by Iain Gale
Keane and his men rode at the head of the column, followed by two wagons containing the prisoners and another, smaller cart carrying Leech and Gabriella.
They had buried the three hussars at San Pedro and, still distrustful of the mood of the villagers, Keane had thought it wise to leave Sanchez and his men there. He had, however, brought von Krokenburgh and every one of the German hussars, anticipating a potential antagonism between them and Sanchez’s men following the commander’s refusal to involve his troopers in the arrest of the villagers.
He wondered what it was that might be troubling him. A sense of suspicion, resentment or just fear? The expressions on the faces of the townspeople seemed to speak of all of these things. Keane supposed that it might be simply his imagination playing tricks. A consequence of the shock of seeing the Portuguese villagers turn on his men. But there was no denying that there was definitely something amiss.
He had returned to the town too in some trepidation, aware that his presence there might not be what Wellington had intended. But he had justified it to himself, secure in the conviction that it was of paramount importance that the murderous villagers should be brought to justice and receive their punishment, which he presumed would be death.
Had he but been truthful with himself, however, he would have admitted that this was not the prime reason for his return. There were in fact two more powerful reasons, neither of which he could admit to either Grant or Wellington.
He pondered Pritchard’s fate and knew that he would not rest until he had searched the ruins of his house once again. Something was not right. He could not pinpoint it. He knew that any such investigation must be done as soon as possible. Before the place fell to pieces or was too much looted. But apart from that, he had a burning need to gain any news he could of Kitty Blackwood.
*
They took the prisoners directly to the town jail, which was now a military prison, and handed them over to the care of the provosts. Keane had detailed Ross, Garland and Martin to do the job, but the sergeant soon reappeared outside.
‘Sir, I think you had better come in. Something you should see.’
Keane tethered his mount to one of the irons outside the building and walked in. He was met by the same provost sergeant who had accompanied them when he and Morris went to arrest Pritchard. The man saluted and Keane acknowledged him.
‘Sarn’t Baynes, good day. Good to see you again. What’s all this about?’
‘I was just saying to your sergeant, here, sir, that these ain’t the first of their kind we’ve had here in recent days. Not by any means. Whole place is full of Portos. Makes a change from the usual drunks and brawlers from our army, I suppose. But it’s a queer thing, sir, ain’t it?’
‘It is, sarn’t. Very curious. How do you come to have so many locals? What are their crimes? Have they all been thieving from us?’
‘Oh no, sir. Far worse than that. Same as your lot there. They’ve been murdering us, or trying to, the bastards. Don’t know what’s got into all of them. Thought they was on our side, sir. But I reckon we’ll have a few hangings before the week’s out. And good riddance to them.’
‘Can I see them?’
‘If you’re quite sure you want to, sir.’
The sergeant took Keane from the guardroom and into the prison, to where Garland, Martin and two of the provosts were shutting the ten villagers away in a common cell.
‘They’re in there, most of them. There’s a couple of right wild ones cooped up on their own in another cell, but I don’t think you’d want to see them, sir. Have your eyes out soon as look at you, they would. I’d shoot them now and be done with it if I had my way.’
Keane peered into the dark cell, his sense assailed by its rank stench of slop buckets, damp stone and sweat. At a guess, including his own prisoners it contained some forty men, all dressed in civilian clothes, all of the same peasant stock.
‘And you say they’re all here on account of having attacked British soldiers?’
‘That’s the long and short of it, sir. There’s three there that’s actually done murder on us as far as we know. Leastways that’s what the officers who brought them in swore to be the case.’
‘And where are they from?’
‘Seem to be farming villages mostly. Far as we can make out. All along the river. Where our cavalry have been doing the burning.’
So, thought Keane, it was not an isolated incident. Half the populace was in arms at Wellington’s policy. He thanked Baynes and with the others walked from the prison and out into the sunshine and fresh air.
At some point he knew he would have to make his report to Grant and Wellington and there was no way in which he would be able to cover up his actions at San Pedro and that he had killed a villager. Nor would he be able to disguise the fact that he had returned to Celorico. He wondered whether it might not be better to do so, however, after he had visited Pritchard’s house, lest they should insist that that he return to Don Sanchez without further delay.
‘Sarn’t Ross, take the men and find a billet. You might try our old hovel. Failing that, you had better go with the Germans and see what they can offer you. We shan’t be staying more than a single night, I imagine.’
Leech was lying in the small cart, tended by Gabriella and Archer. His eyes were open and, though it was clear he was in some pain, he managed a smile on seeing Keane.
‘Feeling better, Leech?’ He turned to Archer. ‘We had better get him to the hospital.’
‘Not if you want him to live, sir.’
‘Is it that bad a place?’
‘There’s too many that goes in there with no more than an ailment that comes out in a box. Best that I look after him, sir, at least until we return to the front.’
‘Very well, Archer. We’re lucky to have you. But I can’t spare you here. You’ll have to leave him when we go.’
He walked to where von Krokenburgh and his men stood dismounted by their horses. ‘Captain, I suggest that you return to your unit. I daresay you’ll want to explain about your three men. We’ll leave here tomorrow. I’ll give a good account of you to the commander.’
Von Krokenburgh nodded and thanked him and led the hussars away to the lines of their parent unit, which had remained with much of the light cavalry close to the headquarters, from where they and others had made their daily sorties to ravage the land in accordance with the standing orders of the commander-in-chief.
Keane, having given his horse to Martin, set off into the town. He had decided that he would find Morris first, at least visit his house, and then, after a tour of Pritchard’s ruined billet, stiffen his nerve and make his report. He walked from the prison in the direction of Morris’s billet on the Rueda della Casa.
On his way there he noticed again the changed nature of the place and began to think that it might indicate a change in the attitude of the Portuguese as a whole. What had previously been gratitude to their liberators had he thought been replaced by resentment at their presence.
*
At length he came to the little narrow close beside the church of Santa Maria. The church was still in operation as a hospital. Now, though, a good deal more of the disease had been replaced by wounds from battle, but, as before, Keane smelt the familiar odour of infection and suffering. He stooped at Morris’s door and was surprised to find it shut and locked. He banged at it a few times and called Morris’s name. But there was no response. At length a window opened in the house opposite and an old woman looked out at Keane. Seeing her, he smiled and asked as to the whereabouts of the officer inglêse.
The woman shrugged and said simply, ‘Partado.’ Morris had gone.
Keane was baffled. In theory, with Pritchard dead, he was once again part of Keane’s unit and had only remained in Celorico on account of various things to which he had to attend. Once again Keane found his mind inventing solutions. No doubt all would become clear when he made his report to headquarters. A moment he was still keen to delay.
He walked from Morris’s house along the way the two of them had taken on the day of the explosion, past the church with its twin bell towers, then across the main road and through cramped back streets, towards the granite buildings of the old town and past ornate gothic windows, in the direction of the headquarters building.
Pritchard’s house looked much as they had left it. Some of the sticks of furniture which had been left intact after the blast had gone, he thought, but apart from that, the site was the same pile of rubble it had been. The bodies, or parts of bodies, had long been taken for disposal and were he presumed now either interred or burnt. He was not even sure quite what it was he was hoping to find here. He only knew that somewhere in this place there must lie a clue as to who had planted the bomb and the identity of the body parts. Curiously, although it had been a good ten days, the house still smelt of burning.
He walked through the rubble, kicking at the stones as he went. Here was the spot where he had found the severed arm and over there the place where the torso had been. Fragments of the bomb still lay where they had fallen, but nothing yielded any further clues. Keane wondered at himself for having returned.
He left the site and walked up the road to the headquarters building, wondering all the way what he was going to say to the commander-in-chief.
Lieutenant Ayles showed him in to Wellington’s office. Grant was standing with Wellington.
The duke appeared to be genuinely surprised by his appearance.
‘Captain Keane? I had not expected to see you. I had thought you were with Don Sanchez. Explain yourself, if you will.’
‘Sir. I am sorry to say that I have to report a problem.’
‘A problem? With Don Sanchez? This is not the news that I wish to hear from you, captain. This is not the purpose for which you were engaged. I expect you to bring me intelligence and news of cooperation between your two forces along the enemy lines. What is this problem?’
‘You will not have heard, sir, that we have just now brought in ten Portuguese peasants under arrest.’
‘Arrested, eh? Really? You do not surprise me, Keane. The place is full of them. For what were they taken?’
‘Murder, sir. Murder of your own soldiers. Sir, do you realize that the whole countryside virtually is rising against us?’
‘I think you exaggerate, captain. We have had a few incidents. Nothing more.’
‘Sir, they killed three of the German hussars in cold blood. Stoned them to death. And almost did the same to one of my men who had just demolished a bridge, thus denying the French passage across the river.’ He paused, then spoke again. ‘In fact, I killed one of them, in self-defence.’
Wellington raised an eyebrow and shook his head. ‘Did you, indeed? Captain Keane, I am only too aware of the unpopularity of my policy of a razed earth. That was always to be expected. But it is a necessary evil.’
‘Yes, sir, of course. I do understand. But coming so close as it does to your being seen to have abandoned the poor people in Ciudad. Ten thousand of them. It cannot surprise you that it has come to such an extent as this. This is more than isolated incidents, Your Grace. Surely we must alter our plan?’
Wellington turned on him. ‘Our plan? What do you mean, Captain Keane, coming in here and challenging my strategy? It is not your place, sir, to tell me how to run the war. This is how we shall do it.’
Keane knew that he had overstepped the mark. ‘I am sorry, sir. Please accept my apologies. It was not my intention to challenge you.’
Grant interjected. ‘Captain Keane is distressed, Your Grace. I don’t think he intended to be insubordinate. And in truth, he does have a point.’
‘I am aware of that, Grant. Some of what you say is true, Keane. I did not anticipate that destroying the crop would have such a widespread effect. I had thought that the people were behind us, that they would sacrifice anything to defeat the French. I have to admit that it has taken me by surprise.’
He began to pace the room. ‘There have been moments in the last few days when I even felt that the Portuguese alliance might be doomed. I begin to question our very presence here.’
Keane glanced at Grant. He had never seen Wellington in such low spirits. The major gave nothing away and the duke continued. ‘I am out of favour at St James’s. In my own headquarters Major Cavanagh hovers like a buzzard over prey, awaiting the slightest slip. In Lisbon, the Portuguese royal family opposes me. Across the country the very peasants I am tasked to defend are killing my own men, and all the while Marshal Massena is advancing. Now he besieges Almeida. Should the fortress fall before our defences are complete, we are lost and everything with us.’
He turned to Grant. ‘He does know about the lines of defence?’
‘Yes, sir. Naturally. Captain Keane, in common with all your intelligencing officers, knows of their existence and their progress.’
‘Good. So it should be. But Keane, word is to go nowhere beyond this room. Not even to your men.’
Keane saw an opportunity. ‘Speaking of whom, sir, might I enquire as to the whereabouts of Lieutenant Morris?’
Wellington raised an eyebrow and looked at Grant. ‘Morris?’
‘The artilleryman, sir. Transferred to Keane’s company. Of late he was here at headquarters. The unpleasantness, sir.’
‘Of course, your man outing our spy. Dreadful business. Lucky thing that the traitor died in the end. Blew himself up apparently, here in Celorico. In his own house. Making a bomb. Isn’t that right, Grant?’
‘Yes, sir, that would seem to be the case.’
‘Where’s Morris now?’
‘Requested leave, sir. A few days in, Lisbon I believe. Had to see someone on an affair of his estate.’
‘Quite. That’s where you’ll find him, Keane. Lisbon. Not that you will be going there. I need you to remain with Don Sanchez. He’s more valuable to me than a thousand German hussars, poor devils. I need Sanchez, Keane, more than ever now, and it is your task to ensure that he remains both loyal and anxious to assist.’
‘I have done my best, sir.’
‘Have you, by God? Well, you had best continue doing so. He is of a mind to assist us?’
‘Yes, sir. I believe so, even with the recent business of the hussars. He did, though, seem to express interest in recompense.’
‘He wants to be paid for his trouble?’
‘He is aware that certain other guerrilla leaders have benefited from a bounty.’
‘Doesn’t he understand, Keane, as you must surely do, that I have no money. It was your action with Marshal Soult’s baggage train enabled me to pay the army last year. The government at home votes me the £300,000 that I request for the maintenance of a Portuguese army trained and commanded by my officers under General Beresford. Apart from that my purse sits empty. From where exactly does Sanchez think I can pay him?’
‘I do not know, sir. But he is open to other forms of bribery. I myself gave up my father’s own gun to him to keep him onside.’
Wellington stared at him. ‘Did you, by God? That was a damned fine thing to do, Keane. Grant, make note. Have Captain Keane recompensed for his loss. Uh… whenever we are able. It was a good piece?’
‘The very finest, sir. I was loath to part with it. It was one of the only links with my father.’
Wellington stopped short at the mention of Keane’s father and looked at him for a moment. ‘Your father. Yes, of course. A good man, Keane. That was truly a hard choice to make.’
Keane stopped. Here was the duke admitting in so many words that he knew his father. Certainly that he knew who he was. It was as he had thought then. Wellington was the key to his identity. It was vital that he should remain in favour with the general. For an instant Keane was tempted to ask there and then what he had meant. He had long supposed that Wellington might have known his father. Even entertained the possibility that they were related. But here at last was the hint of proof that the duke might hold the clue to his father’s identity. But of course, this was not th
e time to mention such a thing. Keane held his tongue.
Wellington, realizing the reaction his comment had brought, looked at him with a curious expression and Keane knew that one day he would have the answer to that question. But for now it would have to wait. ‘You are a most extraordinary man, Captain Keane. Most extraordinary. And most fortunate.’
Keane bit his lip. ‘May I ask, sir, what you intend to do with my prisoners? I should like to tell Leech – that is, my man who was gravely wounded by them – what their fate is to be.’
Wellington looked away out of the window at the town and said nothing. ‘Tell him, Grant.’
‘I’m sorry, Keane. We cannot try them. You must see that. Were we to do so, they would most certainly be hanged. And that would, I am sure, be the right decision. But God knows what such a move would do to our relations with the Portuguese.’
Keane spoke slowly, thinking of the sight of Heredia walking back from the fields, his clothes spattered with blood. ‘I have good reason to believe that my own Portuguese trooper killed two of their number. He did it to satisfy honour, sir. He of all men knows that this is not the way of his people. Their betters, their officers, will see that. They will not oppose a trial. Sir, I beg of you, will you not try these men? One of them, even? They killed three of the Germans and almost did for one of my own.’
Wellington looked away. ‘We cannot risk it, Keane. I am most sorry. Perhaps I have gone too far. But it is the only way to beat the French – deny them all sustenance. The people must understand that. Time is now of greater importance than ever. We cannot delay, Keane. We cannot simply starve out Massena’s army. I can see that the people will not stand for it.
‘We need to meet him in battle in two months’ time, not before, as some would have it. Wait until just as the campaigning season reaches its end and then lure him in to a campaign he cannot win. I need to give the people a victory before they will believe in me again.’ He paced the floor for a while and said nothing as the other two men stood silent.
