impenetrable, but Will could make out the shapes of the horses just outside. Hawkins had managed to bridle and saddle the animals, after stealing them.

  The men swiftly mounted, Hawkins helping the injured Chantry into his saddle. They saved the largest horse for Will. Chantry led and set the pace, a slow walk so as not to attract attention. Will was sure the other men shared his desire to gallop away at full speed, but he knew Chantry was right to be cautious.

  Occasional lights started showing in windows as people rose to begin morning chores. But the houses thinned until finally they were out of the city. Chantry increased their pace to a trot, then a canter. Cold, wet, and uncomfortable as the ride was, Will much preferred it to the escape from the cellar. If he was shot now, at least he’d die free.

  By the time they’d put several miles between themselves and Gaia, the sun had risen and the rain had ended, though it was still heavily overcast. Chantry led them into a protected thicket and came to a halt. With effort, he dismounted, one hand rubbing his ribs. “Time for us to go our separate ways, gentlemen.”

  The other riders also dismounted, gathering in a circle as they held their horses. Looking up at the sky, Gordon murmured, “I never thought a wet, cold day could be so beautiful. Knowing I should be dead adds savor to the morning.”

  “We all contributed to our successful escape,” Duval said pensively. “Facing death creates an interesting bond of brotherhood, does it not?”

  Indeed it did. As Will looked at the faces of his companions, he realized how unselfishly they’d worked together. He knew almost nothing of any of them, yet he truly did feel a sense of connection from shared danger. “Though we may be self-proclaimed rogues, you’re all men I’d like at my side in any future tight places.”

  “Rogues may be more useful in tight places than honorable men,” Hawkins said, amused. His voice turned serious. “Facing death was simple, but now we face hard reality again. How many of us will attempt the redemption we discussed? I intend to.”

  Gordon gave a twisted smile. “I’ll make a start at it.”

  Chantry looked gray-faced from pain, but his voice was firm. “I said I would take up my long-neglected responsibilities, and I like to think I’m a man of my word.”

  Duval sighed. “What is done can’t be undone. Perhaps there can be reconciliation, if not redemption. I should make the attempt.”

  After they had shared a dark night and imminent death, it was strange to think Will would not see any of these men again. Strange and wrong. “If this war ever ends,” he said tentatively, “perhaps those of us who survive may meet again in London and exchange lies about our heroic deeds and redemptions.”

  “The Brotherhood of Rogues Redeemed!” Duval said grandly. “I like the idea, but we shall need a point of contact in London for sending messages so we might find each other.”

  Will thought a moment. “Hatchard’s bookstore in Piccadilly. I know the owner.” In fact, Will was a major customer. “I’ll ask him to keep any letters he receives that are addressed to the Rogues Redeemed, and that they can be read by any of us that call at the store. I’ll give him the names we’re all using tonight.”

  Chantry grinned. “Because we might be lying about our identities? I like your suspicious mind.” Wincing from pain, he stretched a hand into the center of the close circle of riders. “May we meet again in more auspicious times!”

  Will clasped Chantry’s hand. The others did the same in a five-way handshake that made their agreement somehow more real. When they released their grips, Will swung back into his saddle, thinking he was grateful to have met these men in these circumstances.

  He hoped they all survived to meet again someday.

  Chapter 2

  Southwestern France, outside Toulouse, April 1814

  News of the emperor’s abdication triggered riotous celebrations in the army camp. Since Will Masterson didn’t enjoy feeling drunk, he’d stayed mostly sober and spent the night strolling among the tents to ensure that none of his troops killed each other in their exuberance.

  By morning, the revelers had run out of drink and were sleeping off their excesses. Will caught a couple of hours of sleep himself, and awoke to the knowledge that since he hadn’t managed to get himself killed, it was time to go home. War was damnable, and he’d
had his fill. In his heart, he was no longer a soldier. He was ready to settle back into the civilian life he’d been born to. In fact, he looked forward to it. For years, he hadn’t believed that would ever be possible.

  He was writing a letter to his brother in London to announce his return when his batman, Sergeant Thomas Murphy, scratched at the canvas beside the open tent flap to catch his attention. “The colonel wants to see you in his tent, Major.”

  Will sanded his last sentence, then set his lap desk aside and got to his feet. This would be a good time to tell Colonel Gates that he would be resigning his commission as soon as possible. His admittedly varied skills were no longer necessary now that peace had arrived.

  The camp was generally quiet as Will made his way to the colonel’s tent, though a couple of indefatigable young Irishmen were holding a donkey race on the edge of the camp. Will wasn’t sure he’d ever been that young.

  The colonel’s tent flap was up, so Will ducked inside. “Good morning, sir. Is this a good time for me to tell you that I will be departing the army with all due speed?”

  Colonel Gates grinned and waved toward a camp chair. “Have a seat, Will. Glad to hear you’re selling out. With Boney defeated, the army will be cut drastically and fewer officers will be needed. The more dilettantes like you who leave, the more space there will be for career officers like me. Care for a cup of coffee?”

  Will laughed. “I’m glad my departure pleases you. Coffee would be welcome.” He settled into a camp chair. “Do you know the terms of the abdication? I’m assuming the emperor is not going to be shot, or he wouldn’t have agreed to go quietly.”

  “He tried to abdicate in favor of his son with the empress acting as regent, but the Allies weren’t having any of that.” Gates filled a coffee mug and handed it over.

  Will swallowed appreciatively. He’d developed a taste for coffee in his army years, though he was still English enough to enjoy tea equally. “Impossible to imagine a regency with Napoleon lurking in the background waiting for a chance to take over France again.”

  “Exactly.” Gates topped up his own coffee. “He’s to be exiled to Elba, a little island off Italy. He can have a court and his own guard, but it will all be in miniature.”

  Will’s brows arched. “Is it safe to cage him so close to Europe? I’d prefer to see him sent to Botany Bay.”

  “The Royal Navy will patrol the island, which should keep Boney from causing more trouble.” Gates raised his mug in a toast. “To the end of an era!”

  Will clinked his mug against the colonel’s. “For better and for worse. I’m not sorry for my army years, but I’m ready to go home.”

  “And so you will, Major Masterson.” The educated English voice belonged to a lean, dark man who stepped into the tent. “May I join you?”

  “Of course.” Gates swallowed the last of his coffee and got to his feet. “Will, Colonel Duval is the main reason I called you here this morning. He’s army intelligence, and he wishes to speak with you about a special mission. I know the general outlines, but I’ll leave you to discuss it privately.”

  Will stared at the newcomer for a moment, wondering if memory was playing tricks on him. No, he’d never forget the men he met that night. He rose and offered a hand. “Unless you have a French twin, I believe we’ve met.”

  “So we have.” Duval’s gaze glinted with amusement and he spoke with no trace of a French accent. “A memorable night.”

  After shaking hands, Will reclaimed his chair. “You didn’t mention that you were in the army, and you seem rather more English today.”

  “Half French, half English,” Duval explained as he helped himself to a cup of the coffee. As he stirred in chunks of sugar, he continued. “I didn’t mention the army, and you didn’t mention that you were a peer of the realm, Major Lord Masterson.”

  “Titles don’t seem relevant when one is about to be executed.” Will studied the other man, thinking that Duval must have interesting tales to tell about the intervening years. “Should I be concerned that you have a special mission in mind for me?”

  “Nothing too alarming,” Duval assured him. “Are you familiar with San Gabriel?”

  “A tiny country in the mountains between Spain and Portugal. It’s the smallest kingdom in Europe, isn’t it?” Will replied. “But I’ve never been there, nor do I know anything else about it.”

  “The Gabrileños have been staunch allies in the war against Napoleon,” Duval explained. “They contributed first-class troops to the Anglo-Portuguese Army under Wellington. Now they want to go home.”

  “What sane man doesn’t?” Will said. “I assume there is some problem with this, or you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

  Duval nodded. “Their infantry units were in the thick of the battle for Toulouse and took a lot of casualties, so they won’t be fit to march back to San Gabriel for some weeks. But there’s a small troop of Gabrileño cavalry, and they’re ready to leave now. They need an officer to take charge and keep them out of trouble on the way back.”

  “Why me?” Will asked. “I speak Spanish and Portuguese, but I don’t even know what the language of San Gabriel is.”

  “It’s a dialect that falls between those two languages. You won’t have a problem with it,” Duval assured him. “The Gabrileño commanding officer, Colonel da Silva, will have to approve you, but he will.”

  “And? Surely, there’s more to the matter.”

  Duval frowned. “We’re concerned over the condition of San Gabriel, and I’d like firsthand information. It’s never been a rich country, but under the Alcantara family, it has been stable and well run, and as I said, they’ve been solid allies in the fight against the French. Then last summer, the French general Baudin crashed through San Gabriel, looting and destroying. He also captured the ruler, King Carlos, and his son, Alexandre, the hereditary prince, when they rode out to parley under a flag of truce. Baudin appointed a senile old uncle, Prince Alfonso, as regent for the young Princess Maria Sofia, who managed to escape.”

  “Has the country collapsed into chaos or banditry with the rulers gone?”

  “I really don’t know,” Duval said. “There has been very little news out of San Gabriel. My guess is that the country has serious problems. As British allies, they deserve our aid in rebuilding. I hope you’re willing to lead the Gabrileño cavalry back and spend a week or two evaluating the situation.”

  “Aren’t the king and his son on the way home? Surely, French political prisoners are being released.”

  “We don’t know what happened to them,” Duval said, his expression grim. “I fear they’re dead, but I intend to learn the truth. In the meantime, San Gabriel has no effective leadership. Now that the war is over and the Spanish guerillas haven’t got the French to fight, I’m worried that a band of them might take over. The Alcantara residence, Castelo Blanco, is a formidable medieval fortress. If a gang of marauders move in, they’ll be very hard to dislodge.”

  All true. Will hesitated. With the war over, he yearned to return home as quickly as possible. Accepting Duval’s mission would delay him for weeks, perhaps months.

  But he’d never forgotten the question of redemption that had arisen during that long, tense night in Porto. Taking on this task wasn’t redemption, but it would be a service he was well qualified for. And though he’d prefer a speedy ship home, the long ride across Spain and Portugal would be a way of saying good-bye to his army life. He’d also be able to visit his friend Justin Ballard before leaving the Peninsula, possibly forever. “Very well, if the Gabrileño commander approves, I’ll lead his men home.”

  * * *

  Colonel da Silva was a wiry man with silver streaks in his dark hair and bandages on his right arm and leg. He was sitting in a camp chair in his tent and looked as if even that was too much effort, but his eyes sharpened when Duval introduced Will. “Major Masterson. Colonel Duval said you might be willing and suitable to lead my caballeros home.” He spoke in fluent but accented English.


  “That is for you to judge, sir,” Will said in Spanish. “How many men, and will they resent a British officer?”

  “Your Spanish is good,” da Silva said approvingly. “Duval said you speak Portuguese as well, and that you know how to fight. Those abilities ensure acceptance. There are only two dozen men fit to ride. The wounded will stay here until their injuries heal well enough for them to go home.” A shadow crossed his face. “Many of my men have been lost over the years. More would be alive if news of the emperor’s abdication had reached Toulouse before the battle for the city.”

  “God willing, there will be no more such unnecessary battles,” Will said quietly.

  Da Silva crossed himself with his left hand. But years as a soldier taught men not to brood over what couldn’t be changed, so he continued, “None of my surviving cavalry officers are fit to ride home, so the men are under command of the senior sergeant, Gilberto Oliviera. He understands the need to maintain good order on the journey across Spain. His father is the chamberlain at the Castelo Blanco, so Sergeant Oliviera knows the royal household well.”

  “How is San Gabriel faring without King Carlos?”

  Da Silva hesitated. “Not long after Baudin ravaged my country, a courier brought a message from Prince Alfonso. He said there was much destruction of property, but most of the people had survived and he would stand watch over San Gabriel until by the grace of God, King Carlos returned safely home to his people.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  “I doubt the letter was written by Prince Alfonso.” The colonel chose his words carefully. “The prince is very old and . . . infirm. Perhaps it was written by Princess Maria Sofia in his name.”

  “Will the princess rule well if the throne comes to her?” Will asked bluntly.

  “When I left San Gabriel, she was a sweet, pretty little girl, a close friend of my daughter. Her brother, Prince Alexandre, was very capable and there was no reason to suppose his little sister would ever inherit. In normal times, if she came to the throne, she would have strong advisors to help her. Now . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t know enough about the situation there. If I could ride out tomorrow, I would. Since I can’t, I pray that Duval is right to recommend you.”