by Mary Nichols
‘That is nonsense. The colonel…’
‘The colonel!’ The man snorted with derision. ‘What do you feed him to keep his hungry hands off your wife, Captain?’ He ducked as Robert’s clenched fist shot out, then laughed. ‘English! Bah! And English women are worse than the men. You told the fat French pig where to find us; you betrayed us and for that you will undoubtedly die.’
‘I did nothing of the kind.’ He was calmer now, realising anger would do no good. ‘Nor did Olivia, I swear to it. I want to help you. I can help you. I know the disposition of the French forces, and the route and timing of their march. It is something the English commander-in-chief would very much like to know.’
‘How will that help us?’
‘One day Spain will be free, but you will not do it by yourselves. You need the help of Wellington’s army.’
‘Bah!’ The big man spat. ‘That is always retreating. There are no leopards left in Spain and soon there will be none in Portugal, but you know that. It is why you and your gun-crazy wife have thrown in your lot with the French. We let you go and you betrayed us.’
‘No. Find Don Santandos; he will speak for me. He knows the truth.’
‘Naturally we will send for him; he will want to witness your death-throes. What a pity you did not bring the señora with you. We could have had a double execution. But we will get her later, never fear.’
Robert thanked providence that Olivia was many miles away in the comparative safety of the French camp. He had returned to their bivouac very soon after leaving it, to find her curled up under a blanket and his supper cooling on the embers. There were others near by; she would be safe until dawn when he planned to return. He had given some thought to bringing her and trying, once again, to persuade her to stay with the guerrillas in the expectation of Wellington making a push and returning to Spain, but had decided against it until he could talk to Miguel.
His only regret was that she would never know how he had met his end and would go through life thinking he had deserted her. He wondered idly, as the partisans trussed him up like a Christmas goose, how she would fight off the colonel. That she could do so he did not for a moment doubt. Now, when it was too late to do anything about it, he knew that his disgrace had been for a whim, a passing fancy, a spoiled child. That was all Juana was or ever could be. Olivia was different. Olivia was everything that Juana was not. Olivia was… He smiled wryly as his bonds cut into his wrists; Olivia was simply Olivia and there was no one else quite like her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
OLIVIA flung herself from her lathered horse outside Father Peredo’s house and hammered on the door. ‘Come on! Come on!’ she murmured impatiently, then pushed past the startled Pedro almost before the door was properly opened.
‘My dear child!’ Father Peredo met her in the hall. He had a sheaf of papers in his hand, as if she had interrupted his work on them. ‘What has happened?’
‘The guerrilleros, the village men, are going to kill Robert. They say he betrayed them. You must stop them.’
‘Where are they?’
‘In the hills. Oh, please come. It may already be too late; they are only waiting for Don Santandos to return and then…’
‘Where is Miguel Santandos?’ He went back into his living-room and put the sheaf of papers in a desk drawer. She hovered in the doorway.
‘I do not know.’ His deliberate slowness was irritating her. ‘Come, please. Only you can save him.’
He smiled. ‘You think I should?’
‘Of course. You know he would not betray his friends.’
‘Do I?’ He looked up from locking the drawer to smile at her. ‘Do you?’
‘Of course I do, and so do you.’ She surprised herself with the swiftness of her response; she had not hesitated at all.
‘Good. We will go now and you can tell me what happened as we ride.’ He called to Pedro and sent him scurrying for a horse, then he left her, telling her he would join her outside.
She returned to Pegasus, who really ought to have been rubbed down and allowed to rest, but she needed to ask yet more of him before that could happen. He nuzzled up to her as she patted his nose; it was almost as if he understood. ‘Good, brave fellow,’ she said, as she mounted again. ‘Don’t let me down now.’
Pedro led a horse up the village street from wherever he had been hidden, just as Father Peredo came from the house. The priest had changed from his frock to breeches and shirt and she was surprised how much younger and stronger he looked without the enveloping skirts. ‘Come,’ he said, throwing himself lightly into the saddle. ‘Lead the way.’
She wanted to gallop but he would have none of it. ‘Do you want to kill that horse?’ he queried.
‘Better than having Robert killed.’
‘That young man is special to you, is he?’
‘You know he is. He is my husband.’
‘Is he?’ he enquired mildly as they rode side by side over the new wooden bridge.
She looked across at him and felt the colour flood to her cheeks. He knew the truth! ‘It makes no odds,’ she said defiantly. ‘We had to say that.’
‘Of course, I understand, but it is something you should remedy before too long. It is not good to live with a man as you are doing.’
‘We are not… We do not…’
He smiled. ‘That is good, but it cannot be easy; better to marry and have your union blessed in the sight of God.’ He paused, having obviously said all he was going to say on the subject. ‘Now, tell me what happened.’
‘Robert rode out from the camp in the middle of the night. I followed.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ she repeated. ‘Does it matter why? I wanted to talk to him, and heaven knows that is difficult enough in the French camp, where he is supposed to be dumb.’
‘He is still keeping that up, is he?’
‘He has to.’
‘Yes, of course. So you followed him and then what?’
‘It took some time to pick up his trail, but I came within sight of him at last and he was heading into the hills. I could have hailed him…’
‘But you did not.’
‘No.’
‘You wanted to see where he was going. You were suspicious of him…’
‘No,’ she said quickly, then laughed. ‘Well, perhaps a little curious. I saw him being stopped by two men at the entrance to a pass. They did not seem too friendly, so I kept well back and followed.’
‘You were not seen?’
‘I do not think so. I left Pegasus behind and crept forward on foot. The men took Robert into a cave. I heard them say they were going to execute him.’ She smiled wryly. ‘And me too, if they could catch me. I left in a hurry.’
It sounded so easy, the way she told it, but it had meant crawling in the heather and broom for what seemed hours and freezing at every sound. She had toyed with the idea of rushing into the hide-out and demanding Robert’s release at the point of her pistol, but she knew that would never work and instead had returned to her horse and ridden for Villa de Fuentes as if the hounds of hell were at her heels.
‘Do you think we could go a little faster? Don Santandos may have returned,’ she said.
‘Do you have no faith in that man of yours being able to talk his way out of trouble?’
‘I am not at all sure he wants to. In some strange way I think he imagines he would welcome death as an end to his problems. He seems not to mind risking his life.’
‘It is a soldier’s lot.’
‘Not the way he is doing it. Something has happened in the past, something which has left him embittered, and he will not talk of it.’
‘One day, when he has learned to trust again, he will.’
‘If he lives that long,’ she said, digging her heels into her horse’s flanks and leaving him to follow.
His horse, though an inferior one, was fresh while hers was not; he was easily able to keep up with her and it was he who was in front when they were hailed by the new look-outs at t
he approach to the hide-out. The midday sun was high in a clear sky, but up here in the mountains where the wind soughed through the passes the air was chill. She shivered as she dismounted and waited, with growing impatience, while the priest spoke to the men. Then they were waved on and led their horses through the narrow pass. At the far end, the mountain broadened out into a plateau where goats grazed on the sparse grass and broom, and here they were met by José Gonzales who conducted them into the cave.
It was so dark in there after the bright sunlight outside, Olivia saw nothing but dark shapes and the whites of a dozen pairs of eyes. She heard her name being called and turned towards the sound. Robert was sitting with his back against the wall, his hands tied behind him and his legs tucked up almost to his chin and bound there. She ran to kneel beside him, reaching out to touch him. ‘Thank God you are safe.’
He grinned, his teeth showing white in the darkness. ‘Can you never stick to your own affairs, my dear? Must you be forever trying to embroil yourself in mine?’
‘They are one and the same,’ she said. ‘Has Don Santandos returned?’
‘He is expected any time. I see the good priest has come to give me the last rites; I am sorry I am not a Catholic, but perhaps he will overlook that little point.’
‘Last rites be damned!’ she said.
‘Tut, tut, my dear,’ he said, smiling. ‘That is hardly the language of a lady; it would cause no end of raised eyebrows in an English drawing-room.’
‘We are not in an English drawing-room, nor will we ever be again if we cannot extricate ourselves from this scrape.’ She included herself in that prediction without even thinking about it. ‘And Father Peredo has not come to administer last rites, he has come to try and free you, but if you will do nothing to help yourself…’
‘How can I help myself, trussed up like a chicken and surrounded by fools who do not know the truth when they hear it?’
She was glad they were speaking in English; the guerrillas would take exception to being called fools. ‘Let us hope Don Santandos is more ready to listen.’
‘I gather he has been driven crazy by the death of his wife; he is not behaving like a rational man. I am told he is even now stalking the French columns, determined on single-handed revenge.’
‘On you?’
‘One must suppose so; it is what these people believe.’
She wondered if she dared begin trying to undo his bonds. She looked around her. The priest and José were talking earnestly together, both facing towards the prisoner. ‘Did you tell the colonel where to find them?’
‘How could I? Until yesterday I thought they were safely in the monastery.’ He was not even angry, as he might once have been at such a question. ‘You saw them more recently than I did when you took the women and children to them. Did they speak of moving out then?’
‘Not that I can recall.’ His wrists were raw where the rope had bitten into them. She began picking at the knots, trying not to hurt him and uncaring that she was being watched. ‘If you did not do it and I did not do it, then someone else betrayed them.’ She turned from him towards the partisans. ‘Will someone lend me a knife?’
They laughed at her temerity, but no one gave her one. Father Peredo came over and knelt on the other side of Robert. ‘Why did you come here?’ he asked him. ‘They told me you rode into the pass as if you had nothing to fear.’
‘I did not know I had. I had given my parole to Don Santandos and, as far as I knew, I was trusted. I had dispatches to send to the British and I came to ask for someone to act as a courier. And to escort the señora to safety.’
‘It does not matter about me,’ she said, though no one appeared to hear her.
‘Why not go yourself?’ the priest asked.
‘No, I am more useful where I am.’ He tried to lift his bound hands. ‘Or at least where I was before this happened. The longer I am away, the more difficult it will be for me to explain my absence.’
‘If, as you say, you knew nothing of Miguel’s plans, how did you know where to find our men last night?’
‘One of the guerrilleros told me before…before he was executed. Garcia, I think his name was.’
‘We tried to save them, truly we did,’ Olivia put in. ‘They were not tortured.’
Father Peredo turned and looked up at José Gonzales. ‘You are in control now. What do you say? Would Garcia have told our friend of this hide-out if he thought he was the traitor?’
The big man looked perplexed. He was unused to command because Don Santandos had always been their leader and Miguel had never delegated a decision in his life. ‘Where are these dispatches?’ he asked.
‘They were in my saddle-bag,’ Robert said. ‘But I am sure you have emptied that already, so I have no idea where they are.’
The guerrillas had found the papers but they had been written in English and, apart from the absent Miguel, there was no one who could read them. José raised his hand and clicked his fingers. ‘Give the papers to the Father,’ he said. ‘He will tell us if we should believe the Englishman.’
Olivia held her breath as Father Peredo read the documents, but if she had hoped he might read aloud she was disappointed. He folded them carefully and smiled at Robert. ‘You need a courier?’
‘Yes. Whether I live or die at the hands of your compatriots, that intelligence must be sent. Do you understand?’
‘I understand. And if you are allowed to live?’
‘Then I go back and, with luck, there will be more dispatches to follow those.’ He nodded towards the papers in the priest’s hand.
‘And the señora?’
‘My wife?’ He looked towards Olivia. ‘Take her to safety.’
‘Father Peredo knows I am not your wife,’ she said, while the priest turned to translate to his compatriots. ‘He knows you cannot make me do anything on the grounds that I have vowed to obey you.’
‘What has that to do with anything?’
‘If you go back to the French army, I go with you and it’s no use you arguing.’
‘I have long ago learned the futility of that,’ he said. ‘If I want you to stay anywhere, the only way it can be achieved is to tie you up.’
She laughed. ‘You are the one who is tied up, not me.’
He held up his bound hands to José. ‘Cut me loose, there’s a good fellow,’ he said in Spanish. ‘I need to give the señora a beating.’
The big Spaniard laughed and produced a wicked-looking knife from his belt with which he cut through the bonds in seconds. ‘Sometimes it is necessary to beat our wives or they lead us by the nose. The English have never learned this truth.’
Robert began massaging his hands and legs to return the circulation to them. ‘Thank you, my friend.’ He stood up and stamped his feet a few times and then pronounced himself ready to leave.
‘Do one thing for me,’ José said, as he escorted them from the cave and out into blinding sunlight. ‘Find the devil who betrayed our people. Find him and kill him for me.’
‘That I will do,’ Robert said. ‘You have my word.’
The partisans all came out to see them off. They shook hands with each in turn, then took their horses from the young guerrilla who had brought them forward. ‘Send your families back to your village,’ Robert said, as they prepared to ride away. ‘Father Peredo will see they come to no harm. And leave here yourselves. Go back to the monastery — today — do not linger. There must be no more fighting on the plains. Leave that to Wellington’s leopards.’ He turned to Olivia. ‘Come, little leopardess, we have hunting to do.’
Olivia followed obediently. Her horse had been rubbed down and given water and oats, and although he was tired he was by no means finished. They walked in order to rest him.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, as they made their way down towards the distant valley.
‘Back to the forward lines, back to Colonel Clavier. Where else?’
‘He was looking for me last night.’
‘
I hope he did not find you.’ It was said laconically, but somehow his words cheered her.
‘No, but when we get back he will want to know the reason why.’
Robert was thoughtful for a moment. ‘We quarreled. I am a jealous and violent man. You were afraid to go to him for what I would do if I found out.’
She laughed, not knowing how true his description of himself was. ‘And what have I been doing all day? And, more to the point, what have you been doing all day?’
‘You have been sulking…’
‘I do not sulk!’ she retorted quickly.
He turned to look at her, smiling. ‘No, I give you that. But nevertheless today you did.’
‘And you?’
‘I had been told where the survivors of the guerrillas were hidden, I went to reconnoitre.’
‘And?’
‘I found their camp, but it was deserted. They have obviously given up after their defeat at the colonel’s hands and gone home.’
‘And if he wants to know where the camp is, will you tell him?’
‘Certainly. He will find no one there; Father Peredo will see to that.’
‘I take it I am to be the one to tell the colonel all this?’
‘Yes, you recovered from the sulks as soon as you saw me coming back.’
‘If I had decided not to return with you, what would you have done?’
He laughed. ‘Ah, but I knew you would.’
‘You are impossibly conceited!’
‘No more than you.’
She pretended to raise her whip to him, making him duck, but instead she touched Pegasus with it, and the horse, rested now, set off at a canter. Robert did not trouble himself to go after her and after half a mile she stopped to allow him to catch up. In silence they rode down on to the metalled highway and turned westward, taking the road they had covered in darkness the night before, back to the French advance on Almeida.
But this time it was different. Their relationship had changed subtly; although not exactly harmonious, the razor-sharp edge had gone from it and they found they could talk together without acrimony.
The town could hold out indefinitely, he told her as they rode, certainly until Wellington advanced, which he would do as soon as he was in a position to win a decisive battle. He did not envisage having to fire in anger against the allies.
