Blood and Famine (Man of Conflict Series, Book 4)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Well, it will do him good to look at the hills close to – it may stir his poetic muse. Bid Captain Collins to give the boy a thorough briefing on what he must look out for.”

  Perceval was laughing as he returned to Septimus’ side an hour later.

  “Young Megrim Meek, sir! He was none too pleased to discover that he must not ride up the track, particularly as he has no walking shoes. He will be none too comfortable by the time he has been up the hill and down again in riding boots! I believe he will at least stay awake – his feet will hurt too much for him to nod off. I am not wholly certain that he understood all that he is to do, but he has a good sergeant with him.”

  “He is an officer, in my battalion, Major Perceval; if he needs a sergeant to carry him then he is of no use to me! It is unfair to the sergeant and puts the men at risk and may make the battalion seem inefficient. How is the battalion disposed, Major Perceval? Are we organised in such a fashion that a charge of cavalry would be stopped?”

  “I shall make doubly sure, sir. I believe all is well, but it will not hurt to inspect each company. They have taken over a cabin apiece, sir, for the cooks to work in comfort and produce a better stew. They have set up their bivouacs around them, mostly putting their tents up against the stone walls for protection against the winds. Those walls should hinder any charge, sir.”

  “Very good. One platoon on guard duty from each company, if you please. Pickets out in all directions, just in case. It would be annoying if there was a sunken lane that we had not seen, for example, and the Frogs got behind us.”

  The pickets moved out half a furlong from the village and the call rose for an officer almost immediately.

  They led Septimus to a clump of bushes a little distant and pointed to four bodies dumped out of sight, no attempt at a burial. They were some months old and had suffered from animals but could be identified as the Countess and her three sons.

  “Sabre slashes, sir, by the looks of ‘em. Just killed as soon as they was seen, by the looks of it. Lucky, you might call ‘em – the Frogs didn’t take their time about the job, finished ‘em off in the minute, sir.”

  “Bad luck for the boys. I can find little sympathy for her, I fear.”

  “Pockets turned out, sir. The lady’s ears are ripped, look, where they grabbed the earrings. Her hands ‘ave been chewed so you can’t tell whether they cut ‘er fingers off to get at the rings.”

  “Not a good sight, soldier. A burial party, Major Perceval. Here, where they lie. Mark the grave.”

  “The whole village would have gone that way, sir, if we had not forced them to evacuate to the Castle.” Major Perceval was shocked; he had not truly believed that the French would kill so unnecessarily.

  “They have butchered their way across the whole of Spain, Major. Why, I am damned if I know. Where is the reason to it?”

  There was no reply; they could not imagine.

  Lieutenant Meek’s patrol came in immediately before dusk, the men marching freely and easily, their sergeant calling the pace and effectively forcing the lieutenant to keep up for being too weak to order them to slow down. He limped to Septimus’ fire and made his report.

  “The track leads up to a higher valley towards the top of the hills, sir. I could not accurately estimate the elevation, sir, but judge it to be similar to the Peaks in Derbyshire. The valley has good grazing, sir and there were goats there but no people. The valley is perhaps two miles in length, sir, surrounded by hills with no other track. The path we used does not go anywhere else, sir. The hills were quite rocky, especially to the eastern end. Sergeant Walker found a place where he thinks the goatherds or shepherds would camp over the summer, sir. There was a fireplace, but the ashes were old, sir. I would say that there had been no people there over the winter, sir. The goats were wild, we thought; they were not used to the company of people and would not come to call or to the offer of biscuit.”

  “Well expressed, Mr Meek. A clear report. Wholly negative, but useful to me – I now know that there is no enemy up in the hills and that I can disregard that track. Take your feet to the Surgeon, sir, there is a trickle of blood at the seams of your left boot. I would recommend you to lay your hands on shoes as well as riding boots.”

  Meek saluted and hobbled away, to the entertainment of all who saw him, soldiers tending not to be sympathetic souls, especially towards young officers.

  “Major Paisley, there are caves in the hillside to the left, sir. They were used for the storage of wine, you will remember. You will also recall that the wine was poisoned with wood alcohol when last we were here. Would you send a few men, under control of an officer, to check that the vats and barrels are all empty and to tip them out if they are not. Warn the men most straitly of the dangers of the contents.”

  A slightly less simple task for the new major; he should, if he could think so far, accompany the men himself, needing all of his authority to keep them away from the wine, however toxic it might be.

  He watched with some irritation as young Lieutenant Purkiss took a platoon across to the wine store. They glanced into each cave in turn, came away immediately, were back inside half an hour.

  “Smashed barrels and vats, sir. Stains on the flooring where the wine ran away and soaked in, sir. Nasty smell, sir. Dead rats as well, probably came out to lap up the spills, sir.”

  “Good. What does that suggest to you, Mr Purkiss?”

  “Poisoned men, sir. They would not have thrown good wine away so must have discovered it to be bad, sir. Found out the hard way, one must surmise, sir.”

  Purkiss grinned his satisfaction; his experiences on the retreat to Corunna had left him with no affection at all for the French and the nastier their fate the happier he was.

  “I agree, sir. Wholly! I must say to you, Mr Purkiss, that I am very pleased with your conduct as an officer in my battalion. You must gain experience in the field for another year but should then give thought to purchase of a vacancy in the Hampshires. I shall be happy indeed to see you commanding one of my companies.”

  Purkiss, as Septimus had noticed before, reacted very well to praise, as much surprised as delighted. His family background might be out of the ordinary, Septimus thought; the young man was far more used to kicks than kind words. No doubt he would tell the tale one day, probably to another of the junior officers when the wine was in; the word would soon spread thereafter.

  “Cooper, Mr Black to me, please.”

  The Quartermaster bustled up within five minutes, as always appearing competent but busy. Septimus suspected that it was a means of avoiding demands from importunate senior officers, implying that he was willing but far too pressed for time just at the moment to do whatever they had asked of him.

  “Food, Mr Black. We are here until tomorrow morning for sure and I suspect may well not move out until the day after. That provides the opportunity to cook for the men rather than rely on the ordinary hard tack and salt beef.”

  “I have pease and oatmeal to hand, sir, and some sacks of dried beans and an amount of barley. There is a little of butter and a quantity of sugar that came to hand aboard ship from the passage rations; that can be added to the oatmeal to make a breakfast skilly that they will enjoy. Pease, beans and barley can make an evening stew with their beef, rich and thick which they will like. There is an amount of red wine as well, half a pint apiece, to wash the meal down. I can do the same for them tomorrow night, but with pork instead of beef, to make a change.”

  “As ever, Mr Black, I can rely on you to have the men’s interest close to your heart!”

  Septimus wondered briefly just what under the counter transaction had enabled the Quartermaster to lay his hands on the uncovenanted foodstuffs, and how much profit he had made for himself on the whole business. Not to worry; while he did not get caught then he was an innocent man and Septimus would certainly not wish to stir up trouble for him. He twitched just a little on occasion, however, for as colonel he had to counter-sign the Quartermaster’s ledger
s, confirming that they were accurate and honest. He much hoped that the man would never overreach himself and be laid open to prosecution and nasty questions being asked.

  “I have been able to arrange for a haunch of beef for the officers’ table, sir, and some vegetables and a rather better dozen of bottles, sir; tonight seems a good time for a feast.”

  “Most nights are good times for feasts, Mr Black, but I have to agree with you on this occasion. The brigade is to join us tomorrow and we shall lose our independence, so it is a time to celebrate, I believe.”

  Mr Black was making himself increasingly useful, Septimus thought; he wondered why. It might be an outburst of natural virtue, of course, but that was rare in the Army. The probability was that he had discovered some particularly rich form of criminality, open to a man in his position but not available to a civilian. Something in the smuggling line, perhaps? Storeships came out from England in the convoys, at least every month, sometimes more frequently; they would enter Lisbon loaded and, in the nature of things, return to England with empty holds – their only cargo a few passengers, wounded for discharge mostly. Perhaps they took empty barrels back to England to be reused, it would be sensible, and just perhaps some of those empty barrels could be full of port or the better red wines of Portugal, all to be offloaded at Portsmouth, or even in the Pool of London, without notice of the Revenuers. There was money in smuggling, and Black had shown himself in the past to have knowledge of the Gentlemen. It was a possibility; fortunately, it had no impact on the battalion, it would be seen as wholly separate to his official existence.

  Septimus was quite entertained at the man’s ingenuity, if it was so. He wondered whether he should investigate further. Perhaps he should just casually, in passing, enquire of Mr Black if he had heard any word of such activities. It was not impossible that a pipe or two of port might end up in his own wine-cellar at the Lodge.

  Man of Conflict Series

  BOOK FOUR

  Chapter Seven

  The battalion spent the next day in happy idleness; they had been well fed, the enemy was at a distance and rest of the army was nowhere in sight. It was a soldier’s dream.

  Septimus spoke to the officers, individually and in unofficial mode, though this was hard to attain. He did not wish to give an order calling for spit and polish, the men had better things to do in the field, but he suggested that they might persuade the men to tidy themselves and even put a shine on their shoes, though not to make too much of a performance – they should show a sufficiency of wear to remind the other battalions that the Hampshires had been busy over the winter while they had laid long in bed.

  He also passed the word that, as he was junior colonel in length of service, the Hampshires would be at the bottom of the tree. He then endeavoured to suppress the indignation, the near outrage that ensued in the makeshift officer’s mess.

  “We have, sir, added Ahmednagar, Koge and Corunna to our colours, not to mention our various skirmishes, while they have sat in barracks along the Channel Coast, peering anxiously at an empty sea!”

  “I say, Major Perceval, that was well expressed, sir!”

  “Umbrage has leant fluency to my tongue, sir!”

  “But preferably not in the presence of the brigadier, sir. You have made a point, of course, the matter of battle honours; that might be a question you would wish to consider as President of the Mess. We shall undoubtedly have the opportunity to dine the others in the brigade.”

  Cooper told Septimus later that Major Perceval had gone into immediate consultation with the Quartermaster and a messenger had been sent back to the Castle to find a flat board and discover an amount of scarlet and gold powder paint that had happened to come into the Stores while aboard ship.

  “There is much to be said for a good quartermaster, Cooper.”

  “There’s a damn sight more to be said for a bad one, begging your pardon, sir!”

  They chuckled together.

  The Portuguese horsemen returned with a brief despatch confirming that the brigade was on the march; they added the unofficial verbal that the guns were having trouble on the track across the hills, the soldiers having to heave on ropes to get them uphill, then tug even harder to stop them running away on the down stretches.

  Septimus informed the officers at dinner that the brigade was undergoing a painful introduction to the nature of campaigning in the hills of Portugal.

  “There seem to be very few roads, gentlemen, but it will be better for the guns to keep to them. I have not been informed of the nature of the two batteries attached to the brigade – I do not know whether they are old six-pounders or the new nines. I am inclined to hope they may be the smaller variety, despite their lesser range and power; at least they will be in our company more often. I sometimes wonder how the French moved their twelve-pound cannon.”

  “They care not whether they kill both animals and gunners, sir!” Major Paisley had been more willing to speak up since obtaining his brevet. Septimus was inclined to believe he was right in this instance.

  “Liberal use of the whip and spur for both, Major Paisley – I do think you are probably correct, sir. The French tend towards barbarity in their treatment of those they need to use.”

  “It seems likely, sir, that this may be a campaign that keeps to the valley bottoms and the few practical roads. The hills will hardly be penetrated for inability to move wagons and guns over them.”

  “It seems very likely, Major Paisley. River crossings, bridges especially, must be significant. A garrison on a fast river could stop a whole army in its tracks. We saw on the retreat to Corunna that a brisk defence of just a single bridge could gain many hours for the bulk of the column. Outnumbered as the army was, the nature of the terrain left the pursuers unable to manoeuvre and use their strength. Luckily, I might add.”

  Those who had been present on the retreat shivered as they agreed that it was, in fact, fortunate that they had fled through mountains rather than across a flat plain.

  The brigade straggled into the village next morning, having taken a day and a night to cross the very few miles of hills from the Castle. The charitable, of whom there were a few even among soldiers, ascribed their lack of speed to the need to manhandle the guns over the hostile ground.

  “I see you have your battalion in very good order, Sir Septimus!”

  “We have had two full days since our brush with the French rear, sir. The men are experienced in the field now and know their way around, I believe. We have scouted out the immediate area, sir, and believe the French retreated along the valley. They are certainly not in the hills surrounding us. They had their guns with them, of course, and that will have made them very unwilling to leave the bottom lands.”

  “As am I, Sir Septimus. Manhandling the oxcarts and the two batteries over those tracks was not a task I would care to repeat. Was there no other route to be used, Sir Septimus?”

  “I do not know, sir. I have not discovered one and, as we all regret, there are no maps. I suspect the stream here eventually empties into the Tagus and that there will be a track leading along its banks – but how many miles that might be I cannot guess, or how much of its course lies in French hands.”

  “Advancing blind, in effect! Lord Wellington informed me that I was to discover the nature of the country, the army not having passed through this part of Portugal. How is a land to be governed if the King and his ministers have no knowledge of its nature, Sir Septimus? How did they get by without maps?”

  “Feudally, sir. The government in Lisbon relied wholly upon the local lords. It is quite likely, sir, that they have better maps, and more, of their colonies in Brazil and Goa and Macao than of their own country more than a day’s ride out of the capital city!”

  “That may explain much. What of this Marquis fellow who, they tell, me killed himself in shame soon after your arrival? His lady who, fortunately for the family, is carrying an heir, told me that he jumped from the highest point of the keep rather than be taken f
or trial for disobedience to the order to slight the countryside to deny food to the French.”

  “He informed me, at angry length, sir, that his sole loyalty was to the King, or his Regent, and that he had not disobeyed any order because the so-called government had no capacity to order him. I disagreed and told him that he was to go for trial and that he should make his peace with God before an early hanging. This upset him more than a little, sir.”

  “I should imagine that it might have. He and his grown son jumped then, rather than face the humiliation of a trial?”

  “I understand that the prospect of being hanged rather than shot was the prime motivator, sir. To be hanged as a traitor would have dishonoured the family for generations, I believe. Being shot as the same would appear to be another matter.”

  “Very strange, these Dagoes! Still, Sir Septimus, you know how it is – Johnny Foreigner does not really know how to go on in the civilised world!”

  “I am sure you are right, sir.”

  “Very good! Now then, we must harry the French, I believe. To that end we should march out in the morning. We need to blood the Wiltshires and New Foresters, I think, Sir Septimus, so we shall give them the lead and your Hampshires will bring up the rear, ready to press forward as the need arises. Your people have very little left to learn, from the reports I have read!”

  “Officers and men know their jobs, sir, that I must agree.”

  Septimus was little concerned; after the delay their pursuit must be miles behind the French and he had small expectation of meeting up with them in the short term. ‘Harrying’ was not the expression he would have used when he was three days, at least, behind the retreat.

  Empty valleys; slighted villages; the occasional corpse and even rarer strayed sheep or goat come back to familiar fields and generally rapidly becoming acquainted with the battalion cooking pots. Half-starved dogs showed themselves, two or three to most villages; they rapidly found new masters and tagged along with the soldiers, quickly putting flesh back on their bones. They saw the odd cat as well, but they wanted nothing of the new people passing by, merely spat and ran, easily able to make a living for themselves.