A Despite of Hornets

by Geoffrey Watson

  His insight into the army’s love of routine was proved a few minutes later when the sentries were relieved and two new figures took up position close to the small inn door. It looked as though the larger entrances to the other buildings were all bolted shut and it was only the small door that was being used. The two sentries stationed themselves as close to it as possible, almost huddling in the alcove and talking quietly to each other. Nevertheless, it was possible for them to watch the entire area giving access to the wall of the inn and all the adjacent buildings.

  There was no question in Welbeloved’s mind about what he wanted to do. His orders were to bring the Marqués, the Condesa and the treasure back to England, and he cursed himself for making the, on the face of it, reasonable assumption that that was what the Marqués and the Condesa desired as well. Now he had lost all three because the Marqués was playing some dubious game of his own and once again throwing in his lot with the French.

  He remembered the Condesa’s warning about his previous treachery and cursed himself again. It was hardly his fault that his charges were now in French hands, but if he returned to England without them, no excuses would be acceptable. Admiral Harrison would not be able to save his unit. It would be disbanded and the men scattered to other regiments with unseemly haste.

  In any case, whatever he thought about the Marqués, he could not possibly leave the Condesa to the tender mercies of Bonaparte. He had to get into the inn and find out whether she could be rescued or not and whether the Marqués could be recaptured, willingly or otherwise.

  He couldn’t get past the sentries without the alarm being raised, therefore they would have to be removed and it would have to be done quickly to give himself as much time as possible before midnight and the next guard change.

  Turning to MacKay, he pointed at the two men and made an expressive gesture with a finger across his throat. MacKay smiled mirthlessly and nodded, pointing off to the right and left. Welbeloved gripped his arm to signify agreement and they both glided off in different directions.

  Pausing only to rub his face with dirt from the wet ground, Welbeloved reached the wall and eased himself along towards the sentries. He thanked his stars that the night was overcast and very dark. Even if he took no trouble to be inconspicuous he doubted whether they would be able to see him more than ten paces away. As it was, he approached inch by inch, straining to see if he could spot MacKay beyond them and knowing the futility of trying.

  He was pressed with his back to the wall, moving painfully slowly. He could see the sentries still talking softly to each other, the words coming clearly to him and certainly drowning any possibility of his approach being heard. His eyes searched the darkness beyond them. He couldn’t be certain, but there seemed to be a darker mass not far beyond them. He crouched carefully and felt around for a pebble, which he flicked behind him, out and away from the wall.

  The clatter was remarkably loud in the still night. He saw the gleam as both faces swivelled to stare beyond him and to the right. The next moment, the one farthest from him gave a subdued choking gasp when MacKay’s hands found his throat and the other man, whirling round to discover the cause, suddenly found Welbeloved’s arm round his neck and his long knife sliding between his ribs.

  The short scuffle had seemed inordinately loud to Welbeloved’s straining ears, but as they lowered the bodies to the ground, the night was as quiet and peaceful as ever. They dragged them into the shelter of the bushes and hid them. Missing sentries would cause confusion and delay to a far greater extent than two bodies left lying in full view.

  The gate was latched, but yielded to gentle pressure and the two men slipped swiftly inside, shutting it quickly and standing motionless to either side while they viewed the inn yard. There was no activity. The noises they could hear were the stamping of the horses in the stables, an occasional snore and nothing that was not associated with the normal background hum of many men and beasts settling down for the night. The haylofts were occupied and the stables were obviously shared by men and horses. There would not be enough rooms in the inn and the other houses to sleep all the chasseurs. It was in the nature of things that the officers would reserve the best for themselves – and maybe for the prisoners.

  Both men had hidden their rifles near to the bodies of the sentries and were carrying only their personal hand weapons. They stayed immobile by the gate for many minutes. Then gambling on the darkness to confuse any onlookers, they strolled confidently towards the inn door and let themselves into what turned out to be the kitchen area, still warm from having produced hot food for many men.

  The lingering aromas reminded them both that it had been many hours since food had passed their lips, and then only cold rations, eaten on the move. Such thoughts were forgotten however, as they cautiously opened the door from the kitchen and heard the sound of raised voices coming from one of the nearby rooms. The unmistakable, querulous tones of Don Pedro came to them, loud and clear. He was speaking French with difficulty, but slowly enough for Welbeloved to understand that he was terrified that the French officer was not going to accept his surrender, and instead intended to take for himself the booty which had so fortuitously been delivered into his hands. It took little imagination to foresee Don Pedro’s fate if that should be the case, and Welbeloved grinned at the thought of the craven terror he must be suffering.

  The officer himself must have lost patience and decided to leave him to his terrors overnight. He came out of the room, locking the door behind him and made for the staircase off the hall. No-one else was in sight and the two intruders waited until he had reached the top and followed as quickly and quietly as they could.

  At the head of the stairs, a landing opened out into several corridors, and a quick glance in the direction of the murmur of quiet voices, revealed the officer talking to one of his men, stationed as a guard outside one of the doors. At a command, the man turned the key to admit the officer and closed the door behind him, but not before Welbeloved heard the indignant voice of the Condesa, cut off abruptly as the door shut.

  The sentry’s curiosity was his undoing. Perhaps he considered his duty was only to stop anyone leaving the Condesa’s room. Perhaps it was only a prurient interest in what his officer was doing in there. Whatever the reasons, his ear was pressed tightly against the door and he never even saw the blow that clubbed him into insensibility.

  MacKay lowered him to the ground while Welbeloved eased the door open and gasped with amazement. He pushed it fully open and rushed forward to grasp the Condesa’s hand just as she was aiming a clumsy blow at the figure writhing on the floor. The weapon she was using was the officer’s own sword and she turned on Welbeloved like a fury for a few blind seconds before she suddenly realised who it was and collapsed limply into his arms.

  It was only too obvious what the Frenchman had been trying to do. From the way he was writhing on the floor, the way he had been frustrated was also clear. The Condesa had not escaped lightly. There was a livid mark on her face where she had been struck and the remains of her night-dress did nothing to hide a body that could only have served to further inflame her attacker.

  Welbeloved eased the sword out of her hand and led her to the bed, signalling to MacKay to silence the officer before he could raise the alarm. MacKay had already dragged the sentry into the room and shut the door. He now calmly pulled the Frenchman’s head up by the hair and laid him out with a single blow of his massive fist. Then with great gallantry, he pulled a sheet from the bed and wrapped it around the Condesa, still half-naked and showing a reluctance to move from the comfort of Welbeloved’s arms.

  At last she stirred and looked up at him, an expression of shock on her face and a tremble in her voice. “I would have killed him Captain. I was going to hit him with that sword until he was dead. He was trying to rape me and I – I – I think I’m going to be sick.” Welbeloved supported her head and MacKay grabbed a basin and held it for her as she retched and emptied her stomach into it.

 
When it was over and the spasms in her chest and stomach had abated, she quietly disengaged herself and clutched the sheet around her. “Thankyou Captain.” Her bruised face turned up to him, pale and perspiring. “I will always remember your help and comfort, and yours too Sergeant.” She stopped aghast. “But I am thinking only of myself. That beast locked my maid in that cupboard over there.” She ran over and unlocked the door and her hysterical maid threw herself into her arms.

  The Condesa needed someone else to feel responsible for. She immediately regained full control of herself, comforting and at the same time softly scolding the girl, with her hand held firmly over her mouth to keep her quiet.

  While this was happening, Welbeloved gave detailed orders to MacKay and between them they rapidly stripped the unconscious men to their undergarments and bound and gagged them with strips torn from the bedding. Having piled the clothing on the bed, he turned once more to the two women, who by this time were quiet and composed and watching him curiously.

  He smiled sympathetically. “We have to get yew both away from here Condesa and I would ask yew if yew would please put on these uniforms. It could make a deal of difference if we happen to be seen on our way out.”

  There was no hesitation. “Of course Captain. Isabella and I will do exactly as you wish but,” and her pale face went bright scarlet, “I think you will have to help us. I’m sure neither of us has worn men’s clothes before, but in any case, after what you have seen so far, this is no time for feminine modesty. Perhaps you will pass me that French pig’s shirt.”

  The Condesa was tall for a woman and the officer’s clothes fitted reasonably well. Fortunately the trooper was a small man, but even so MacKay had to hack off the bottoms of the overalls and tie them firmly round the maid’s boots which he padded out with cloth at the toes. After a few experiments, their hair was piled up and secured under the shako from the chasseur and the fur turban of the officer. All in all, in the dark they would make very passable imitations of the soldiers they were impersonating.

  Most of the valuables that the Condesa was carrying were as yet undiscovered and untouched by the French, lying in the false bottom of one of her trunks and consisting mostly of jewellery and coin. They hauled it out and managed to distribute all of it between the four of them, stuffing it into pouches and pockets until they bulged.

  Welbeloved inspected the two newest recruits to the army of the Emperor. In a good light there was no chance that they would fool anyone, but he had no intention of letting them be seen in a good light. He put his hands on their shoulders and spoke to them quietly and confidently, hoping to stiffen the courage of the maid in particular.

  “We will be leaving this room and will walk quietly and without haste, down the stairs and into the kitchen. With luck, we will meet no-one on the way, but if we do, I want yew to ignore them and walk steadily on yor way. Do not on any account give the impression of panic. If anyone gets too close, MacKay or I will deal with them. Do yew think yew can do that?”

  The Condesa translated for the maid and answered for both of them. “You may rely on us Captain. Isabella is a brave girl and will follow me and do exactly as you say.”

  Welbeloved pulled out his watch. It was twenty minutes to midnight. They had been in the inn for an hour and a half and the guard would be marching out to relieve the sentries any time in the next ten minutes. There was no time left to recapture the Marqués. In any case, if he was unwilling to go with them, which seemed likely, the noise he would make would wake the whole inn. He would have to wait.

  They blew out the candles and opened the door a crack. The corridor was deserted and silent. A tallow dip sputtered in a sconce and was extinguished as they passed. He would rather descend the stairs from a dark background. Any light was an enemy until they could reach the relative safety of the kitchen.

  The Condesa led the way down the staircase, walking confidently, almost with a swagger, as if she had every right to be there. Isabella too walked behind her as befitted her lower rank, but she too did not hesitate. The spurs on their boots clinked softly, but it was a familiar noise to chasseur ears and would not cause any questions to be asked.

  There was a single dip burning in the hall. Already it was nearly at the end of its life and was beginning to give off that pungent smell characteristic of the last minutes as the tallow was used up. They ignored it and turned towards the kitchen. A dozen paces which seemed to the two women to go on forever and they opened the door to the familiar smell of stale cooking that they had encountered on their way in.

  No light at all was showing, but even the dim light from the expiring dip in the hall had temporarily spoiled their night vision. A table and chairs were between them and the outer door and they felt their way forward, gradually seeing a little better and negotiating the obstacles as quietly as possible.

  They were almost across the kitchen when there was the clatter of the latch being lifted and the door swung open, allowing a large figure to duck his shako under the lintel and come stamping in. Welbeloved’s foresight was their saving. The soldier immediately sensed the presence of people in the dark, but the gleam of the white belt lulled his suspicions for just that fraction of time until it was too late. MacKay was immediately behind the two women and it was his fist that connected with the jaw of the soldier, silhouetted against the lighter darkness of the yard. The beginning of a challenge ended in a strangled squawk and a massive thump as his head was banged against the flagstones, ensuring his silence, possibly for ever.

  All four stood like statues, their ears straining for any stirrings that would indicate that the brief struggle had attracted unwelcome attention. They relaxed. The inn slumbered on and MacKay dragged the inert body to one side and cautiously peered out of the open door. The time for the sentries at the back of the building to be relieved was almost upon them and Welbeloved knew that they could not afford to delay a moment longer. An urgent whisper sent the Condesa and the maid marching briskly across the courtyard, passing the stables and up to the closed gate, with the two men following closely.

  The gate opened with a faint protest from the hinges and then they were outside and trotting towards the river, pausing to collect their rifles on the way. They soon found the spot where they had waded across and the men automatically stooped and took the Condesa and the maid on their backs, walking carefully pig-a-back through the icy, shallow water to the far side. They were within the shelter of the nearest houses when a bugle and the commotion of many men rushing about in confusion in the darkness, told them that the French had finally become aware that their sentries were missing, together with the Condesa and her maid.

  Welbeloved was quietly satisfied. He doubted whether the French would get much rest for the remainder of the night. It must have been deeply disturbing to find that an enemy had penetrated to the heart of their armed and guarded billets, killed or injured several of their comrades and escaped with their prisoners, without any alarm being raised until all the action was over. He hoped that they would continue to be nervous and off balance well into the next day, because he intended to recapture the Marqués and the treasure as well. At the moment he didn’t know how he would accomplish this, but was determined he would find a way.

  CHAPTER 9

  The challenge, when it came was low-voiced and menacing. Welbeloved stopped in his tracks and hurriedly identified himself. The gleam of the belt on the French uniform was too good a target for there to be any delay in establishing themselves as friendly.

  The sentry directed them deeper into the gloomy and dripping woods, where Vere greeted them with evident relief. He had established a camp within easy reach of the road, but hidden in a tree-girt hollow where they ate their first food since the previous morning. Even the Condesa managed a few mouthfuls before gratefully accepting blankets and a mattress of soft leaves and pine needles.

  Sleep should have been welcome to Welbeloved, but his mind had been churning over with plans for the morning. It was essential that
he intercept the chasseurs and recapture Don Pedro, and the quicker he could do it the better. If the French were given the chance to rejoin the rest of Napoleon’s army, there would be virtually no hope at all.

  He sat by the fire, talking over the options with Vere and MacKay. They all agreed that, as the chasseurs had been heading south along the road to Palencia and Valladolid, it was probable that their orders were to reconnoitre on the flanks of the army and to join up with the main body once more at Valladolid. If that was indeed their objective, the road along which they had been travelling was the only direct route they could take. Any other way from here would involve them in long and wearisome diversions across the hills, which could add days to their journey.

  Their commander had already shown scant regard for the lives of his men. He gave the impression of being an officer who considered his own desires paramount, and who could be quite ruthless in achieving his ends. His persistence yesterday in sending his men forward recklessly and dangerously, and even his attempt on the Condesa branded him as a man who would do whatever he wanted, regardless of the consequences.

  Would such a character be content to make a tedious detour, or would he try and force his way through, perhaps with hopes of revenge for the casualties his squadron had received, and his own personal humiliation? Welbeloved was inclined to think that he would favour an attempt to break through on the direct route, and he decided to act on that assumption. If he was wrong, he was committing himself to a long, wearisome and dangerous pursuit, but that was preferable to the alternative. He could not afford to let them escape southwards. Don Pedro and the regalia would be lost for good, once the chasseurs reached the security of their own massive army.