Rumours Of War h-6

by Allan Mallinson

  Norris might be a proficient artilleryman, and an able staff officer who had the trust of the Duke of Wellington, but Hervey was of the decided opinion that the range of the colonel’s thinking was inextricably linked to that of the cannonball, and that his notion of daring probably amounted to no more than a willingness to fire one of his guns and trust that the ball would fly in the direction he intended. There was a mighty gulf between them, and Hervey was thinking desperately how to bridge it.

  And bridge it he must if he was to advance his design. He could send a copy of his design to the chargé d’affaires, but even if he read it – even if he approved it – Forbes had no immediate authority in the matter. Lord Beresford would not be here, if he were to come at all, for weeks, and then it might be too late if there were insufficient cavalry or light troops in the expedition. Norris’s despatch would leave for the Horse Guards tomorrow by steamer, and decisions would be taken. That would be that.

  ‘You may know, Major Hervey, that in your absence the Duke of . . . somewhere or other, descended on the southern coast and is exciting insurrection there.’

  Hervey at once saw his chance; Norris could not have led better. ‘The Duke of Abrantes – yes indeed, Colonel. I learned of it at Elvas. But on return last night I also learned that the minister for war himself has marched with the best part of the garrison here to meet him.’

  Norris looked puzzled. ‘That is true. Senhor Saldanha, with whom I personally have contracted much business these past weeks, may even now be exchanging fire with the rebels. And I think it the greatest folly to leave the capital unprotected so. There is a further intrusion, in the north, and if that is successful the rebels can sweep down into Lisbon unchecked, for there is not a man or a gun in the lines of Torres Vedras. It is as well that the affair at Elvas was not of the same order, by your accounts. Folly indeed!’

  Hervey sighed, almost not caring to conceal it. A bridge he had built, but Pons Asinorum. ‘Colonel, do you not think that if Senhor Saldanha is successful he will do the same in the event of further attacks? Would he not therefore wish our support to be in that direction also?’

  ‘Not at all, Major Hervey. I see no logic in that. By securing the lines of Torres Vedras we guarantee his freedom of manoeuvre.’

  There was perfect sense in the suggestion, Hervey knew, but Norris, as before, had failed to address the entire picture. He himself was not proposing that the lines should not be garrisoned, but it was not necessary to tie down troops from the outset. The Duke of Wellington had had militiamen there, not regulars, before falling back on Torres Vedras in the face of the French advance. It was a question of which were the better troops to manoeuvre with once the freedom to do so was made.

  But Hervey saw that further reasoning was futile. ‘Very well, Colonel; with your leave.’ He took the papers, which Norris held out – thrust out, almost – and turned.

  ‘One moment, Major Hervey. The Gravesend packet this morning brought several weeks’ copies of the London Gazette.’ He handed him another sheaf of papers. ‘You will find some of them of interest.’

  Hervey sat heavily in the leather armchair in his sitting room, once the two tabbies had obligingly quit it. His anger had risen with every step he had taken from Colonel Norris’s quarters, and not simply because he considered his design superior to Norris’s; it was the man’s extraordinary obtuseness that offended him so. He could be ‘Black Jack’ Slade reincarnate, except that Norris did not – at least at present – appear to share Slade’s rancour. He took up the first Gazette as he waited for Johnson’s coffee, his hands not quite still even now.

  The London Gazette, the official intelligencer: it was old news, but welcome – anything that might divert him for an hour or so.

  The trouble was, he had known full well, Norris would not admit of any idea but his own, especially not an idea that suggested superior information or understanding. It had been that way since their first night at sea, as if the man were at pains to preserve the enterprise as his and his alone. Hervey sighed. Norris was, indeed, every bit the reincarnation of Slade – for if he did not seem to have the rancour then it was but appearance alone; the man was mean-spirited as well as dim-witted.

  Johnson came with his coffee. He took it with merely a nod, still rapt in thought. And then he frowned. No, it was not possible to say that Norris was dim-witted. Even a man as peevish as Norris could not otherwise have advanced to colonel, for in the artillery and engineers promotion was on merit not purchase. And he had, too, secured the Duke of Wellington’s approval at the Ordnance. Some of his wits, very evidently, must be sharp. Perhaps Norris was altogether sharper-witted than he supposed; perhaps, recognizing his own limitations – that his talents were those of calculus and cannonading rather than campaigning – he had grasped at a plan that had once succeeded and which, because it had been the duke’s own, he could never be blamed for advancing? Hervey wondered, indeed, if he ought not to proceed on the absolute assumption that Colonel Norris’s wits were venal rather than dull.

  He threw aside the first Gazette; it bore nothing of the remotest interest. He began reading the next.

  ‘Johnson, hear this!’

  Private Johnson, bent in front of the reluctant fire, halted the bellows work and turned his head.

  Hervey began to read aloud:

  Whitehall, October 3, 1826THE King has been pleased to direct letters patent to be passed under the Great Seal, granting the dignities of Viscount and Earl of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland to William Pitt Baron Amherst, Governor General of India, and the heirs male of his body lawfully begotten, by the names, stiles, and titles of Viscount Holmesdale, in the County of Kent, and Earl Amherst, of Arracan, in the East Indies.The King has also been pleased to direct letters patent to be passed under the Great Seal, granting the dignity of Viscount of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland to Stapleton Baron Combermere, Knight Grand Cross of the Most Honourable Military Order of the Bath, and General and Commander of our forces in the East Indies, and the heirs male of his body lawfully begotten, by the name, stile, and title of Viscount Combermere, of Bhurtpore, in the East Indies, and of Combermere, in the county palatine of Chester.

  Johnson began working the bellows again, and a good deal more noisily.

  ‘You are not disposed to bask in any of the reflected honour?’ asked Hervey, with mock surprise.

  ‘Thieves’ honour, sir?’

  Hervey was already scanning the third Gazette. ‘Ah, now this will serve very well. Listen.’

  War-Office, 5th October 1826

  HIS Majesty has been pleased to approve of the Regiments under mentioned bearing on their colours and appointments, in addition to any other badges or devices which have been heretofore granted to those Regiments, the word

  “Bhurtpore”in commemoration of their services in the assault and capture of the fortified town and citadel of Bhurtpore, in the month of January 1826:6th Regiment of Light Dragoons11th Regiment of Light Dragoons16th Ditto14th Regiment of Foot 59th Ditto

  ‘Ay, well, that’s fair enough,’ said Johnson, halting the bellows-work to think on the honour.

  Hervey was now wholly diverted. He suddenly stiffened. ‘Johnson, hear this!’

  Whitehall, October 9, 1826

  HIS Majesty has been pleased to nominate and appoint Major-General Sir Archibald Campbell, Knight Commander of the Most Honourable Military Order of the Bath, to be a Knight Grand Cross of the said Most Honourable Order.

  ‘All Dutch to me,’ said Johnson, laying down the bellows and watching the flame for signs of relapse.

  ‘No, I forget, you were not at Rangoon. But never mind. Listen . . .’

  He read the list – general officers, all familiar to them both from Bhurtpore, and all made knights of the lower grade.

  Johnson kept his eye on the flame throughout.

  ‘That is very pleasing, you know,’ said Hervey, lowering the page and looking directly at him.

  Johnson, sup
posing this to be an extended hearing, set aside the bellows and squatted on the fire-seat.

  ‘They were the most energetic of men throughout. And they took their place where it was hottest. I’m glad to see them honoured thus.’

  ‘Is that it then, sir?’ asked Johnson, rising.

  ‘No, it is not. Mark carefully . . .’ Hervey read out a dozen more names, all colonels from the regiments at Bhurtpore, all made companions of the Military Order of the Bath.

  ‘Ah, them’s fair,’ declared Johnson.

  ‘And, I am very pleased to read, Lieutenant-Colonel James Skinner, of the Bengal Native Irregular Cavalry.’

  ‘That’s fair an’ all.’

  ‘And hear! Lieutenant-Colonel Eustace Joynson, Sixth Light Dragoons!’

  ‘Bloody ’ell! Old Daddy Eustace!’

  ‘And justly so. What would it have said of the regiment otherwise?’

  ‘Anybody else?’

  Hervey’s mouth fell open.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Brevet-Major Matthew Hervey, Sixth Light Dragoons.’

  ‘Well . . . bloody ’ell, sir!’

  ‘Quite, Johnson.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Johnson stood up, looking for once as if he were lost to know what to do. ‘Well . . . I just don’t know what to say, Major ’Ervey.’

  They shook hands. It was the first time they had ever done so.

  Hervey put down the Gazette and went to a side table. ‘We can take a little wine to celebrate.’

  ‘Just a wet, though, sir. I’ve got all yon tackling to put back together.’

  Hervey poured them decent measures of Madeira nevertheless. ‘You can do that with your eyes closed.’

  ‘As a rule, ay, but some o’ this fancy stuff t’Portuguese gave us is damned mazy!’ Johnson took a good gulp.

  ‘Sit down again.’ Hervey did likewise.

  ‘What’s it mean then exactly, sir?’

  ‘Companion of the Bath? Well, it says that someone has taken notice.’

  ‘But tha knows they ’ad. Lord whatsisname wanted thee to be ’is colonel.’

  ‘Then I suppose it means, for one thing, that he does not bear me any grudge for declining the honour.’

  ‘Is there a medal wi’ it?’

  ‘Yes. Do you remember the ribbon Mr Somervile wore round his neck?’

  ‘’E ’ad one an’ all?’

  ‘You knew that. From the mutiny in Madras.’

  ‘And that’s it then? Tha gets a bit o’ ribbon an’ letters after thi name?’

  Hervey smiled. ‘I suppose so.’ Then he nodded slowly. ‘But it gives one, I should say, a certain . . . authority.’

  Johnson took another good draw. ‘But tha’s a major anyway.’

  Hervey emptied his glass and then refilled it, and Johnson’s. ‘Look at it this way. Colonel Norris is about to send a despatch to London which will not serve at all. I intend, now, to send a despatch of my own, via Lord John Howard – you remember? The letters C.B. at the bottom are bound to lend it more weight.’ He raised a hand. ‘Do not even begin to ask why. That is how it is. And if His Majesty is so gracious as to appoint me to this honour then I shall use it to its utmost. I’m damned if I want just a piece of ribbon, no matter how pretty it is!’

  ‘Sounds only right, sir.’ Johnson stood up. ‘That ’arness: I’d better do it.’

  Hervey put down his glass. He would drive to Kat’s house, and there he could write his submission untroubled; if he stayed in his own quarters there was every likelihood that Colonel Norris might sense an intrigue. He was certainly not going to ask leave to make his submission. What was the use? He was done with empty courtesies, especially those which stood in the way of best expediting the King’s business.

  Kat received him warmly, as if he were the soldier returned from a long campaign. It had been all of two weeks.

  But Hervey was not at first the passionate soldier returned from campaign. He embraced Kat vigorously enough, but he had wanted to speak of his sojourn and his subsequent frustration. She heard him attentively, understanding the generality of his complaints if not the detail.

  ‘And do you know what?’ he concluded, taking another glass of champagne from her as he circled her drawing room, railing against the Horse Guards for their patronage. ‘Just before I came here, Griffith and Mostyn, the engineers, came to my quarters and told me of their calculations. They estimate that to put the lines at Torres Vedras into proper repair would be the work of six months, at an outlay of five hundred thousand and more. Where do you suppose such a sum might come from? Will the Portuguese have it? It must be certain that our parliament would never vote such a figure. So Norris’s design is apt to come to naught on a simple matter of supply.’

  Kat looked troubled. ‘Sit down, Matthew, my love,’ she said, with considerable tenderness.

  It was the first time she had used the endearment, which to Hervey’s mind had ever been reserved to Henrietta. He recoiled, if not visibly, but resigned himself to the unhealing wound. He obliged her and sat in an armchair.

  Kat stood beside him and began stroking his brow. ‘Is it necessary that you drive yourself so, Matthew? Will any listen to you?’ She stopped suddenly and clutched his head to her breasts. ‘Oh, my love, do not think I mean to decry your position and judgement. It is just that . . . the way things go in London, you know? And you have so very much to lose.’

  My love again. It troubled him. But her hand was soothing, her words beguiling. How easy, how tempting it was to give way to the tide of events, to enjoy his comforts, relish his honours. But now of all times it would be folly. He would never advance steadily and without effort, as many with money and easy conscience, but his star was rising – the Gazette said as much. It shone just bright enough for some in position to notice, and he must therefore make sure it was neither extinguished nor eclipsed.

  He laughed. ‘And it seems I have more to lose than I was aware of. I did not say, Kat: the King has made me a companion of his bath!’

  Kat was all joy. ‘Matthew! Indeed! What laurels to you! I am very, very happy! What thinks Colonel Norris?’

  ‘He has said nothing.’

  ‘And Mr Forbes?’

  ‘I don’t imagine he will know.’

  ‘Then I shall tell him without delay.’

  Hervey frowned. ‘Oh Kat, I see no occasion for that.’

  ‘And why not indeed? Think of it thus: if Mr Forbes would learn of your alternative design, he might thereby be more disposed to approving it.’

  He had thought of the same himself, determined on using every means to secure his design, but hearing the raw truth was strangely unpalatable. Already he despised the artfulness. He told himself he would despise it less the more he practised it – as if that were any comfort. Except that in its way, it was. He had not relished the actual use of the sword to begin with, or the pistol, but it had become easier with every affair. The days of being too fastidious were past.

  ‘You are, of course, right. Forbes will be writing his own advice to Mr Canning.’

  Kat bent and kissed him.

  Hervey rose to pull her to him and respond in proper measure. ‘And,’ he added, breaking from their embrace momentarily, and just far enough to look into her eyes, ‘Isabella Delgado said her father would counsel the same.’

  Kat’s hands loosened slightly on his shoulders, and she looked at him puzzled. ‘Isabella Delgado? When did you see her? I thought you were straight come from your quarters?’

  Hervey saw the sudden ditch ahead – how deep or wide he did not rightly know, but it was too late to check his pace. ‘In Elvas.’

  Kat’s hands slipped from his shoulders to his arms, and she leaned back. ‘Isabella Delgado was in Elvas with you?’

  ‘Not with me, Kat. With her uncle, the bishop.’

  ‘But you evidently saw a great deal of her.’

  Their embrace was now loose.

  ‘She was of inestimable value, to begin with at least, as interpretress. I shoul
d not have been able to do half of what I had to without someone fluent in both tongues.’

  Kat bit her bottom lip and lowered her eyes, then she loosed her hands from his arms altogether and turned away.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A COLD COMING

  Near Sahagun, the early hours, 21 December 1808

  ‘Campfires, if I’m not very much mistaken,’ said Lieutenant Martyn, squinting in the face of freezing wind and driving snow. ‘At last!’

  Hervey could barely hear him. The snow deadened every step but the wind blew like the smithy’s bellows. At first he had ridden upright and square, as he had always done on Salisbury Plain in foul weather, but as the hours passed and the blizzard worsened, he had begun to lean forward like the others, taking one step at a time – or rather, letting his horse do so, for the snow lay too deep to make dismounted progress – and he had hunched his shoulders and bent his neck to take advantage of his cloak and its turned-up collar. But then he had felt shame, for was it not a very unsoldierly thing to take refuge so from the elements, just as from the enemy’s fire? And did not Daniel Coates’s ‘cold sleep’ lie that way too? Lieutenant Martyn: he did not sit bent. Neither did Serjeant Emmet, nor Serjeant Crook. He had hoped they had not seen him, and he had set about rousing those dragoons who looked as if they too were sinking Lethewards.

  ‘Yes, they flicker too much to be aught but,’ said Martyn, his tone quite certain.

  He was not all that many years Hervey’s senior, neither had he seen any service, but he was assured and capable. Perhaps his height, almost six feet, gave him his first authority, and the prominent cheekbones and blue eyes a handsomeness the dragoons took for breeding. They liked Martyn and they trusted him. At Eton he had been an athlete, fêted and admired; command sat easily with him. And now he had brought them through the worst of nights, to campfires that signalled a warm welcome. The dragoons would revere him.