When an hour later Hervey returned to their quarters, he found Fairbrother lying back in a chair, his face being vigorously lathered by a wiry Bessarabian barber.
‘I have ripe news … but it must wait a little longer.’
Fairbrother could not reply until the barber began stropping his razor. ‘For what?’
Hervey nodded and raised an eyebrow.
‘Have no fear on that account. I’ve had the devil of a job to explain I wanted my upper lip shaving.’
‘I take no chances.’
Fairbrother decided that his own news could be aired instead. ‘Well, I tell you the strangest thing. While you were away I borrowed a horse from the commissaries and took a ride upriver, and behold – I saw camels drinking in the Danube.’
Hervey looked puzzled. ‘Why strange? They’ll need some water, I dare say; and the river seems to have excess of it. They’re Turcomans, to make up the losses in pack horses.’
‘Yes, I learned that. But is it not extraordinary: the prophecy is come true, eh?’
Hervey took off his forage cap and sat down, already sensing that his friend had a meal to make. ‘I have not the pleasure of knowing what prophecy.’
Fairbrother wiped soap from his mouth. ‘Hervey, you astound me. “Dans le Danube et du Rhin viendra boire le Grand Chameau ”?’
Hervey shook his head. ‘Thou speakest in riddles.’
‘But of course; I quote Nostradamus. You’ve heard of Nostradamus, have you not?’
‘Of course I’ve heard of Nostradamus. And the three witches on the heath.’
Fairbrother chose to ignore the comparison. ‘Did he not prophesy the Mussulman would drive all before him in his march westward?’
‘I’ve never read his work. In any case, General Diebitsch intends driving his camels in the other direction, to Constantinople.’
The barber now began with his razor, and conversation ceased until he had scraped off the last of the soap.
As he took to the brush and the strop for the second, close shave, Fairbrother could contain himself no longer. ‘I must tell you of a considerable piece of intelligence I acquired during my ride. I watched the engineers blow up a fougasse. Not, however, by quick-match but with electricity. Is such a means known to English engineers?’
‘I think not,’ replied Hervey, at once engaged by the notion. ‘But why were you so close to the siege works? Were the Turks making a sortie?’
‘No. I came upon the engineers at their practice ground. They fired the mine from six hundred yards off, with a Voltaic pile.’
‘I am no electrician.’
‘Nor I, though I’ve read enough to comprehend what they told me – which they were content enough to do until their superior arrived. He was greatly perturbed by my presence, so I feigned ignorance. I have, however, made extensive notes.’
‘Excellent. I fancy the Board of Ordnance will be pleased to read them. But I wonder why we haven’t used electricity, and yet the Russians have?’
‘I suppose it’s that their army has been active these late years. Others, dare I say it, have become decidedly cobwebby.’
The barber began lathering again, and conversation ceased until he was done with his razor and had left the room for the wash-house where he was boiling up towels.
Hervey took the opportunity to explain his own news, the general-in-chief’s intentions. Without being able to point out the various places on a map, however, he imagined he would have to reprise them once his friend had left the chair.
The barber returned with his hot towels, and soon Fairbrother’s head was swaddled like a mummy, but for his mouth.
‘What distance is it from Pravadi to Shumla – a dozen leagues or thereabouts?’
Hervey took out the map from his sabretache and consulted it. ‘It is.’
‘Do you not think it perilous to try to manoeuvre against such an accomplished general as Reschid, especially with such support as he has at close hand in Shumla, for he cannot have left the place empty? And if Hussein Pasha at Rustchuk is summoned to his aid, it is but fifty miles from there to Shumla – two days’ forced march at most.’
Hervey was now less impressed with the possibility that the barber was a Turkish spy and more with the ability of his friend to picture the country in his mind. Nevertheless he proceeded with caution. ‘The intelligence is that there are but … quattuor cohortes remaining there. But … our friends, with whom we rode, their patrols tie up very neatly the force at the other place. The venture is risky, of course, but the … imperator is rightly impatient for success.’
He sat back to observe the barber applying one last towel, wondering again at his friend’s contrary disposition. It was extraordinary that – and in so chance a fashion – Fairbrother could one minute display an indolence that was proverbial of the race to which he partially belonged, and yet in another demonstrate the most remarkable percipience. That in its way, perhaps, was part not just of his charm but of his worth: there was something in his friend’s haphazardness that made him look at things differently, not taking them quite at face value, for Fairbrother seemed at times capable of divination (whereas he himself proceeded entirely from – he believed – a proper soldierly impulse or from the application of dispassionate logic). The haphazardness no doubt derived from, among other things, his eclectic reading (which apparently, now, even took in scientific papers), which, though never of the depth that would make him a scholar, gave him nevertheless a passing acquaintance with almost everything of the moment. Of the two of them, Hervey was sure that Dr Johnson would have judged Fairbrother the more ‘clubbable’. Yet with Fairbrother’s intuition added to his own more measured approach, he would count himself almost unassailable. He was certainly resolved to have it so in Gibraltar – or even (he smiled to himself – preposterous notion!) St Petersburg.
‘When do we begin?’ asked the diviner, emerging from the towels.
‘Crastinum. They are providing us with horses.’
Fairbrother stood up, fished out silver from a pocket and dismissed the barber with a smile and a handshake.
‘I thought to try him by telling him to come back crastinum – but I suppose we shall be leaving at too early an hour?’
Hervey sighed. ‘I have spent too long in India to underestimate the possibilities of spies. But, yes, I believe we shall leave early.’
Fairbrother began brushing his hair back vigorously. ‘What else did you learn? Diebitsch – is he as his reputation?’
‘I would judge him a very considerable general. He has a very … complete view of strategy. I’ll tell you more when we dine, but this I must first tell you: I was made a member of the Order of Saint Anna, Second Class – With Swords.’
Fairbrother put down his hair brushes and turned to his friend, his face shining with the polishing of soap and an admiring smile. ‘And most deservedly so. Congratulations!’
‘And – here’s the ripest news of all – Diebitsch wants to make me a major-general and give me a brigade.’
Fairbrother’s expression turned to one of curiosity. ‘Does he, indeed? Not empty honours, then: he sees your true worth. What reply did you give him?’
‘That I esteemed his offer greatly, but that I required time to consider it.’
‘You did not reject it forthwith? I am heartened. How much time was agreed?’
‘It was not specified. He gave me to understand that he wished my services to be with him principally in St Petersburg. I don’t believe my leading a brigade to Constantinople is an essential element in his design.’
Fairbrother frowned. ‘We must trust not. There is no greater admirer of your talents than I, but even you might find the taking of Constantinople with but a brigade an uncertain venture.’
Hervey frowned back. ‘There was no suggestion of a forlorn hope in brigade strength, I assure you. I confess I am excessively attracted by the offer, however.’
‘Of course you are. But are you serious in thinking you could accept? Would not
the language be a trial, for one thing?’
‘Have we met a Russian general yet who is Russian?’
‘We have not. And, of course, Mrs Hervey would find St Petersburg congenial to her music.’
Hervey started. Somehow they never spoke of Kezia. ‘Just so. But’ (he almost added ‘more importantly’) ‘what would be your answer? Would the clime be to your liking?’
Fairbrother laughed. ‘It might be said that I have had a surfeit of sun. I suppose they have good fires in winter? But what should be my part there? It’s one thing to make me an honorary member of your mess, but another to co-opt me into service of the Tsar.’
Hervey was silent.
Fairbrother buttoned the collar of his tunic in a way that said he was to impart something of substance. ‘Hervey, I may tell you that I am resolved to give up my interest at the Cape. Such business as is there can hardly be thought sufficient to provide worthy occupation. In the long run I shall transfer my interest to London, but in the shorter term I am at your disposal. Should you choose Gibraltar or St Petersburg I am indifferent, as indeed I am to Hounslow. You may make your decision entirely as you see it best befits your condition. I shall bear with it happily.’
Hervey rose, held out his hand, and with a catch in his voice said, ‘I am truly very fortunate in your friendship.’
XIV
THE VIZIER
Yeni Bazar, 8 June
Fairbrother had been disappointed to leave the luxuries of the Danube so quickly. And in truth he had been intrigued, for he had never witnessed a siege before. He thought it scientific to an impressive degree, what little he had been able to observe, and the sheer magnitude of the supply – the vast organization of stores and transport – he found fascinating. But he understood the imperative to seize the opportunity, and indeed he expressed himself in admiration of the general-in-chief’s evident determination to strike a felling blow rather than merely a series of safe ones. And so he had packed his camp comforts once again and readied himself for the saddle once more. Here at least, though, they had been extraordinarily well favoured, for Hervey had been given the pick of the remount lines for his party; and all seven of them were mounted well.
The country they were now coming to was different. The hills, a northerly spur of the Balkan which might, at a pinch, answer to ‘mountains’, were steep-sided and abundantly wooded, with deep, narrow ravines in which streams ran with sometimes uncommon force. Such country, reckoned Hervey, from his vantage of the plain, would hide an army and devour scouts; the Russians would need the most active patrols unless they were to fall foul of Turk trickery. Any encounter beyond an affair of pickets would be difficult in the extreme, the ground unsuited to manoeuvre. A few men and guns might hold up a considerable force; and a force might lose many men in the process of driving in a defended position. But it was, of course, the same country for the Turks: the forest had no partiality for one side or the other. The ‘Varian disaster’ in the Teutoburgerwald, which had held him spellbound on first reading in the remove at Shrewsbury, and which exercised still a potent influence on the minds of officers who studied their profession, was not a victory for the Wald but for the German tribes who outthought and outfought the legions of Quintilius Varus.
They had left Silistria on the 5th and made good distance at first on the plain of the Lower Dobrudscha, but for most of the third day they had ridden in thick fog, with little idea of their progress except by a very rough dead reckoning. And tedious going it had been too; they tramped for hours on end, leading the horses amid a vast press of men and animals, for by some miscalculation the baggage of the reserve division had come onto the road in advance of the main body. And then in the middle of the afternoon the sun had managed at last to burn through and they were able to see the distant hills. But while the mist had slowed them, certainly, it had also masked their advance. There was no sign of Turk patrols. They had continued marching until after dark, reaching Yeni Bazar at about nine o’clock, when the army made camp.
Such as he could make out, it seemed a prosperous sort of place by the standards of the country. Yeni Bazar – ‘new market’ – was a town of about fifty families, Bulgar, Turk and Wallachian, most of which alike had fled on hearing of the approaching army. There was a church, which appeared whole, and a mosque, and some substantial-looking houses, many of stone, and the streets were wide – and clean (though not for long). Hervey went to find Diebitsch’s headquarters while the others sought a bivouac, and the general had just invited him into a chamber of the madrasah on which he had planted his pennant when Count Pahlen, commanding the forward detachment, came in to report.
With no other officers but a single aide-de-camp present, Pahlen spoke in German. ‘At four o’clock my Cossacks made contact with Turk cavalry on the road to Shumla, ten miles hence. The Cossacks drove them back a mile, but came then on formed infantry – a force in all, I estimate, of two thousand. I brought up my leading regiment and dislodged them, and as darkness approached gave orders to occupy a blocking position astride the road at Madara strong enough to stand against a counter-attack at dawn.’
Diebitsch nodded approvingly – admirable action, exemplary reporting.
Pahlen continued: ‘I at first imagined it to be a sortie in connection with our own advance, but the prisoners reveal that their orders, from the Vizier himself, were to march towards Pravadi to threaten the rear of Roth’s force.’
Diebitsch had explained to Hervey before they marched that Roth’s force of two corps, which had made camp before Shumla, would detach a small number to maintain watch on that place and then march east towards Pravadi and occupy blocking positions in the hilly, wooded defiles. This would prevent the Vizier from bolting back to Shumla from before the walls of Pravadi when he learned of Diebitsch’s approach – to fix him, as it were, so that Diebitsch could close up and then defeat him in open battle.
Hervey reckoned that on learning Pahlen’s news, therefore, Diebitsch had a right to look gratified. But the general was doubly pleased, for the report seemed also to confirm that surprise was still his. ‘Do I take it that they believed you to be a part of Roth’s force, and that they had no suspicion of our advance?’
‘That is exactly as I read it,’ replied Pahlen. ‘Indeed, I have let the most senior of the prisoners, a colonel of artillery, escape towards Shumla with the intelligence that I was commander of Roth’s own rearguard.’
‘Vollendet!’
Consummate indeed; Hervey, too, was all admiration.
Pahlen asked what further orders there were before leave to rejoin his corps.
Diebitsch surprised them both. ‘Since our march went unmolested – indeed, unobserved – at first light this morning I sent orders to Roth to leave two regiments only in the defiles, but to make a great show that they remained there in strength, and to slip away with the rest of his corps and rally here at Yeni Bazar.’
It was Pahlen’s turn to look impressed. His general-in-chief was stealing march after march on the Vizier.
Diebitsch called for wine.
Other officers came, and soon the talk turned Russian. Hervey occupied himself with his map, until after an hour – and just when he was wondering if it were not better to withdraw for the night – a galloper arrived from Roth.
As Diebitsch’s chief of staff read the despatch aloud, the smiles and general agitation indicated that it was more good news.
One of the aides-de-camp translated. ‘General Roth intends coming away under cover of darkness. There is no sign that the Turks have detected his intentions. He expects to be able to effect a junction here towards midday, or at the latest by last light.’
Hervey acknowledged, but not without concern. If the Vizier did withdraw, and overpower the token rearguards, then Roth’s movement would turn out to be a flank march to that of the Turks, and his situation would be perilous in the extreme. ‘What are the general-in-chief’s intentions then?’
‘To await the junction with General Roth’s co
rps,’ replied the aide-de-camp simply.
Hervey had learned all that he needed. It was time to take his leave.
He had some difficulty finding their billet – a confusion with one of the provost-marshal’s staff – but at half past one he stumbled blinking into what had been a sort of drapery. Fairbrother, Agar and Corporal Acton were fast asleep on the bare floor. Johnson was crouching in a corner lit by an oil lamp, blowing on the fire under a simmering camp kettle, smoke leaving more or less obligingly through a broken window.
‘I was getting a bit worried, sir,’ he said in a loud whisper, sounding decidedly relieved. ‘Them sentries are right jumpy. ’As tha ’ad anything to eat?’
Hervey shook his head. ‘Not hungry. Is that coffee?’
‘No – ’ot water, sir. I could mash-up some tea. It’d be quicker.’
‘And better for my constitution at this time, no doubt.’
‘Ah’ve got some eggs an’ all – ’ard-boiled, and some for breakfast.’
Hervey recognized that finding eggs was a considerable feat. The one disappointment that General Diebitsch could have admitted was that the country they had come through was more derelict than he’d expected, the villages deserted, with barely a sign for mile upon mile that the land had ever been cultivated. But he would wait until morning to enquire of the eggs’ provenance. ‘Just the one, then. Thank you. I’m obliged you’ve remained on watch.’
‘Ah told Brayshaw and Green to bed down. Corp’l Acton’ll relieve me in an hour.’
There was no reason to mount watch within their own quarters, except against ‘proggers’ (as Johnson had it), but Hervey supposed that at least it meant the fire would be lit at reveille. ‘There’s no early move tomorrow. It’s make and mend till the middle of the morning. Where are the horses?’
‘In wi’ them from t’headquarters, yonder.’ His thumb indicated somewhere close by. ‘Them Rousskis ’re good. They put a new shoe on Mr Agar’s in five minutes.’
Presently he handed him a canteen of sweetened tea.
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