by Gale, Iain
‘You are a stargazer, Captain Keane. I’m surprised. I took you for a soldier.’
‘Soldiers can be many things, Gabriella. At this moment I happen to be a stargazer.’
‘Where are we going now, captain? Deeper into the mountains?’
‘No, we’re going home now. At least back to Coimbra. Back to the general. I have a report to give him.’
‘And then?’
‘And then he will attack.’
‘And then we will have a battle and many men will die.’ She looked again at Silver. ‘Perhaps he will die?’
‘I don’t know. Who knows? We’re all soldiers. We know that whether we live or die is only a question of luck.’
‘Luck? Everything is luck, isn’t it?’
‘You think so?’
‘Not quite everything. It was lucky for me that you were there. But then it was you, captain, who thought to let me come with you. That was not luck.’
She smiled at him and for a moment he wondered if there might be anything more to it. He would stall it, now.
‘Silver needs you. We all need you.’
‘I hope that I will be able to prove you right, captain. I am a soldier too now. I will fight for my country. And for Spain too, to rid this land of the French.’
‘I think we had both better get some sleep. We have a long journey in the morning.’
She began to walk back to where Silver lay but then she turned and, retracing her steps, walked up to Keane and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Nothing more. Just that one friend would give to another. And then she turned again and went back to her sleeping husband.
5
The morning had come upon them cold and unforgiving and Keane was out of sorts. Having had the previous two nights to consider the events in Morillo’s camp, he was less happy with the situation than he had been initially. The encounter had not gone as well as it might have done. His early euphoria he now put down to their having got away with their lives from a place of such hideous sights as none had ever before witnessed. Furthermore, while he had gained the information that Wellesley sought, he had not come away feeling that they had found a wholly dependable ally. The guerrillas, he now could see, were out for what they could get, and only after that for what might benefit Spain. As for their attitude towards the English, he felt that Morillo and his men considered them little better than the French.
He wondered too about his decision to persuade Gilpin to infiltrate the camp. In truth, he did not give much for the man’s chances of survival over a week among such desperadoes.
But now they were distant from the guerrilla camp. They had ridden hard for two days away from the ‘mountains of the stars’, so hard indeed that he thought his poor nag might have given up the ghost. But she had survived. They all had, and Keane had never been so glad to come in sight of the first red-coated sentries as they neared the British camp at Coimbra.
Now, rested, refreshed and changed, he entered the anteroom of the Bishop’s palace, in the centre of the hillside town and found Wellesley standing beside the huge carved fireplace. The general was in conversation with Grant but on Keane’s arrival turned to greet him with a smile.
‘Keane. Major Grant here was only just talking of you. You found the guerrillas.’
‘Yes, sir. At least, we found one of them and his men. Colonel Morillo.’
‘Ah yes. Major Grant has been describing him to me from your account. A rogue, you said?’
‘You might say so, sir. Though I do believe he is a good fighter. He seems to command respect and admiration among his men.’
‘Who are, you would say, also good fighters?’
‘I’m afraid that I did not have the opportunity to witness them in action, sir. But if looks speak, then yes, they look as if they would give the French a run for their money. In a pitched battle, though, I would not trust them an inch not to cut and run the moment the first ball was flying towards them.’
Wellesley laughed. ‘That’s much as I expected. But the war they fight is very different in its tactics to that in which you and I are engaged.’
‘Apparently so, sir. It is what they call the “guerrilla”.’
Grant interjected. ‘The word guerrilla itself seems to have many meanings, sir. Derived from the Spanish for “war”, it may be used to describe the guerrilla band, which they also refer to as the partida. It can also be used as a term for the operations themselves and moreover a piquet of men standing guard.’
Wellesley nodded indulgently. ‘Much obliged, major. Pray continue, captain.’
Keane went on. ‘I left one of my own men behind, sir, in disguise, to gather further information. I expect him to return here today and have left instructions for him to be conducted to us here, should he appear while I am with you.’
Wellesley smiled. ‘You have done well, Keane. Let’s hope that your desperadoes do not see through his disguise and that your man makes it through.’
Keane continued. ‘What is certain, sir, is that Boney’s men will have faced nothing like this lot before. These men are quick on their feet, sir. Damn quick. Like mountain goats, or deer. They know every road there is to know in the hills and every trick by which to confuse their pursuers. They have the ability to close roads with the aid of nature and thus sever communications. And what’s more, they will fade into the hills before you can see them.’
Wellesley nodded. ‘A formidable ally, then, captain. And a formidable adversary for the French. And will they fight for us?’
Keane shook his head. ‘Not for us, sir. That they’ll never do, in my opinion. But they will, I think, fight with us. If we give them what they want.’
Wellesley laughed. ‘Why, I wonder, does that not much surprise me? They told you a good deal, I gather. That was well done, Keane. I would have thought that Morillo would be especially guarded with his information. Major Grant has acquainted me with the basic facts.’
There was a knock at the door and an aide, a captain of Foot Guards, entered. ‘Sir, there is a man here. A Spaniard. He claims to have an appointment with you and Captain Keane. What should I do, sir?’
Keane laughed. ‘Gilpin. It’s Gilpin, sir. I’m sorry – the man I left with Morillo. It must be Gilpin and he has duped your aide.’
Wellesley frowned at the young officer. ‘Well, Featherston-haugh, is he English or Spanish?’
‘A Spaniard, sir. At least he looks like a Spaniard and sounds like one.’
‘And smells like one too, I’ll wager,’ said Grant. Keane smiled and turned to Wellesley. ‘It is Gilpin, sir. I’m sure of it.’
Wellesley waved his hand at the aide. ‘Admit him, Featherstonhaugh, for heaven’s sake.’
The aide vanished and in his place entered a small man, clad in breeches and salopettes, a white shirt, and an embroidered waistcoat. About his head he wore a coloured handkerchief and there was heavy stubble on his chin. But Keane knew his eyes at once and ran towards him. ‘Gilpin! Sam Gilpin. Well done.’ He clapped him on the back and instantly the figure snapped to attention. Wellesley stood back. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. He is an Englishman.’
Grant spoke. ‘Got the smell off, though, hasn’t he?’
Keane smiled. ‘So what did you find out, anything more?’
Gilpin, seeing the map spread out on the large oak table that dominated the room, walked towards it, as he did so untying the handkerchief from his head. ‘If you don’t mind, sir, I could show you on this map.’
Wellesley walked towards the table. ‘Show me, then, man. Here.’
Gilpin walked up to the map and pointed. ‘According to the information they obtained from the captured Frenchman, sir, General Silvera’s Portuguese have been driven from here, the bridge at Amarante, north-east of Oporto. The enemy, favoured by a dense fog, attacked General Silveira on the 2nd and defeated him, taking eight pieces of cannon.’
Wellesley frowned. ‘Silvera’s been pushed back, eh?’
Gilpin went on. ‘There is more,
sir. And better news. Morillo reports that there is a spirit abroad among the French army in Oporto that almost amounts to mutiny.’
Wellesley looked at him. ‘Mutiny? Go on.’
‘It was all I could do, sir, to listen in. I did my best, sir. I have an ear for a tongue and can carry it off quite well, if you understand me. I made out that I was from Madrid and had not any idea of events. They were ready to tell me. It would appear that among the French in Oporto the hospitals are overcrowded with the sick, and that among the rank and file the feeling is of a profound dislike for the command and indeed for war as a whole. Morillo believes that, far from attacking us, the French – well, Marshal Soult at least – may now have plans to evacuate Portugal, sir. Marshal Soult, they say, is desperate. He is even now employed in the destruction of his stores and magazines, in Oporto. He may leave, they believe, by marching to the Tagus or by going here’ – he pointed – ‘across these mountains they call the Tras os Montes.’
Wellesley pondered the information for a few moments and then, stretching his hands across the map, pointed in turn to Oporto and Amarante.
‘If you and your man here are correct, Captain Keane, then we have but one option. We must leave aside any notion of attacking Marshal Ney along with Victor and Lapisse. We will take the army in two divisions and march directly upon Soult on the Douro. One wing will move here to Aveira, the other to Vouga. General Beresford with his Portuguese will take a flying column and move upon Lamego to turn Marshal Soult’s left flank.’
He raised his head and looked at Keane. ‘Thank you, Keane. That was very clear and well interpreted. Excellent information.’ He turned to Gilpin. ‘And thank you, Private …?’
‘Gilpin, sir.’
‘Thank you, Gilpin. Keane, see that he gets something. A drink and some clean clothes might be a start.’
Keane nodded and smiled but as he murmured his thanks to the general, he thought of the way in which the information had been obtained by the guerrillas from the Frenchman and felt a wave of nausea.
But Wellesley was not yet finished. ‘Before you go, tell me more of the guerrillas, Keane. I would know everything.’
‘In their hearts they detest the French, sir. That was evident from the atrocity they committed on the French officer from whom the information was obtained.’
‘Yes, Major Grant related the account to me. Go on.’
‘But they have at the same time no great love for us.’
Wellesley looked thoughtful. ‘But you do think that we can use them?’
‘Yes, I’m convinced of that. More than that, though, sir. We need them. They can become our eyes and ears. We simply have to learn how to treat with them, and to turn a blind eye to the methods they use to defend their homeland.’
‘Is there anything you need, Keane? Any material?’
The obvious answer here was money. Keane needed funds. He had used all that Grant had provided and a good deal of his own in the operation. But he did not ask for it. He thought that, not for the first time, Wellesley was now testing him. ‘New maps, sir. The maps are quite useless, sir. I tried to correct the course of the roads and to draw in hills where none were shown. I also did this, from memory.’ Reaching into his leather valise, he gave Wellesley a piece of paper. The general took it and looked at it hard. ‘This is a drawing of their camp? The guerrillas?’
‘Yes, sir. As I say, it was done from memory, but it is as accurate as I can make it.’
‘Why, it’s good, Keane. Damn good. It gives one a true sense of what they’re about.’ He showed it to Grant. ‘Wouldn’t you say so, Colquhoun? Very good. Most evocative.’
‘As you say, sir. Captain Keane has a good eye and a fine hand with a pencil. Quite as good as Mister Sandby.’
‘We shall need more of these. This is exactly the kind of thing I had in mind when I commissioned you, Keane. Well done.’
*
Keane and Gilpin left the anteroom accompanied by Grant, who spoke after having first closed the door behind them, leaving Wellesley poring over his map.
‘James, you seem a little incommoded. Out of sorts.’
‘Not out of sorts, sir. I am merely a little out of pocket.’
‘How so?’
‘The general asked me what I lacked but I was loath to say “money”, sir. Yet that is the truth of it. I had to use Captain Scovell’s funds to buy off Silver’s doxy from her madam, and then my own to bribe the executioner to swear that Gilpin here had been killed. I then used the emergency fund to persuade Morillo of our good intentions.’
‘Good, that was its purpose.’
‘But now I’m out of pocket, personally. To the tune of five guineas.’
‘Well, I’m sure that it will all sort itself out somehow, Keane.’
‘Sir, I trust you are not implying that the army will not reimburse me? How am I then expected to survive?’
Grant looked at him. ‘I’m sorry, James, but the army’s no better off than you at present. We await His Majesty’s payroll with anticipation. Until that arrives from England we are none of us in funds and Wellesley is out of favour with his command. If you want my opinion, James, what we need is a victory or two.’
*
Keane walked disconsolately with Gilpin back to the bivouac which they had made at the same place as before, a short distance from the camp. He had posted Martin as a lookout, aware that there might still be a bounty to be had for apprehending Garland, and the boy saluted as he approached.
He found Silver sitting on a rock. He was carving a shape from a piece of wood and as Keane looked at it more closely he saw that it was a model of a ship of the line.
‘That’s wonderful, Silver, quite beautiful. To have that skill. Where did you come by it?’
Silver looked up at him and for a moment stopped his whittling. ‘Always had it, sir. Well, near as always. Had it since I was a little nipper. In the Royal Navy, I was, you see, sir. Since I was a boy of ten. Press gang got me in Pompey. That’s Portsmouth, sir. Eight years at sea, I was. Plenty of time to carve then, sir. When I wasn’t running powder. Monkey, I was. Then I advanced. Able seaman. I fought at Trafalgar, me, sir. On the Admiral’s flagship, sir. The Victory. She was a lovely ship, sir.’
‘Really, Silver? You were at Trafalgar?’
He thought wryly of Morillo’s talk of the battle.
‘Really, sir. I’ll swear it on my mother’s grave. And what’s more, I helped carry the admiral himself down below decks. I saw it all there, sir. Saw Mister Hardy give him a last embrace. We was all in tears, sir. All of us. He was a great man, sir. Lord Nelson.’
‘You saw Lord Nelson die?’
‘That I did, sir. Close as you are now to me, he was, and he says, Silver, he says. You go back out there and get the man who done this thing.’
‘He asked you to find his killer?’
‘The very same, sir. And to kill him. Couldn’t do that, of course. No one knew who had shot him, sir. Could have been a Frenchie or one of the dagoes up in the top masts of a Spanish ship.’
Keane smiled at the thought that the very man might have been Morillo himself, for all he knew. He hadn’t of course told Silver the guerrilla leader’s history, nor now did he intend to.
Silver looked at his handiwork and went back to carving the warship.
Ross came up. ‘Gilpin’s told me what he heard, sir. We’re bound to move soon, ain’t we, sir?’
‘Yes, Ross. It is in the general’s plan. We’re to march north against Marshal Soult.’
‘What do we do then, sir? I mean us lot and you. When the army gets to grips with the Frenchies. Where do we go?’
‘We, Ross, I hope, will be at the very front of the army. Scouting the way ahead and ensuring that the general’s plans do not go awry. Where exactly we fit into his plans, though, I have yet to be informed.’
*
The three days that followed were spent resting and re-equipping the men. Morris, Ross and Keane between them managed to scrounge s
upplies from various sources, including their own old regimental stores, and by Sunday, 8 May, were ready to move again. Keane was settling down to an afternoon’s game of loo with Morris when a runner arrived, a lieutenant of the Horse Guards.
‘Captain Keane? Order from Major Grant, sir. You’re wanted at headquarters.’ He looked down at Keane’s hand – five cards of the same suit: ace, king, jack, ten, and six of hearts.
‘I’m sorry, sir. But you’re wanted immediately.’
‘After this hand, lieutenant.’
‘Not in my orders, sir. Major Grant was most insistent.’
Keane threw down the cards and stood up. ‘Damn it all, lieutenant. Take a look, Tom, when I’m gone, and see how much I’d have had you for. Damn it. A guinea at least.’
*
Grant looked stern and Keane wondered what might have had happened since his last visit.
‘There’s news, James.’
‘Sir? Nothing bad?’
‘Good and bad, if you like. We’ve found the French. Two days ago, Wellesley sent General Hill, with Mackenzie’s and Tilson’s brigades, north along the coast ahead of the main column to engage what we presumed to be a cavalry screen. We found them in greater strength than we imagined.’
‘General Mackenzie? That’s my old mob.’
‘Yes, the 27th. They engaged the French just south of Grijon, from what we gather. The French broke and retired back to Oporto.’
‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Normally it would be, yes. But as it stands we’ve lost surprise. There’s worse, though. I have a report that Marshal Soult has broken the only remaining bridge across the Douro.’
‘Meaning, sir?’
‘Meaning, James, that we now have no means of attacking the city. We have to find a way across the river. Tomorrow we will march north. The entire army. By the time we reach Oporto we will need to have found that means.’
‘I take it from your tone, sir, and from the very fact that I am here, that you intend that I should find that means?’
‘Those are Wellesley’s orders.’
Keane was just digesting the magnitude of his task when there was a commotion from the corridor, and as he watched a group of people swept into the anteroom. Civilians, mostly, they were led by a woman. She was short and plump and dressed in a bright canary-yellow silk dress and matching bonnet, and in her hand she clutched a yellow parasol which she was waving animatedly. What was more, she was English.
