by Iain Gale
He was drying his face and dabbing at the cuts when Archer entered.
‘You asked for me, sir?’ He saw the blood. ‘Nasty.’
‘Yes. Just stupid.’ He buttoned his shirt and tied the stock, which was mercifully black, tight around his neck before pulling on his coat.
‘Archer, I have a plan. Say nothing until I have finished explaining it to you.’ Archer looked attentive and Keane began, knowing full well the effect of his next few words. ‘We’re going to give the code book to the French.’
‘What? I mean what, sir?’ Archer laughed. ‘What do you mean? Why on earth would we do that?’
Keane stopped him. ‘I said, say nothing. Right. We have a French spy among us. An officer on the Portuguese staff. What we’re going to do is have someone befriend that man, whoever he might be, and allow him to take the code book.’
‘Yes, but I still don’t see why, sir. And how will we do it?’
‘In time, Archer. Give me time to explain. If you think about it, it’s quite simple. There cannot be that many Scottish officers in the Portuguese army now, attached to this division. So, what I want you to do first, Archer, through the good offices of General Craufurd’s ADC, Captain Ramsay, is to find the potential candidates. That part is easy enough.’
‘Me, sir?’
‘You, sir. Bear in mind that there may be more than one. You’ll want the names of all the officers in the Portuguese service who have joined the division since the end of June. Then find out which of them are Scots. And when you have found out who he might be, then make sure that you fall in with him.’
‘How do you suggest I do that, sir? I’m a mere private soldier and he is sure to be a major at the very least. He’d hardly speak to the likes of me.’
‘Yes, I have to admit that had me worried for a while. But here’s an idea. You’re a physician, yes? And I’m willing to bet that whoever he is, whatever his rank, he will have some sort of ailment. We all have them, don’t we? From sores on our feet, to the ague, the pox, worms or worse. It’s up to you to find out what his problem is and then cure it.’
Archer shook his head. ‘Oh yes, sir, that seems very simple.’
‘Archer, if I didn’t know better I would think that you were being facetious and put you on a charge. I’m in deadly earnest.’
‘Sorry, sir. Yes. I will do my best, of course.’
‘You’ll have to act quickly. Later today, I think. I will provide you with drink, a good bottle of brandy from my personal store. You won’t get him drunk, of course; he’ll be on his guard. But be hospitable. And in the course of your, how can I put it, friendly conversation, let slip that you are involved in the use of the telegraph and that you have a copy of the code book.’
Archer began to look uncertain.
‘You can do it, man. Come on. Simply be a good doctor, explain your background, win him over, then play the friend and choose your moment. Appear as if you have taken too much brandy. Take your leave and put your valise somewhere where it might simply have been mislaid. Let him find it and take the book. And there you are.’
Archer looked at him. ‘You said it was simple, sir.’
‘Yes, glad you see that too. It is just so. Exactly. So that’s your part played out. Then what happens is: he copies it, discovers your book and returns it to you and meantime sends the copy back to his generals and they begin to read our signals. But what he won’t know is that you and I will then be sending out signals that are utterly incorrect.’
Archer began to smile.
‘The French will read our signals and decipher them and follow them up. And in that way we will lure them to ground of Wellington’s choosing.’
Archer grinned. ‘It is brilliant, sir. Quite brilliant. And really very simple.’
‘Good. The most important thing is that we don’t reveal any of this to the commander-in-chief until the French have hold of the book. He would almost certainly forbid it. In fact he’d be aghast.’
Archer frowned. ‘And with good reason, sir. The problem as far as I can see it, is that once the book is gone, it’s gone. The French will have the whole code. They will understand the nature of the army’s secret weapon. My God, sir – the duke will have you shot.’
Keane smiled. ‘That had occurred to me also. The answer of course is to devise another, better code.’
‘That would be a good answer, sir. But who will create a new code?’
‘I, or rather, you, Archer, with your eminent mathematical and medical mind. You will devise another code book.’
Archer looked at him. ‘You want me to create a cipher, sir?’
‘That’s exactly what I want you to do.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Archer, if you can accomplish the first part of this task, then to create a new cipher will be child’s play.’
It was late that night that Archer returned to Keane’s bivouac. Craufurd’s Light Division was to move again at dawn, back towards the main body of the army, and as Keane’s men, the lancers and the hussars included, were not part of that regrouping, the men had spent the past two hours making sure that gambling debts had been settled and any other business with friends in other units taken care of.
Keane was writing his daily report. He sat at the campaign table that Silver had bought for him from the servant of a dead captain of the 43rd killed at the Côa. It was a splendid piece of kit, made from box, with folding legs and a hinged top, which packed away to the size of a small folio and was easily carried on the flanks of Silver’s horse. It had only cost him a guinea, and a drink in it for Silver of course. The man was making a name for himself as a scrounger and their small part of the camp had blossomed recently with all manner of items, from silver candlesticks to a large embroidered cloth, which had previously been an altar cloth in the convent by the Côa. Keane’s tent had come to resemble a cross between a grand country house and a gypsy caravan.
Normally the reports Keane wrote to be passed back to headquarters, in the usual, tedious way, for the few men under his immediate command, would have been a simple affair, compared to the chore it had been as a company commander with his old regiment. But, with the Ordenanza and the lancers still effectively in his command, he had to include accounts of their behaviour, their misdemeanours and their movements.
The lancers he had sent out that morning on picket duty, but they had had no runins with the French. The hussars likewise, although in a different direction. Leech’s detachment of Ordenanza had, as usual, been engaged in demolition duties. One of the lancers had been wounded in a brief exchange with French dragoons. Another had been put under guard for three days for going missing for two. Nine more of the Ordenanza had deserted, though they had been mostly old and infirm and unwanted. The hussars had, as was to be expected, kept themselves to themselves, and every morning Captain von Krokenburgh held a formal inspection.
He included in his notes a comment about Heredia rising to his role as an NCO. He praised Leech for his success in blowing the mills and was just in the process of tallying up the expenditure and costs for the day and the week when Archer appeared.
‘Sir. I think I may have found him.’
Keane looked up. ‘Really? Have you? Can you tell me?’
‘There is a Scot, a major by the name of Macnab, who appeared two weeks ago at Craufurd’s headquarters, claiming to have been sent from General Beresford. He had papers, which seemed to be in order, though no one had seen him before.’
‘Ramsay knows nothing of your purpose?’
‘No, sir, nothing at all. I told him I was simply looking for a cousin of mine from Edinburgh whom we believed to be with the Portuguese.’
‘Where is this Macnab now?’
‘He was on Craufurd’s staff, but is now attached to the command of the Portuguese brigade with General Barclay. They are pulling out tomorrow, towards Guarda.’
‘Damn. What do you intend to do?’
‘They’re billeted in an inn at Monte Peroblio, to
the south. I’m on my way there now. I thought the confusion of their move tomorrow might be a good opportunity to pretend to leave my valise.’
Keane smiled. ‘Good work, Archer. Very good work.’
*
It was shortly after noon on the following day that Archer returned to their camp. He found Keane in a clearing in the rocks that served as a parade ground. He and Heredia were attempting, with varying degrees of success, to drill the Ordenanza. The others were away on one of their regular morning patrols to the east. Keane, knowing the importance to discipline of routine, had instituted the timetable over the past week. Seeing Archer, he handed over to Heredia. ‘Drill them for another ten minutes. Then see what you can do about their musketry.’ He did not aspire to much, but it was better to make an effort than live in hope.
He hurried over to Archer, who looked exhausted. ‘Well? Did you find him? Macnab?’
Archer nodded. ‘Yes, sir, he was with another British officer in the Portuguese service. Name of Foote.’ Archer waited for the name to sink home.
‘Foote?’
‘Yes, sir. You know him. You remember. The Ordenanza.’
Keane snapped. ‘Yes. I’m aware that I know him, man. I could hardly forget.’
So Foote had rejoined the Portuguese and was now friendly with this man Macnab who might be the spy. Perhaps that would give him occasion to call out Keane as he had sworn he would. Realizing his over-reaction, he apologized to Archer. ‘I’m sorry. It was just… the name. It took me by surprise.’
‘Yes, sir, I understand.’
‘Foote – you’re sure it was the same man? Did he recognize you?’
‘I’m quite sure of it. We are distinctive in our uniform, sir. As you say yourself.’
Keane hoped that Foote would not have wondered what Archer was up to, that he might not suspect that he had been sent on some mission. Keane did not for one minute suspect Foote himself of being a knowing accomplice of a spy. He was, to be frank, far too stupid. But he might easily be taken in by Macnab and that would be worrying. The best way to deal with a spy was to isolate him. Now that opportunity seemed to have gone. But Keane was contented in that the agent here should be a buffoon such as Foote.
‘Did Macnab take the code book? How did you manage it?’
Archer nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, sir. I reached the inn and managed to persuade the billeting sergeant that I was lost and on my way back to the front after delivering a message to Celorico. He found me a bed and it was then that I spotted a group of Portuguese officers at a table. But they were not Portuguese at all, but very much British. I observed them all evening and gradually their number dwindled. By degrees I brought myself closer to them until I was near enough to overhear their conversation. There were but the two of them remaining now, and the one I took to be Macnab spoke from time to time in a pronouncedly Scottish accent about his gout and how it would flare up and how he wished he had a scarifier to bleed himself.
‘It was then that I settled on the plan. I approached them and said that I had overheard their chatter and that I was a physician and might be able to help him. I then produced a scarifying tool from my bag, one I have had for some years, and the man’s face lit up. He asked to buy it and of course I played that it was not for sale.
‘The other man goaded him on and he attempted to offer money for it. Still I refused. Naturally, not wanting to lose the tool, Macnab invited me to drink with them. He could tell, I suppose, that I was not an ordinary private soldier. I explained over a glass how I had come to be with the army and that I now worked with the guides. At this point he became quite animated in his interest and I could tell it was him. The spy. It was then that I produced the brandy.
‘I made out that it had been purchased on your account but that I preferred their company.’
Keane nodded. ‘That was a clever turn. To allow them to suppose that you disliked me.’
‘I offered both a drink and of course they accepted. I did as you had advised and you were quite right, sir. Macnab may have made out that he was blind drunk, but he did not drink, or hardly at all. He did buy the scarifier from me, though.’
Keane laughed. ‘Never one to miss a trick, Archer, are you?’
‘If you say so, sir. Anyway, when I awoke this morning my valise had vanished. The whole thing. It was most definitely Macnab. Either him or Foote at least. I made a noise about it, of course, but Macnab and the others were gone.’
Keane smiled and patted Archer on the back. ‘Excellent. Well done indeed. Our trout has taken the fly. Now it is up to us to reel him in.’
*
It did not take long for Archer’s valise to reappear. In fact it was a matter of two days. They were still encamped in the same place near Castello Mendo, although with the rest of the division now some distance away to the west, they themselves were now close to leaving, believing that the French might commence their advance into Portugal at any day. Keane, though, was reluctant to move until he had ensured that Massena would advance by the route he wanted him to take.
The lancers had provided the pickets overnight and it was one of them who sounded the alarm. The man shouted and the camp sprang into life.
Keane was dressed already but buckled on his sword and found Ross. ‘What is it?’
‘A party of horsemen coming in from the south-west.’
‘South-west? That’s our army. Who are they?’
‘No idea, sir. One of the Spaniards called us out.’
Martin walked up. ‘We can stand down. It’s a party of Portuguese cavalry.’
Keane swore and cursed the lancer, but supposed that it was better to be alert than dead in their beds. He walked across to the group of horsemen who had dismounted and were watering their horses.
Their officer, a lanky lieutenant, saluted him. ‘Sir. We come with something belonging to one of your men. A saddlebag. With Major Macnab’s compliments and his thanks for a good evening.’
Archer was with them now. ‘Ah, thank you, sir. How very kind of the major.’ He took the saddlebag and deliberately did not look inside but simply walked away.
Keane continued to talk to the lieutenant. ‘I do not know Major Macnab. Is he recently arrived?’
‘Yes, sir, came out from Britain some five weeks ago. Attached to the general’s staff. He is at brigade headquarters.’
‘Where was he before? His name seems familiar.’
‘I believe he was with a Scottish regiment, sir. I am sorry, I do not know the name or the number.’
‘I wonder if he’s the same Macnab I knew. Can you describe him? His height, his hair, his eyes.’
The lieutenant shrugged. ‘I suppose he is of medium height, blue-eyed with reddish fair hair.’
‘No, no, that doesn’t sound like my man. Shame. Well, thank you, lieutenant. That was good of you.’
He was about to say goodbye but the lieutenant delayed. ‘There is one more thing, sir.’
‘Yes, lieutenant?’
‘Another of the officers, a Captain Foote, asked me personally to send his regards to you. And he said that he was looking forward to remaking your acquaintance very soon.’
‘Thank you, lieutenant. Will you take my reply to Captain Foote? Will you tell him please that I am as eager as he to see him again and that I will leave no stone unturned until I do. Thank you.’
The lieutenant saluted again and then rode off with his men back the way they had come. Keane turned and walked after Archer. ‘Well, is it in there?’
‘Yes, sir, safe and sound and not a page of it missing.’
‘Well, I think we can deduce that Macnab, or whoever he really is, has had a good look at it. I’ll wager a month’s pay he’s copied it complete.’
‘Yes, sir. In fact I can prove that to be true.’
He pulled out the book and opened it at a page. ‘Here, you see this page, sir. I had inserted a small flower in here. And here it is. But it was most certainly the other way up when I left it. And on this page I left
a rose petal, very small. Now gone.’
‘That’s it then. How long do you think it will take him to begin using it?’
‘If I were Macnab, sir, I would start straight away.’
‘Yes, I should do likewise. Tomorrow morning. Well then, let’s give him some meat to get his teeth into, shall we?’
*
The following morning Keane and Archer rode out to the closest telegraph station to Castello Mendo. It had been abandoned in the withdrawal of the division, but the Portuguese telegraphists had been specifically instructed by Keane not to destroy the apparatus. He and his men would do that when they cleared out. They had decided on the wording of the first message. Firstly, they had agreed, they should send some word of the position of the French and this they did, commenting on the fact that a scouting party of chasseurs à cheval had been encountered by the lancers and driven off and that they had observed light infantry occupying a hill to the south of the destroyed fortress across the Côa, whom they believed to be the 2nd Light from General Reynier’s 2nd Corps.
Those parts of the message had been quite genuine. The next few lines, though, contained the essential misinformation:
‘Expect French to move soon. Information indicates they will take lower road. Ensure fortifications in place on Celorico road.’
Keane read out the numbers to Archer from Folque’s code book.
‘451, 637, 786, 521, 964, 236, 846, 642…’
The sequence went on and the arms of the telegraph moved up and down and round, transmitting the spurious message to the next hill station, from where, Keane prayed, it would reach Macnab.
He hoped it would be enough to begin to entice the spy into believing in them. Time was everything now. If Grant’s schedule was to be adhered to, by which the duke must face Massena in a pitched battle and deflect him away from marching deep into Portugal before the lines were completed, they had perhaps a week, in which to persuade Macnab that the northern route would be the best for Massena to follow. It was early September, and with the two armies but a few days’ march apart, every move had to be carefully calculated.
