Brothers in Arms (Jack Steel 3)

by Iain Gale

  Charpentier broke in, ‘Gentlemen, I hesitate to appear discourteous, but would it be too much to ask you to take your leave? Captain Johnson and I must settle the mundane business of his accommodation, and I intend to give him a tour of our establishment – although I trust that he will never have need of a longer stay.’

  All of them laughed at the major’s black humour.

  Malbec bowed and moved towards the door. ‘Charpentier, thank you for your time. My men appear to have been well received here, as ever. I have but a few more trifling questions. Perhaps tomorrow.’

  ‘Until tomorrow, Major.’

  Malbec turned to Steel. ‘Captain Johnson. Until we meet again. Wherever that may be.’

  Steel bowed again. ‘Your servant, sir.’

  As Malbec left the room, Steel’s brother approached him and for a second he thought that he might give him away. But, to his relief, Alexander merely bowed.

  ‘Major Charpentier, I shall take my leave. And thank you again for your hospitality during my convalescence. God willing I shall not have need of your establishment again.’ He turned to Steel. ‘Captain Johnson. No doubt we too shall meet again, very soon I hope. We Irishmen must stick together. You see, Major Charpentier, we are almost like brothers to one another in the Irish Brigade. Isn’t that right, Captain?’

  ‘Brothers indeed, Captain Steel. Until we meet again.’

  Alexander Steel left the small office. Closing the door behind him, and listening to his footseps as he moved away, Charpentier eventually spoke, in a quiet tone, even though they were quite out of earshot.

  ‘We must not be overheard. And I shall not use your real name. I do know who you are, however, and I know how you came by your fame: the captured colour at Blenheim, the saving of a regiment, the prize of Ostend, and more besides. I salute you, Captain, as a valiant fellow soldier. You recognized Major Malbec?’

  ‘Yes. But I cannot place him.’

  ‘He too is a hero to his country. And what of Captain Steel? You seemed to know him too for a moment? You share the same name.’

  ‘He is my brother. You knew?’

  The major smiled. ‘I thought as much. And I was right in my assumption that he would not betray you. You share a certain look. But I don’t think that Major Malbec suspected. It must be hard, no, having a brother who fights for the enemy? What should you do if you met him in battle?’

  ‘I pray to God that will never come to pass, Major. It would be more than I could bear.’

  ‘But face it, Captain, it stands to reason. As this war rages on and those who are left of the men who began it grow smaller in number by the year, then at some time, one day on a field of battle, you will encounter your brother.’

  ‘I cannot deny the truth, sir. But perhaps we can bring about an end to the war and ensure that such an encounter can never take place.’

  The major smiled again. ‘I like your spirit, Captain. You remind me of a certain young captain of infantry, a man yet untainted by the scars of battle. A whole man then. Another lifetime. A world away.’ For a moment he paused, lost in melancholy, until Steel roused him from it.

  ‘I have something for you, Major. The purpose of my mission.’ He reached inside his waistcoat and produced the letter from Marlborough. He handed it to Charpentier. ‘A note of honour, sir, containing proof of our good intentions, delivered from the Duke of Marlborough himself. It is addressed to your King.’

  The major took the letter and, pausing only to look at the handwriting, tucked it securely inside his own waistcoat.

  ‘Thank you, Captain. I realize that you have risked much to deliver this most important document. You may rest assured that it will reach the man for whom it was intended, and let us pray that it will achieve its purpose. This war is bleeding France dry. If we allow it to continue it will kill and maim all our young men. The King has lost his way. Oh, he is still a great man, the greatest perhaps we have ever seen. But now, Captain, he is old. He does not understand what it is to make war today. He cannot know the suffering. And in what name? A greater France. Surely he has made France greater than she has ever been? What more? The throne of Spain? A worthless country. Why? Vainglory. No more. He is controlled by his generals. But perhaps when he sees this letter from his greatest adversary offering him peace on good terms, perhaps then he will call an end to this madness and you can all go home, back to your loved ones, before you are killed or end up like me, an old cripple.’

  His tone was despairingly bitter, and Steel could see tears welling in his eyes. ‘Have you seen them?’ He indicated the courtyard. ‘My children? My patients? They are young men, most of them. But they are young men with no future, Captain. They will have no families. They will father no children. They will know no joy. I hear them in the night, when I pass along the corridors. I hear them weeping.’

  He paused and crossed to the window, where he picked up one of the tin soldiers. ‘So I shall take this letter to the King in person, and I will tell him, Captain Steel, just who it was who delivered it to me here, in Paris. Captain Jack Steel, the hero of Britain’s great army, come to meet me and offer us peace with honour. And then perhaps our King will listen to reason. That will be the measure of his greatness.’

  He wiped briefly at his eyes. ‘And now, as you are here, captain, and you are my honoured guest, whatever your true allegiance, as one soldier to another, please allow me to extend the hospitality of the Invalides. Let me show you how a real monarch rewards those soldiers who would give their all in battle in his name and for his greater glory.’

  EIGHT

  The major led Steel across his office to the door and out through the anteroom into the cool of the high stone arcade which ran the length of the courtyard of Les Invalides. Looking down to the cobbles Steel saw that a company of infantry had formed up in line of threes. They wore the uniform of the Invalides: dark blue trimmed with crimson and a soft black infantry hat. The men carried a half pike and the officers swords, and they dressed their ranks as well as any he had seen, save perhaps the Foot Guards. This was made all the more remarkable by what distinguished this company from any other he had ever seen – their physical state. Most were amputees, and the greater part of these were missing a leg, its place being taken by a wooden post. Others were lacking in hands and eyes.

  ‘You see how our men keep themselves in the military way. Sense the pride in them, Captain. They must have at least twenty years of uninterrupted military service to be considered for permanent admission here, as well as an incurable disability. These men are real heroes, Captain Johnson.’

  ‘I do not doubt that, Major.’

  Steel walked in silence beside the major, his eyes on the crippled company below, his thoughts on the legacy of the wars he had fought. At length they reached the ground floor and, directed by Charpentier, he entered the refectory. Seated along the lengths of walls hung with more tapestries of French victories, some four hundred soldiers were taking their dinner. At another table in the centre of the room sat a dozen sullen-looking men.

  ‘Why are those men separated?’

  ‘That is the water-drinkers’ table. Those men will have no wine with their food. They are being disciplined for not having respected the rules of our establishment. They must obey the rules, Captain. On that matter I am most particular.’

  What a peculiarly French punishment, thought Steel, to deprive a man of his wine ration. He wondered what the equal would have been in his own army, certain that it would have involved the use of the lash.

  Charpentier was explaining the rules. ‘We have four sittings at every mealtime of four hundred men each. At present we accommodate some sixteen hundred hospitaliers. The men are billeted six to a room, officers two or three. They are forbidden to store any food, wine or tobacco. Officers may come and go as they please, but the men require a pass to leave the hospital. I can see that you are impressed, Captain.’

  Steel nodded and smiled, but he was barely listening. He had noticed that they were bei
ng watched by two of the Invalides. One had an eye patch, the other carried himself on a crutch. Before he could move Charpentier away, the duo had approached them. The one-eyed man spoke – alarmingly, in fluent English, albeit with an Irish brogue.

  ‘Major Charpentier, sir. We couldn’t help but notice, your honour, that your friend here wears an Irish coat.’ He turned to Steel and gave a short bow. ‘Good day to you, Captain. It is always a pleasure to meet a fellow Irishman.’

  Steel stared into his eyes and saw at once that they were filled with suspicion. ‘Good day. Indeed it is. What was your regiment?’

  ‘Well, Your Honour, I was with Bulkeley’s foot. But Seamus here was with Clare’s Dragoons. Which, unless I’m mistaken, would be your own regiment, sir?’

  ‘Indeed. I serve with Clare’s. Although I joined but lately, having been in Roth’s these past ten years.’

  ‘Is that right, sir? Well, that’s another fine regiment. To be sure, you’re a fortunate man, sir, to have served in two of the finest regiments that ever there were. And didn’t Roth’s fight at Cremona? What a tale that must be to tell. Wasn’t it yourselves that held the gate against the Austrians? To be sure, sir, I’d like to hear your tale. And Seamus, too, to swap stories with a fellow man of Roth’s. Are you here for long, Your Honour?’

  ‘Sadly, no. I must leave tomorrow. I am afraid that I cannot see when we might have the time to speak. I shall have to forgo the pleasure.’

  The Irishman smiled and bowed to Steel and Charpentier. ‘Good day to you, sirs. A real pleasure meeting you, Captain.’

  That, thought Steel, did not go well. To have carried himself off through the conversation at the rout and the encounter with Malbec, only to be outed by an Irish bog-trotter, seemed unjust in the extreme. Charpentier seemed oblivious.

  ‘You see, Captain, just what heroes we have here. Truly we are united across rank and even the country of our birth. United in our pride and in our suffering.’

  ‘He might have seen through my cover, Major.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so. The man’s quite simple. A pleasant enough fellow, and damned brave in his time. Lost his eye at Blenheim. But he’ll not trouble you, Captain. Now, shall we eat?’

  It was after six when Steel stepped outside and walked down the cool colonnade towards the staircase. Having been shown his quarters he welcomed the opportunity to have some time to himself after an exhausting few hours of relentlessly inhabiting his alias. He had not encountered either of the Irishmen again, for which he gave thanks. It was the one-eyed man who sprang immediately to mind, however, as, nearing the staircase, ahead of him in the twilight he caught sight of a silhouette against the wall. It was a man, certainly, standing half-seen in the shadows. A man clearly determined not to be seen. Waiting. Instinctively Steel’s hand moved to his sword hilt, and as he passed the shadowy figure he prepared to draw. But the silhouette made no similar move. The man merely spoke. Just one word, but it was more than enough to disarm Steel.

  ‘Jack.’

  Steel stopped where he was and turned slowly towards the voice. He had known that his brother would find him after their first encounter, but he had not been prepared for it to happen so soon or in such a public place. As he turned, a group of pensioners walked past him and one of their number, seeing his coat, muttered a pleasant ‘good day’ in English. Steel turned and nodded towards them and then turned back to the shadows.

  ‘Alexander. It is you. Thank God. We need to talk.’

  Alexander Steel walked out of the shadows, and to Steel’s surprise he was smiling. He embraced his brother.

  ‘Captain Johnson! What a pleasure it is to see you again after so many years. And now you are in the service of King Louis. I must confess, I never had the slightest notion that you would join us. But tell me, why the name?’

  Steel could not tell whether his brother genuinely believed that he had gone over to the Jacobite cause or whether he suspected that he was a spy. Alexander had always been a canny boy, expert with a rod and a line and as devious in his pursuit of mischief as he was of the stag. He had an enquiring, naturally cynical frame of mind, and Steel suspected that, while he might have wanted desperately to believe that his elder brother had joined the true cause to restore the Stuart monarchy, he knew that Steel’s real purpose here was diametrically opposed to his own. Seeing Steel’s sombre expression merely confirmed his suspicions, and Alexander let go of his arm.

  ‘Why are you here? I know you’re no turncoat. Not you, Jack. Never could be. You’re too simple and too true a soul to ever betray your first love.’

  Steel raised an eyebrow.

  ‘The army, Jack. And if you’re not here to betray your own side, then there’s only one conclusion. You’re a spy.’

  He studied Steel’s changing expression closely and, despite all the years they had been apart, in that instant the love of a brother and his ability to see deep into the other’s soul told him all he needed to know.

  ‘Oh, good God, Jack. I’m right, aren’t I? Tell me that I’m wrong. Tell me that you’re not here for a reason I’m fast beginning to guess. Tell me that you wear that coat as an officer of Clare’s and for no other reason.’

  Steel shook his head. ‘I cannot lie to you. You’re too clever for me, Alexander. Always were the sharper.’

  ‘Christ, Jack. Are you insane? Do you realize quite where you are? Do you know who that man was with me in Charpentier’s rooms?’

  ‘Major Malbec?’

  ‘Major Claude Malbec. One of the most decorated and perhaps the most unscrupulous, most determined and certainly the most devoted officer in all King Louis’s army. He hates the British with a vengeance. They killed his family, Jack. At Le Havre. Bombed them. His wife and children. Have you any idea what Malbec would do if he discovered who you really were?’

  Steel sighed. ‘I have a vague notion.’

  ‘A vague notion? There’d be nothing vague about it, Jack. D’you know, it seems to me that in these past few years you must have half lost your mind. He’d kill you, Jack. No less. And he wouldn’t be too picky about the way he did it. Why the devil have you come here? No, don’t answer that. I don’t really want to know. God knows what I’d do with the information. You’d better just go. Go now before you’re caught and it’s too late.’

  He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. They looked down at the stones. Steel said nothing, but when Alexander looked at him again he could see that his brother was smiling.

  ‘I might have known you’d do something like this. You’re too bloody reckless by half. You always were a wild card, Jack. So you’re not content with the battlefield, eh? Not enough danger out there for you? Not enough death?’

  Steel looked hard at his brother and wondered at his faultless and undiminished ability to see into his soul. He caught his look again, a look of understanding that told him that, whatever he might have done, and to whomsoever he now had pledged his sword, his brother’s love for him remained undiminished. He attempted to return the same expression.

  Alexander spoke again: ‘We should talk properly. You might need my help. But we cannot speak here.’ He laughed. ‘You do seem able to pass yourself off as an Irish officer. Perhaps we should find a tavern. Have a drink together. Like in the old days, eh? I warrant you’ve still the harder head.’ Steel smiled as his brother went on. ‘There is much I need to ask you. But only don’t tell me why you’re here. I don’t want to know and I don’t want to become involved. Heaven knows, staying alive is hard enough in this cursed war.’

  ‘You’ve seen much fighting then?’

  Alexander looked at him and grinned. ‘Have I? Well, I’ll wager that you have. Seen fighting? As I said, we have much to talk about. I know a place nearby where we shouldn’t be troubled. Come now, we can pass freely through the gate. Just keep thinking in Irish, Captain Johnson, and don’t look back.’

  One hour and two bottles of claret later, two officers of Irish foot who bore an uncanny resemblance to one another
were to be observed in a dark corner of a small inn on the corner of the rue Babylon and the rue du Bar. It was not exactly the venue that Steel would have chosen for a family reunion: a down-at-heel whorehouse filled with street sellers and assorted low-lifes. But it would do. Alexander had been bursting for news of the family, and Steel had given him all that he had known, which was precious little, for since his father’s death he had had little to do with his elder brother back in Scotland. Carniston House, to the southwest of Edinburgh, and all the secret and precious places that the two of them had known as boys were another world to him now, so much so that he felt that he too might have taken voluntary exile.

  Alexander was openly disappointed. ‘I have a yearning for Carniston, Jack. I would see the old house just once more, before I die.’

  ‘Die? Why should you die? You seem well enough to me. Hardly an Invalide.’

  Alexander shrugged. ‘I was only here on account of a leg wound and the fact that my colonel is an old friend of Charpentier’s. It’s a fine place your masters would do well to emulate. We should do honour to our soldiers, Jack, on whatever side they fight. Those wounded in battle especially. A civilized country must need have such places.’

  ‘I meant that you hardly seem to me to be about to die, dear brother.’

  Alexander stared into his goblet of wine. ‘You know how it is, Jack. What this war does to a man. And you know, as all soldiers do, how fickle fate can be. She spares no one, Jack. All receive equal treatment at her hands. The dice do not know rank and privilege. Cannon shot and musketball will carry us all off some day, you and I most certainly.’ He took a long drink and wiped his mouth on the back of his cuff. ‘I love that old house, Jack. We should live there again. You and I. Alistair does not care for it. That I know. It is a travesty that he should have it.’