Spanish Tricks (Man of Conflict Series, Book 5)

by Andrew Wareham

  Septimus heard all that was unsaid there and realised that he had been given effective permission to put a bullet in the major’s head if he became intolerable.

  “I am sure that we will be able to develop a working compromise, my lord. One is inclined to wonder if the gentleman, being of the blue-blooded, will be accompanied by any great train of retainers, or servants, as it were.”

  “He has assured me that he will travel light, Sir Septimus.”

  “Ah! Not more than two hundred then, my lord!”

  “Fewer, one trusts, Sir Septimus. He will join you here at dawn tomorrow, in marching order.”

  Septimus made his way back to the regiment and informed his officers of the pleasure awaiting them.

  “Detached service, gentlemen, which has much to recommend it, as you will have experienced. We are to march south, over the hills, to perform a particular service down on the borders. We shall be making contact with the Spanish guerrillero bands, and that will demand much tact on our part. One is given to understand that they will butcher the French rather than take prisoners; we will not like that, but we shall not interfere with their amusements. We will be accompanied by a Spanish officer who is to act as guide and will supply interpreters. He is to be my advisor; he will not have the authority to give orders.”

  The assembled officers listened with interest, the more intellectually able rapidly realising that there was a likelihood that the Spanish gentleman would expect to hold command.

  “No notice will be paid to any order that he may give, with the exception that when his orders coincide with what you would have done then you will carry on with their execution. You are not to defy the gentleman’s orders when they make good sense – but you will not obey any order that runs counter to your existing instructions or which you simply believe to be wrong. Always, you are to inform me of any attempt made to take command of you or any of your men. Do try not to cause unnecessary offence, but do not hesitate to slap the gentleman down when it is appropriate to do so, though, ideally, not in too literal a fashion!”

  “Beg pardon, sir…”

  “Mr Purkiss?”

  “What actual rank does the gentleman hold?”

  “He is a major in the armies of Spain, I am told. As far as we are concerned, he is a guest, one who is offering us friendly assistance in our war against a common foe. As a lieutenant, Mr Purkiss, you will salute the gentleman, and politely inform him that your colonel has instructed you to perform certain tasks in a particular fashion. Be very sure that I shall support you, sir!”

  “Ah… I am informed, sir, that the Spanish can be very tender of their honour.”

  “I have heard the same, Mr Purkiss. You will accept no challenge, sir, except with my specific permission, which will not as a general rule be forthcoming. Are you a hand with the smallsword, by the way?”

  Purkiss was not; he had only the most passing acquaintance with the fence.

  “Then we must be very careful to ensure that if the occasion arises you will use the pistol. I much hope that we shall avoid any foolishness. You must all be aware, while I think of it, that Lord Wellington is most adamantly opposed to the practice of duelling and you should obey his orders in the matter.”

  Major Paisley was aware that something was wrong, that Septimus’ orders and comments did not quite make absolute sense.

  “What exactly will the gentleman’s functions be, sir?”

  “He is to guide us to this arsenal; he is to supply interpreters; he is to aid us in our contacts with the guerrilla bands. I must add that the guerrillas are a potential problem, inasmuch that some are loyal to a particular junta, while others are of a revolutionary nature and are loyal to themselves alone, while others still are no more than bandits. Almost none that I have been told of wish to see the Spanish kings reinstated, yet I understand that this major is of the aristocracy and presumably is a royalist. I much suspect, gentlemen, that he is a nuisance here at headquarters and has been given to us to get him out of the way. Do tread very carefully, and do not hesitate to come to me when problems arise. I beg of you that you will not accept provocation from him; smile – sneer if you will – but do not indulge in argument and do not allow him to insult you.”

  There was an amount of head-shaking at this; it sounded as if they were being instructed to allow their personal honour to be compromised.

  “Might I remind you all that you are English, Welsh, Irish and Scottish gentlemen, and you are by Nature superior to any damned Spanish dago! As such, gentlemen, you are incapable of being insulted by one who is inferior to you.”

  They could accept that concept.

  Major the Count of Azuaga and several other locations made his appearance in the battalion soon after one o’clock next day, under the impression that he was close to his time; certainly he did not expect to stir from his bed and breakfast table much earlier in the morning. He said as much to Septimus.

  “Reveille in this battalion is at dawn. For convenience, sir, the bugle is blown at half past five of the morning. The march commences at most one hour later, sir. I believe that I must instruct you to conform to our practice, sir. Now, if you would care to accompany me to my command tent, I shall discuss arrangements with you.”

  Septimus turned on his heel and strode off to the tent, leaving the Count with little alternative other than to trail along behind him.

  “Do take a seat, sir.”

  Septimus waved to a wooden bench drawn up to his table, himself taking his normal and within reason comfortable camp chair. He took advantage of the Count’s delay, as he looked for an alternative to the uncushioned bench, to inspect the gentleman.

  Barely a man, little more than twenty years, Septimus estimated. Dressed very fine in satins and silks and soft leather boots; a feather in his hat, which was hardly of a military fashion. Diamond pins in his stock; several finger rings, each with a stone of some value; a heavy gold chain across his belly, presumably carrying a fob or watch; silver to his belt; a sword with an ornately chased hilt and quillons; a single pistol, the butt showing a gleam of gold. Overweight as well, not yet fat but distinctly, self-indulgently plump. Fine, white skin – never exposed to sun and wind on campaign; perfect nails on hands that had never performed an ounce of work. Facially, little to be noticed other than a pout of dissatisfaction that seemed probably a permanent fixture; undistinguished rather than unhandsome; black hair, as was to be expected of a Spaniard.

  There was a trail of attendants behind the gentleman, young men, all dressed as officers; eight of them, their marks of rank unfamiliar.

  “We march tomorrow, Count. I presume these gentlemen are your interpreters.”

  They were not; they were the Count’s companions and his personal staff and commanders of his guards.

  “How many guards, Count?”

  “A squadron of horse, Colonel.”

  “They are your responsibility, of course, sir. You will feed them and supply their fodder yourself, sir. I am unable to provide stores for them.”

  “Impossible! They must be your concern, Colonel.”

  “This is an infantry battalion, Count. We have no facilities for cavalry. Our baggage train has fodder sufficient for its own needs and will make none available to your people. In terms of food, we have enough for our men for a month and I have no authority to issue rations to foreign troops. If you cannot feed these people, then they must remain here. I would expect you to retain your own riding horses and personal grooms, no more than three of each, together with at most a pair of personal servants. The question of the interpreters has to be answered, of course. How many have you and where are they, sir?”

  The Count waved a hand; he did not concern himself with underlings; he expected they were somewhere close to hand.

  “Cooper! Will you establish whether there are interpreters and how many, please!”

  Cooper ran, carefully not smiling.

  “Your servants will be responsible for your mules, Count. Not too man
y, I trust.”

  “How should I know how many mules are necessary? It is none of my business – servants’ work!”

  “As you will, sir. I am pleased to extend the invitation to you to dine and take your ease in the Officers Mess. The President of the Mess will discuss the matter of fees, of course.”

  “Fees?”

  “Payment made to the Mess for your food and wines, sir. All officers are responsible for their fees.”

  The concept of responsibility seemed alien to the young man.

  “Now, sir, to business. As I understand my orders, you are to guide us to the arsenal in the south, and there will make contact with the favoured guerrilla band and distribute the weaponry to them. Should some other chieftain have arrived and taken control of the arsenal you will negotiate with him and seek such assurances as are possible that he will use the materials of war against the French. You agree, sir?”

  “No, sir, I do not. You have misunderstood the case entirely! The weapons belong to the army of the King of Spain and must be placed in the hands only of truly loyal Spaniards. How they are then used will be entirely at the discretion of the King.”

  “I see, sir.”

  “I am glad you do. I would point out as well that you would be better advised to address me as ‘my lord’, in the correct fashion.”

  Septimus debated kicking the young fellow’s backside, but decided it would be better to delay until they were a few miles from headquarters.

  “My apologies, my lord. I must in turn point out that I am commanding officer of this expedition and must therefore be addressed as ‘sir’.”

  The Spaniard nodded briefly, presumably thinking silence to be acceptable.

  “We march tomorrow morning at six-thirty, my lord. I must insist that you are to be ready at that time, precisely. The battalion will not delay for you and I shall inform Lord Wellington in case of non-compliance on your part. I would be obliged to you, my lord, if you would send the guide to me immediately.”

  The Count left the tent and Septimus saw him ride out of the battalion’s lines with his escort a few minutes later. Presumably the fellow was off to lay a complaint with Lord Wellington.

  “Good luck to him!”

  Septimus knew that Wellington had the intention of riding south to speak with the Portuguese under Beresford, that he would not be available.

  General Hill, Wellington’s second, appeared later in the afternoon, smiling his best and thanking the men who ran to hold his horse. He was accompanied by a solitary lieutenant who was sent across to the Mess to beg an hour’s rest in the shade, out of the hot sun. ‘Daddy Hill’ was renowned for his gentle, kindly nature; strange in a fighting soldier of unquestioned courage.

  “We have not met before, Sir Septimus, but I have heard much of you. Far more good than bad, I would add, sir!”

  “Thank you, General. I try to do my duty always, sir.”

  “There is more even to a soldier than duty, Sir Septimus. But not, perhaps, a great deal. I am sure you realise that I am here because the Count of Wherever-it-is has made a nuisance of himself.”

  “With respect, sir, I much doubt that he is capable of being anything other than an irritation to any ordinary person.”

  “He may well have hidden virtues, Sir Septimus.”

  “Then he is a master of concealment, sir!”

  Hill laughed, and made no direct response.

  “The young gentleman seems to believe that he should not be required to stir from his bed at an early time of day, Sir Septimus. He also cannot imagine that you wish him to venture into the wilderness without a proper guard to maintain his honour, and perhaps to preserve his skin.”

  “We are coming into the hot, dry season, sir. I wish my men to march their fifteen miles and do not expect them to do so under a hot sun. If the weather becomes as warm as I have been told to expect, then we shall march Indian style, sir, starting out well before dawn.”

  Daddy Hill could not find it in him to disagree. No officer should march his men in the heat of the day.

  “I have been informed, sir, that it is the Spanish habit to work early and late and take a siesta in the hot hours. I am but displaying respect for the customs of the country.”

  “Well said, Sir Septimus. One cannot conceivably disagree, and so I shall tell the gentleman. What of his escort?”

  “A full squadron of cavalry, sir? Ridiculous in the hills of Spain. I have every intention of leading my men high; water permitting, we shall be keeping to the tracks and scrubland rather than to the valley bottoms. The little I have seen of the land, both here and in the mountains leading to Corunna, tells me that horse belong to the lowlands and foot to the high in this country. I have a fighting battalion, sir, and given proper leadership I will back them against any number of Frogs; but I shall not order them into a field of battle where they are at a disadvantage. I have a duty to my men, sir!”

  “So you do, Sir Septimus. I am glad indeed to hear those words from you. I will confide in you, Sir Septimus, that more and more of our officers feel as you do. The old ways are disappearing and our captains and majors and colonels more and more understand what it is to lead men rather than simply to shout orders at them. I rather fear, though, that the old style of aristocrat cannot conceive of such a duty. The Count is one such. I shall inform him that he will go with you, obedient to command, or he shall not go at all.”

  Septimus made his thanks.

  “Not at all, Sir Septimus. I suspect the gentleman is trying to use us for his purposes, for the advancement of his royalist cause. He may well have it in mind to create an army of his own that will drive all foreigners from his land, or, even worse, which will be just powerful enough to negotiate a settlement with Marshal Soult in the south of Spain to create a neutral province which his king might return to. Lord Wellington is strong in his desire for you to exercise your judgement to ensure that the weaponry – if it actually exists – shall be put to proper use.”

  “Is there doubt of the reality of this arsenal, sir?”

  “Some. It might be the case that the Count, or his people more likely, have invented it, wishing to lure a single battalion south, away from the army, and then fall upon it, using his escort and sympathetic guerrilla bands to destroy you and create a name for himself, a reputation that will bring recruits to his colours.”

  “He may destroy my battalion, sir. I cannot guarantee not to fall to ambush, but I can promise, sir, that he will die in the process. There will be no cheap victory, that is for sure!”

  Daddy Hill shook his head in mock reproof, deploring such a thirst for blood before grinning and giving his approval.

  “You were chosen for the task in that knowledge, Sir Septimus. It has not been possible to make a reconnaissance to discover if the arsenal actually exists, but there is testimony from other officers of the Spanish army that there was such a place not more than two years ago. It seems probable that it is there. You should assume that it may exist, but if you can send some sort of scouts ahead of you when within a day’s march, that would also be sensible. There are a number of smaller guerrilla bands in the hills, any of which might be amenable to offers of powder and ball, for example.”

  “I will bear that in mind, sir. Will the Count join us tonight, do you believe, sir?”

  “Unknown, Sir Septimus. I incline to the belief that he will arrive here in late morning, expecting you to be awaiting his convenience.”

  “We march at dawn, sir.”

  “So you should, Sir Septimus. What, however, will you do for a guide?”

  “The normal, sir. I shall guess while I must and then offer food and protection to any local people hiding up in the hills. There will be a few who have successfully concealed themselves, or so I would expect, and the offer of shelter from the French may well bring them to our side.”

  Hill’s smile disappeared as he considered the sorry state of the Spanish people.

  “They say that as many as one quarter of them hav
e been butchered in some areas, Sir Septimus. And not solely by the French. The guerrilla bands have played their part; some are pro-clerical and some anti, and each has been happy to massacre followers of the other. The Royalists have slaughtered the Republicans, and vice-versa, and both have killed off any who naively hoped to be neutral and called a plague on both their houses!”

  “There may be something worse than civil war, sir, but I have yet to hear of it. I am told it was much the same in America, sir, but that was before my time.”

  Hill shook his head; he had been there and had seen sights he had far rather forget.

  “Women and children casually murdered, Sir Septimus, for their husbands and fathers supporting the wrong side. There were Redcoat commanders who encouraged the butchery, and as many of Washington’s Republicans who cheered their own men into atrocity. Not all, not even a majority, but far too many, sir!”

  Septimus knew that they would see the same again; there was nothing to say.

  “Might I offer you the hospitality of the Mess, sir?”

  “I must return to the great mass of papers demanding my attention, Sir Septimus. Every courier from Horse Guards brings a dozen letters and twice as many of new rules and regulations for us all to obey; I keep a large fire perpetually burning outside the door so that I may feed the waste paper directly into it!”

  “Excellent, sir – this is the land of the Inquisition and heretic burning, so it is only appropriate. I expect to be one week on the march, sir, for a distance of around one hundred miles. Assuming that the business can be dealt with inside a further two weeks, then where would you recommend me to march thereafter?”