Tarver's Treasure

by Malcolm Archibald

  For a long moment, he contemplated doing just that, throwing aside his responsibilities to become a private soldier, doing only what he was told and ignoring everything else. He could join right now and lose himself in the scarlet ranks.

  And Bethany?

  She would be happier with Commander Cockburn, would she not?

  ‘The French!’ The shout came from further up the beach, and Jack looked up. ‘French cavalry! The French are back and they’re attacking us!’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Inside the Naked Square

  There was a minute of bewilderment, as if the soldiers were frozen with astonishment, but then they began to move again.

  ‘Don’t these Frenchies ever give up?’ Jack thought, as he struggled to face this next crisis.

  The soldiers seemed reluctant to discard their party mood as they emerged from the surf, gleaming wet and shockingly vulnerable, their laughter changing to astonishment, their hands fumbling for the stacked muskets. Some were laughing nervously, one was sobbing; others swore terrible oaths, as ungentle sergeants forced them back into a fighting regiment of British infantry.

  Jack stared, feeling as if he was outside the moment – a man witnessing events rather than in the middle of them. If the French cavalry caught these men at such a disadvantage, there would be a terrible slaughter. Seeking revenge for their defeat, the French would rampage among the unprotected soldiers, slicing and mutilating and decapitating until the bathing regiments were destroyed. The broad beach would be the scene of a horror worse than the previous day’s battle.

  ‘Form square! Form square!’ A naked man, recognisable as an officer only by his air of authority, pointed to Jack. ‘You, sir, come inside the square at once, else the French dice you into collops.’

  Needing no second warning, Jack slipped inside the hollow square as the men, still naked as newborn babies, grasped their ammunition pouches and muskets, and prepared to face the cavalry. The officers walked around the inside of the square, grasping their swords as they pushed the men into better positions or murmured words of advice and encouragement.

  ‘Hold firm, lads, and they won’t get through. We’ve beat them already, and we’ll do the same today. We’re the 27th! The Inniskillings! We’re the pride of Ulster!’

  Jack could hear the hammer of hooves now and saw the cloud of dust that heralded the approach of the French. His nausea returned, combined with fear and terror; he had witnessed the horror of death and mutilation on the battlefield, so now he was prepared for the scene as comrades were slashed and shot. He was no soldier: it had been foolish of him even to contemplate such a life. He was an engineer, nothing more. He wanted to be nothing more, so what was he doing here, so far from home in this utterly unfamiliar environment?

  ‘There’s a woman out there!’ a red-haired man yelled, incredulous. He was instantly hushed by an indignant sergeant, but a score of faces changed direction to witness the scene.

  ‘By God, so there is!’

  ‘What the devil is she doing here?’

  ‘Deuce take it! Johnny Frog will kill her, sure as eggs!’

  There was consternation among the soldiers, for, however tough they were, the thought of a woman alone with a regiment of French cavalry was not pleasant. They watched her, unable to break the square in case the cavalry should swoop down, but desperately unhappy to leave the woman outside.

  ‘She’s a tempting armful, too,’ a young lieutenant said. ‘By God, I’d like to get to know her better, would I not?’

  By the time the murmuring had reached Jack’s ears, the woman was close enough to be identified. Walking along on the beach, with her back straight but her head mobile, she stared uncomprehending at the square of naked men. She looked tired, with her face drawn and her hair a straggling mess, quite unlike her normal self.

  ‘Bethany!’ He shouted the word. ‘Beth! It’s me!’

  ‘What?’ One of the officers frowned at him. ‘What do you mean, sir, by such a display? Pray control your passions!’

  Jack started, realising that this was the officer who had been so helpful in Valletta. ‘That’s Bethany,’ he explained, pushing at the nearest side of the square. ‘That’s my wife out there!’

  ‘Your wife?’ The officer frowned as he recognised Jack. ‘Good God, man, you really ought to keep her under control!’ He looked at Bethany, and then at the steadily advancing cloud of dust and sand, and his voice dropped: ‘Hang it, man, here’s a devil of a fix.’

  ‘Stand aside!’ Jack was moving before the idea was fully formed in his mind. ‘Move aside, I must go to her.’

  ‘The devil you will, sir! You will not break the square with the French so close!’ The officer glowered at Jack.

  ‘To the deuce with the French!’ Jack exclaimed, panic rising. ‘Move aside there!’ he shouted, trying to shove his way between two of the Inniskillings, but the infantrymen were iron-muscled and as immobile as marble statues. ‘Come on, lads! That’s my wife out there!’ Jack pleaded.

  The officer relented. ‘You four men, step back a single pace!’

  The two men obeyed, but the second Jack slipped through the gap they closed up again, with the front-rank man kneeling with his bayoneted musket held at a 45-degree angle and the rear-rank man standing behind, his musket ready to present and fire. Jack did not glance back as he ran from the square, yelling Bethany’s name.

  On hearing her husband’s voice, she turned, placed a hand over her mouth and removed it again. ‘Oh, Jack!’

  For a moment, she only stared, then she was running towards him, arms outspread, her feet kicking up loose shingle as he met her.

  ‘Bethany!’

  Heedless of the advancing French and the thunder of hundreds of hooves, they fell into each other’s arms, sobbing and repeating each other’s names. Jack breathed deeply of her mingled scent, the residue of French perfume combined with sweat and dust and pure Bethany, and he held her tight.

  ‘Where have you been, Jack? I’ve been searching everywhere for you, asking everybody where you are and nobody knew!’ She was holding him close, her hands pressing close. ‘And look at you, unshaven and definitely unwashed. Jack Tarver!’

  ‘Bethany, there’s no time. The French are coming. Cavalry!’

  ‘As if I care for French cavalry!’

  ‘I do!’ Jack said, knowing what lay ahead. Grabbing her sleeve and pulling her towards the Inniskilling’s square, he ignored her loud protests.

  ‘Jack! What do you mean by this? Jack! First you vanish, and now you treat me like a child. I demand that you release me this instant, Jack Tarver!’

  The sound of hooves was louder now, a strident thunder that filled Jack’s ears. He glanced behind him, but the dust was too thick; he could not make out anything of the cavalry through the screen.

  He dragged Bethany towards the sanctuary of the square, shouting as the French closed. If they were caught out there, there would be no hope of survival. If the sabres and hooves of the French did not dice them, the musketry of the 27th surely would finish them off.

  ‘Please let us in!’ Jack shouted out. ‘Open up!’

  ‘Stand aside, you men!’ the officer ordered wearily, and four men squeezed apart long enough for Bethany and Jack to enter. The infantry closed up immediately, with the front-rank kneeling, the rear-rank standing, and every bayoneted musket facing outwards.

  ‘Here they come, lads! Steady, the 27th!’

  There was a ripple of apprehension among the soldiers. Somebody giggled nervously, but the bayonets did not waver as the cloud of dust approached, thundering along the beach.

  Bethany grabbed hold of Jack’s sleeve, trying to peer between the men standing in double-file. The nearest front-rank man was praying silently as he grounded his musket butt in the sand; the rear-rank was leaning slightly forward, his bayoneted musket at the fire position. There was no sound, save the harsh gasp of nervous men and the approaching thunder of hooves.

  Jack could see the dust, now slig
htly dissipated, but did not understand the sudden torrent of laughter that gripped the troops.

  ‘French cavalry!’ one dark-haired man mocked. ‘Cavalry, my arse! They’re bloody buffalo!’

  The words ran around the square, men repeating them to their neighbours. Jack felt light-headed with the sudden relief.

  ‘They’re not French cavalry,’ he said to Bethany. ‘They’re buffalo! Somebody saw them and thought they were cavalry!’

  It was good to hear Bethany laughing again, good to have her arms around his neck, and then to hear her voice teasing in his ear.

  ‘Well, Jack, you do bring me to some interesting places, don’t you? What a story to tell our grandchildren!’ Bethany gave a very girlish giggle. ‘My, what would Mrs Grundy say – or, more to the point, my sister Betsy!’ She wrapped her arm around his. ‘Just wait until I tell her about this most remarkable adventure – won’t she be green with jealousy?’

  It then dawned on Jack that his gentle wife was in the midst of upwards of 600 stark naked men, most of them in the prime of life, with a fair number grinning and making no attempt to cover themselves at all.

  ‘Bethany! Pray avert your gaze!’ Even as he spoke, Jack knew that his words would be ignored.

  ‘Indeed, no, Jack, for where would you have me look, husband dear? I fear we are surrounded.’ Swivelling her head from left to right, Bethany widened her eyes and put her mouth close to his ear. ‘There are positively delightful sights, no matter where my gaze happens to alight.’

  Stepping forward, Jack placed a hand over her face, but Bethany sidestepped, laughing. ‘Oh, Jack, I would not miss this for the world! When else will I have the opportunity to see such a collection of handsome men, and shorn of every false trapping of style or modesty.’ She touched his chin. ‘And after all, Jack, it was you who brought me here!’

  The officer came, bowed to Bethany and belatedly tried to cover himself. ‘I do apologise for my men’s state of undress, madam. If I had known you were coming …’

  Bethany’s curtsey would have graced any ball in Europe. ‘I assure you, sir, that you have nothing at all of which to be ashamed.’ She smiled and allowed her eyes to flicker downward very slightly. Betsy, Jack allowed, could not have done better.

  ‘This gentleman helped me search for you in Valletta, Bethany,’ Jack continued, wondering what rules of etiquette could possibly cover a situation such as this.

  ‘You have my gratitude again, sir.’ Bethany remained in the curtsy position for a fraction longer than politeness dictated, and the officer coloured and bowed in return.

  ‘There is no need for gratitude, ma’am,’ he said as he straightened. ‘And now, if you will permit, I must attend my duties.’ Turning quickly, he marched stiffly away.

  ‘Bethany!’ Jack hustled her out of the rapidly disintegrating square, although she continued to look backwards over her shoulder, waving to one especially bold Ulsterman.

  ‘Bethany, I do believe that you are enjoying yourself!’

  ‘Would you not, if you were surrounded by a thousand naked women?’ Her voice altered slightly as her eyes narrowed. ‘I do believe that you are jealous, Jack Tarver!’

  ‘I believe I have cause,’ Jack said. He knew that Bethany was not referring to their present circumstances, but to the events on the Rowan, and although he hated a public exhibition of their disagreement, his anger was returning as bitterly as the memory. Bethany’s response was equally rapid, as her eyes flared their fury.

  ‘What cause, pray?’ The level tone only showed how tight a grip Bethany had on her temper. She swept her arm around in a half circle. ‘Do you mean this cause, sir? I hope not, Jack, for these are just men and you are my husband!’

  ‘Not these men!’ Jack was unused to feeling his anger rise. He knew that he was normally a placid man, but now he could not control the thoughts and fears that had dominated him since their first voyage on the Rowan. ‘I mean that other man, Bethany, Commander Cockburn, with whom you were so charmed that you left me for his company!’

  ‘I left you for Commander Cockburn?’ Stepping back, Bethany put her hands on her hips and thrust her head forward. ‘May I remind you, Jack, that you left the ship at your first opportunity, abandoning me to the supposed desires of your famous Commander?’

  ‘By that time, Bethany, the two of you were …’ He halted there, unsure if he should put his suspicions into words or not. If he was right, then their marriage was already finished, but if not, then he would be insulting Bethany and he could not do that. Not even in these circumstances.

  ‘Were?’ Latching on to the word, Bethany waited, one foot tapping on the ground and her eyes more dangerous than any Chasseur’s sabre. ‘The two of us were, Jack? Pray tell me what the two of us were?’

  ‘You were away together.’ Even now, the words sounded weak, as if he were backing off.

  ‘Indeed we were, Jack, and do you know why? I’ll tell you why. Because you were acting as a spoiled child, Jack, and I was in a miff with you.’ She halted there and looked around. About half the regiment had returned to the sea, but many had remained to listen. Bethany curtseyed, totally ignoring their state of undress. ‘I hope you are enjoying the fun, gentlemen,’ she said.

  One stern-faced man bowed in return. ‘I was thinking,’ he replied, ‘that I would rather face the French than you. Can we adopt you as a mascot?’

  Bethany snorted in a most unladylike fashion and looked away. ‘Go and take your mascot elsewhere, pray. My husband and I have things to discuss.’

  The emphasis she placed on the word ‘husband’ sounded very reassuring to Jack. He felt his anger slide away, to be replaced by a sensation of embarrassment. How could he ever have suspected Bethany of doing anything? She was his Bethany, and even more so, she was a woman of sincere morals and respectability. He smiled as he reminded himself that she was, in the real sense of the word, a lady.

  ‘You see, Jack,’ Bethany had recovered some of her composure. ‘As I said, these are just men, as is the bold and certainly very handsome Commander Cockburn. And doesn’t he know it?’ The scorn in her smile would have made Cockburn quail in his sea boots.

  Jack lowered his tone as the 27th Foot began to drift away. He was now too embarrassed to admit the depth of his fears. ‘You were just out of temper with me? But you were with Commander Cockburn.’

  ‘And with another lieutenant somebody or other, and the doctor too, Jack.’ She shook her head, looking at him. ‘Honestly, Jacko, I thought you would have known better! Don’t you trust me after all this time? You are a jobberknowl, you know.’

  Jack said nothing.

  She glared at him, her temper rising again. ‘Is this what our marriage will be like, Jack, with you watching everybody I talk to and not allowing me freedom to choose my own company when I will? As we are to be equal partners, Jack, should I then also observe you, and ask with whom you converse?’ There was something beneath the anger, a half-hidden anguish, a call for help as aching as Jack’s own. She shook her head and turned away.

  ‘I was out of humour with you, Jack, not betraying you. The two are not the same. Can we leave it at that?’

  ‘Yes, let us leave it at that.’ Jack reached for her, but she seemed so far away that he had to stretch, and then he was falling, and Bethany was turning, agonisingly slowly, and her mouth was open, but he could not hear the words and those damned French drums were back, tapping their hatred inside his head as the fever burst through the ramparts of his rationality and rampaged once more into his body.

  Chapter Fourteen

  More Danger

  Jack’s second bout of fever was worse than the first, as it spread through his already weakened constitution. With little strength, he was hardly able to fight and only threshed on the hard ground, sweating, swearing and shivering by turn. Twice he returned to sanity, and each time an angel was waiting there, fighting on his behalf, but before he could speak the hot talons of fever dragged him back to the shadows.

  Wh
en the fever receded for the third time, it left him too weak to stand. He was aware of the terrible dreams and the fear, the alternate bitter cold and burning heat, but the angel never left him, standing sentinel to drive away the devils that lay beyond sleep.

  He had been awake for some time before he became aware of his surroundings and then he struggled to sit up.

  ‘Hush now, rest,’ the angel said, pushing him back down. ‘You need to rest.’ She smiled to him through eyes that were sunk into black pits of exhaustion, and when she spoke her voice was slurred with fatigue.

  ‘Bethany?’ He looked up.

  ‘Of course it’s me.’ She smiled down at him through these tired eyes. ‘Who else would put up with you?’

  ‘Only you,’ he said, and drifted away again, to the hammer of musketry and that young Highlander, who smiled to him with his belly all healed, and then the drums sounded again and Jack cringed, until soft hands smoothed water over his brow and he knew the angel would keep him safe.

  The fourth time he awoke Bethany was sleeping at his side and he watched her for a long time until she began to stir and looked up at him. Their eyes met and held, fixed together in unsmiling examination.

  ‘Hello, wife,’ Jack said, as though seeing her for the first time.

  ‘Hello, husband,’ she replied, and they continued to look at each other, reading thoughts that were unsaid and emotions to which neither could admit.

  ‘I thought you had left me,’ Jack said quietly, knowing that there was no pretence here, on the other side of death, and he could speak the truth.

  ‘I’d never do that,’ she said, and there was a long spell of silence as they returned to their examination.