by Iain Gale
Keane launched himself at the man on the left, knocking him down and in almost the same instant slitting his throat with the edge of his knife. He was aware of Silver doing the same. Then silence. There had been a clatter of arms, that was all.
Keane looked around. He could hear more voices off to the left and listened again. More French, but they did not seem to have heard and their conversation was all of the explosion. He nodded to Silver and motioned that he should remain standing over the bodies. Then sheathing his knife, he drew a pistol from his belt and, having preloaded it, cocked it before walking slowly towards the tent.
Keane paused only for a moment at the flap and then, with a flick of his hand, flipped it open. Inside stood a tall campaign chest and beside it a table on which was spread a map, weighted down by two carafes of wine, one empty, one full. And beyond the table, over in the corner, on a field bed, lay a French officer, in his forties, his eyes tight shut. Keane moved quickly. For although the man seemed to be asleep, he could not be sure. He stood over the Frenchman and, noticing the cross of the Légion d’Honneur pinned to his chest, whispered, in French, ‘Mon général, how are you feeling?’
Without opening his eyes, the man muttered something, then said more audibly. ‘Go away, Auguste. I have had a nervous shock. My head is ringing with the noise and I ache all over.’
Keane replied, quietly, ‘I’m sorry, sir. But you must come with me.’
The general opened his eyes and seeing Keane closed them again before opening them a second time, this time in horror.
‘Who are you? Where is my servant? And the guards?’
‘They’re dead. I am a British officer and you are now my prisoner. That’s all you need to know, general. And now we must leave.’
‘If you think I’m going anywhere, young man, you’re wrong.’
‘No, general, you are wrong.’
‘I will call the guards.’
He opened his mouth to shout, and as he did so Keane nudged the muzzle of the pistol into his stomach. ‘One sound, just one, and I’ll pull the trigger. It makes no difference to me. The guards will come anyway. But either way, you’ll be dead. Unless you come.’
The general shut his mouth, then looked up. ‘May I at least take my sword?’
Keane shook his head. ‘Please, general. Credit me with more intelligence.’
The general smiled and, with Keane holding the pistol at the small of his back, walked from the tent. Outside, Silver was still standing over the bodies. On seeing them, the general stopped and stiffened. Keane pressed the gun into his back. ‘Not a sound. Keep walking, sir, if you please.’
It took them less time to reach the horses than when crawling. And they found the others gathered there.
Keane kept the gun pressed hard in the man’s back.
‘Gentlemen, may I present to you. General… Oh, I’m sorry, sir, we were not properly introduced. I am Captain James Keane of the British army and you are… ?’
‘Général de Brigade Mathieu de Labassee.’
‘There we are. I present General Labassee.’
Fully expecting the expedition to be a success, they had thoughtfully brought an extra mount and the general mounted before Keane had Garland tie his hands to the pommel of his saddle. Then they set off, in single file, back to the camp.
*
Archer spoke to him as they left the hill station. ‘A general, sir. That’ll surely please the commander-in-chief.’
‘Yes, Archer. But I’m not going to let them have him all to themselves.’
‘Sir?’
‘I intend to get my own information from him before he is taken before Wellington. We need to know certain things, and I think it might be best to strike when the iron’s still hot. When the man is still in a daze from the explosion and his abduction. Now’s our chance to get some real information, and I think I know the way to get it.’
They had put their high-ranking guest in a tent of his own, close to that of Black Bob himself, albeit under armed guard and with no recourse to any weapons. Taking with him Archer and one of Don Sanchez’s lancers, Keane chose his moment carefully, timing his visit to the prisoner to shortly after Craufurd himself had had an interview. He met Craufurd and an ADC as they emerged from General Labassee’s tent.
‘Ah, Keane. Clever thing you did. Damned clever. A brigade general. The duke will be pleased. Don’t see those every day.’
‘Did he tell you anything, sir?’
‘No, not much. Leastways nothing that we didn’t already know. He’s General de Brigade Labassee, veteran of Marengo and Friedland, Commander of the Légion d’Honneur, commander of the second brigade of infantry in Marshal Ney’s 6th Corps.’
‘Let’s hope that I can do better.’
‘Do you think you will? Good luck.’
And with that he was gone. Keane pushed open the tent flap. The general was sitting at a campaign table with a glass of wine. He did not look happy.
‘You.’
‘Sir, it is good to see you again, and my sincere apologies for transporting you here in such an inglorious manner. You have met my colleague, trooper Archer. But I don’t think you have made the acquaintance of our friend Miguel Carrera. He’s one of Don Sanchez’s men. You have heard of Don Julian Sanchez, perhaps?’
The general’s face looked pale and he took a sip of wine. ‘Yes, I know of Sanchez. He is a constant trouble to us. What business does this rogue have in my tent? Get him out.’
‘This rogue, sir, has every right to be in your tent. In fact, you owe him an apology.’
‘I do? The devil I do.’
‘It was your men killed his wife and children last year as they passed through his village. He would like an apology and he would like to know why.’
Labassee stared at the lancer, who gave him a smile that chilled his blood.
‘My men killed his family? You are wrong, captain. If they did, there must have been a reason. They were insurgents. Armed insurgents.’
‘Armed insurgents consisting of a heavily pregnant girl and two boys of two and four?’
The general had begun to sweat now. ‘I refuse to apologize for something that was not my doing.’
‘You do?’
‘I do. Where is General Craufurd?’
‘Oh, we passed him as we came in. He said that he knew you would apologize. Particularly when you knew the alternative.’
‘Alternative?’ Labassee took another sip of wine.
‘Yes. You see, I would like a little more than an apology, general. I would like some information. It is my job to find information. And recently I have not been doing my job very well, which is where you come in.’
‘I am sorry, captain, you have me at a disadvantage. I fail to understand.’
‘Perhaps this will make you understand better. Carrera here wants an apology and I want information, and if we don’t get what we want, I am quite sure that he will be happy to escort you to his commander’s camp in the hills, not so very far from here. When you get there his friends will strip you naked and string you up by your arms and then they will begin to get the information in the best way they know. And believe me, general, after just a few minutes of that, you will be only too happy to tell them. But of course by then it will be too late for you. You will survive for a little longer – a day if you are unlucky – and when they cut you down maimed and bleeding and crying out for mercy, you will be thankful when they kill you.’
He paused, letting the general’s now trembling hand grasp the goblet and bring it to his dry throat for another gulp of wine.
Keane went on. ‘Or of course you could give us both what we want now and save a great deal of trouble and unpleasantness all round. Although I’m sure that my friend here would be most disappointed.’
*
The general stared into space and finished his wine. He set the goblet down on the table. ‘What is it that you want to know?’
It took half an hour, and by the end General Labassee
had loosened his collar and had a fresh glass of wine and Keane had the information he wanted. Only the lancer, Carrera, was left wanting, for he had not been given a French general to torture. But Keane gave him two guineas from his own purse instead, and so even the Spaniard went away happy.
Silver quizzed him. ‘What did he say, sir? Did he tell you anything?’
‘Yes, Silver. He talked. Who wouldn’t, given the choice. He told me a great deal. The French have a new spy in our army. He’s an officer. Portuguese apparently, or attached to the Portuguese. He was not sure which. There were other things too. It was very useful. You did well. All of you did well.
‘Will, where’s that brandy I was saving? Break it out. We all deserve something.’
While Martin opened the bottle that Keane had managed to carry away from Celorico on his last visit, Keane mulled over what Labassee had actually told them. Yes, he had admitted that there was a new spy in the camp. He knew about Pritchard, he said, and that he had died in an explosion. The new man was, he thought, a Scotsman and wore a Portuguese uniform. He was attached to the division that they had fought on the banks of the river Côa. Had masqueraded as a new arrival from headquarters. He did not have his name, he said, and Keane believed him. The threat of torture at the hands of the guerrillas was still in place, and Keane did not think the general would lie with the Spaniard standing so close by.
The other information was perhaps even more important. The French apparently knew about the code book. They had no idea how the code worked, the actual numbers and their meanings, but they knew of the book and were doing everything they possibly could to get hold of a copy.
With that the general had thought that Keane might have enough. But he wanted more. Keane had asked him for any information regarding Massena himself.
The general had thought for a while. Had described his commander, his appearance, his weight and height and character, his likes and dislikes. Still Keane quizzed him. Oh, there was one other thing. He had his mistress with him in Ciudad. Henriette was a real beauty. All the way from Paris. He was besotted with her and would do anything she asked of him. In reality, though, the general had it on good authority, although she loved the good life, she loathed Massena, who was a boor and a lecher, and longed to be rid of him. That, thought Keane, might prove a most useful piece of information.
He was thinking about the conversation, as they sat about the campfire, taking swigs of the liberated brandy, when Craufurd approached them.
‘Captain Keane, did you have any luck with our friend the general?’
Keane got to his feet and the others followed, making a semblance of standing to attention. ‘Oh yes, sir. He was most obliging.’
‘Really? You must let me in on your secret.’
‘It was quite simple really, sir. I just showed him Sanchez’s man and told him that if he did not tell me what I wanted to know, then he would be handed over to the guerrillas. Then I gave him a detailed account of what they would do to him. That appeared to do the trick very well.’
Craufurd raised an eyebrow. ‘That was completely immoral, captain. To terrify a senior officer into divulging his army’s secrets with threats of torture? It was quite inappropriate.’ He paused. ‘Well done, Keane. Brilliant.’
*
As dawn rose, Keane lost no time in telegraphing the news back to Celorico. Here at last was something positive to report to Wellington. He asked for an escort for the general back to headquarters and was told by reply that he would have one by the end of the day.
The general’s escort, consisting of a squadron of the Horse Guards, arrived the following afternoon and Keane was surprised and, if he admitted it, not a little pleased to see Major Grant riding at their head. Grant dismounted outside Craufurd’s tent and was just being greeted by him when Keane strode over.
‘Major Grant.’
‘Captain Keane, I hear that you have found us a prize. A général de brigade, no less.’
‘Yes, sir. He was a little unnerved by the explosion.’
‘Yes. What a catastrophe. Your own news was doubly welcome on account of the previous messages. We understand from Almeida itself that a French shell fell into the walls of the castle just as the gunners were moving powder to the bastions. It would seem that something in the region of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds of black powder were ignited along with close on a million musket rounds. Amazingly General Cox survives and most of the garrison. But perhaps one thousand people were killed and many more have been gravely wounded. Much of the town has been reduced to a single storey. Cox has very little powder left him. He has been signalling to us, but of course what can we do? Wellington will send no more help to Cox than he did to Ciudad. How can he? It is the same problem again. It is merely that he had expected that Almeida would hold out for a long time. I believe that Cox will surrender tomorrow.’
‘That is grave news indeed, sir.’
‘Yes, the duke is devastated. It was not in his plan.’ He turned to Craufurd. ‘My dear general, the duke is keen that I should speak with you about the state of the division and impress the need that you keep it at its best. You are the absolute rearguard of the army and the first point of contact.’
He addressed Keane. ‘Captain, I should be obliged if you would remain here while I speak with General Craufurd.’ Then, leaving Keane outside, he accompanied Craufurd into his tent, emerging half an hour later. Keane had not moved and Grant acknowledged his presence.
‘Captain Keane, thank you for waiting. I would have another word with you.’
He bade farewell to Craufurd and, with the Horse Guards now escorting Labassee, turned to Keane and took him aside.
‘James, we need a few moments to talk. You will realize that the loss of Almeida is a disaster. The duke is now more than aware that he must play for the time in which to complete the defences for Portugal and he knows that the French will advance against him forthwith unless he does something. He is resolved on drawing in Massena to ground of his choosing for a wholly destructive battle.
‘And now, after the loss of Almeida, we will be again on the retreat. The duke is most insistent, James, that I should impress upon you the need of delaying the French and also for some means of persuading them somehow to come into Portugal on a route of our choosing.
‘You must falsify information and have them believe it to be true. No one must suspect otherwise.’
Keane thought for a moment. ‘We may be able to delay them a little by harrying actions, sir. But to persuade them to take a certain road will be hard.’
‘We both have full confidence in your skills, Keane. It is not every captain who can capture a général de brigade. In particular one as renowned and respected as Labassee. I do look forward to speaking with him. I am sure that we have much to talk about. Did you manage to get anything from him yourself?’
Keane paused, unsure, for once even with Grant, how much he should give away. ‘Well, sir, yes, in fact. I have ascertained that Marshal Massena has his mistress travelling with him, all the way from Paris.’
Grant smiled. ‘Really? How fascinating. And what can we deduce from that?’
‘Apparently he will do anything she asks and in reality she hates him.’
‘Really. She must have a way about her. Perhaps she will tell him to travel by the high road through Guarda and Viseu?’
‘I hardly think that she will do so, sir. Unless she is in your pay also.’
Grant laughed. ‘Sadly, James, my finances and those of the duke combined, I suspect, don’t stretch to suborning a French general’s mistress, much as I would love to do so. Anything else?’
‘Yes. The French have another spy in our ranks.’
‘You have a name?’
‘No name. But I am told he is a Scot and wears Portuguese uniform.’
Grant scratched his chin. ‘Could be any number of men. Still, it’s a start.’
‘Oh, and sir, the French know of the code book and want to get their hands on
it.’
‘Of course they do. That is not news to me, I’m afraid. But it does confirm what I thought to be the case. Still, you have done well. Let’s see what else you can come up with now. I shall give your news to the duke. Thank you, Keane. Most obliged to you.’
He turned and rode off with his prize safely under escort, and back in Celorico that evening, after they had entertained Général de Brigade Labassee to a dinner of guinea fowl and local cheese and fruit, washed down with a passable Rioja, Grant talked with Wellington deep into the night and assured him that somehow the French would come by the high road to ground of his choosing, that Keane would see to it and that he should go ahead with his plans. They would get the French to the place he wanted them to be and then they would give them more than a bloody nose.
And the following day an officer of the recently formed corps of engineers, based in Coimbra, received an order from the high command instructing him to begin work on the creating of a new road that would run the length of a hill some sixty miles away from Almeida, along the reverse side of a long ridge that was known locally as the Serra do Bussaco.
12
Keane sat in his tent in the camp. It was early the next morning and Ross had only recently brought him a mug of tea. Of course it wasn’t proper tea. It was made with some sort of a leaf, but it was warm and wet and served with milk, and it served its purpose. He was shaving in a bowl of cold water and the blade of his razor being somewhat blunt, he kept nicking himself under the chin.
The events of the previous day and his conversation with Grant had been going through his mind throughout the night and he had sent Ross off to find Archer. He had an idea in his head and wanted to run it past him. His men were a talented bunch. Rogues and cutpurses and frauds, but some of them stood out for their wit and wisdom. Martin was that sort and Keane was aware that in Archer they had acquired another: someone with a more than average intelligence, who in other circumstances would have become an eminent physician, but who now, thanks to his own misfortune and momentary stupidity, had provided the British army with a man who could provide something more than medical expertise. A man who might just help them win the war.
