Daddy Hill was neither shocked nor disgusted, but he was much saddened, both to hear of the Prince’s difficulty – poor fellow – and to imagine that it might affect the conduct of public business.
“What are we to do for the best, my Lord?”
“Inform Horse Guards that we have been told a most shocking rumour by our Spanish allies. Several different guerrilleros have told us of the French perfidy; it is believed that the Count of Whosis and Whatsis – I am damned if I can remember just what he was, someone on the staff will know – was murdered by the French in carefully arranged circumstances that allow them to cast false blame upon that noted soldier, Sir Septimus Pearce. We may point out that Bonaparte has had no hesitation in engaging in murder in the past – the Duc d’Enghien an obvious example. It may be wise, for Sir Septimus’ own protection, to order him to London, to give him leave of absence for a while and then to send him overseas to a command elsewhere.”
Daddy Hill thought for a few seconds; not being himself a devious man, he was forced to consider all the aspects of Lord Wellington’s proposal in detail.
“Ah… I see, sir. Should it be no more than a French plot, then Sir Septimus is protected from its consequences, and is removed from Spain where there might be bad feeling against him. Should Horse Guards decide that he is culpable, then you have sent him home, thus demonstrating that you have no tolerance for his actions. Whichever way it goes, the Army in Spain is protected from the consequences.”
Lord Wellington looked, and felt, uncomfortable; his ploy seemed just a little dishonourable when laid out in plain English.
“Well… exactly so, in fact, General Hill. That is to give the word without the bark on it, but we cannot afford to offend the guerrillas – we need them. They tie down not less than one third of the French army by their unceasing attacks upon their lines of communications. If I must sacrifice the best of my soldiers, then so be it, but I must not lose the guerrilla bands. If Mina in Navarre, for example, was to stay at home for a month, then the French would put fifty thousand more men into the field against us. I need him more than I need any single colonel.”
“With your permission, my Lord, I would wish to make my way to Lisbon, so as to talk with Sir Septimus myself and explain all to him. I could also extend your personal desire that he might be protected in his career in the Army.”
“Of course, sir. Of course! I must recommend him most strongly for future employment.”
“But not in Spain.”
The Hampshires took the march to Lisbon in slow time, never exceeding their fifteen miles a day and occasionally sitting in camp for an extended rest rather than marching at all. The men had been worked hard and had done well in trying circumstances, in Septimus’ opinion; a little cossetting would do them good while there was no particular reason to hurry.
“I suspect, Major Perceval, that we shall be intercepted at some point on the road, once we are following the Tagus to the sea, by a set of orders turning us around and sending us to join the Army somewhere in the north. No doubt there will be a demand that we should reach our destination immediately, if not sooner, and so we shall take things quietly while we may. Nothing wears the men out more than unbroken marching, so we should rest them now.”
“Bad roads and worse boots, sir – not a good mixture for the men.”
“Exactly, Major Perceval; I could not have expressed the problem better.
The orders when they came were a surprise, Septimus ordered to report to the offices of the General Commanding in Lisbon at his earliest convenience while the battalion marched normally.
“How far distant are we from Lisbon, sir?”
The lieutenant who had brought the despatch was unsure in terms of miles, but said that he had been two days on the road, setting out in mid-morning.
“You will ride faster than me, sir. My charger has been hard-worked in late weeks and will wish to be handled easily. Assure your senior that I shall be available on the third morning from now. Is it still General Cookson-Waring?”
“It is, sir, but I believe that Lieutenant-General Hill is the author of these commands.”
“Always a pleasure to be commanded by that gentleman, sir. A most remarkable soldier!”
“He is indeed, sir.”
The lieutenant turned his horse and ordered his escort back on the road rather abruptly; Septimus would have expected him to stay for a meal at least.
“Not the most talkative of gentlemen, Major Perceval.”
“Quite the opposite, sir. Might it be as well to accelerate your progress, sir?”
“To hurry? No. If I have fallen into error, then I will gain nothing from hearing my fate a day earlier. Cooper!”
Septimus gave instructions for all of his possessions to be put on the mules, nothing to be left behind.
“A minor nuisance, if all is well, Major Perceval. A great convenience if I am in disgrace and stripped of my command. You have the battalion, Major Perceval; in the event that I do not return I shall know that it is in good hands. Purchase, if at all possible, sir. You will be a very good colonel, that I do not doubt.”
The word spread, the grapevine informing the least private soldier that Stroppy Seppy was up to his neck in it again, having trodden on some general’s toes, no doubt. Percy-boy was to take over, and he was almost as good as Seppy for finding a fight and winning it, so that was no great worry.
It would have been wrong to cheer or make a farewell, but a surprising number of men managed to be in a place to give a salute as Septimus rode out.
“They all know, Cooper!”
“Out of course, sir. Every one of them knows what’s going on. So they should. Every batman will have given his officer the griff by now, sir. The colonel is gone, sir, but the new man is here, so all is well. The only time there’s a problem is if the colonel goes and there ain’t a bloke to replace him because they been sacked as well. Never known it meself, but I heard of it once or twice. Had to take the battalion out of the line for a year to get it back together again.”
“Won’t happen to us, anyway, Cooper. Major Perceval can do the job.”
“They’ll take the battalion into the line, sir. Attach it to the army for a year or two to make sure all’s well. Easier work for the colonel, just having to fight in battles and not having to make any decisions himself, for the general doing it all for him.”
And that, Septimus suspected was that – the Hampshires would see him no more and it would make very little difference to them.
He reflected that it was a good system and not a bad army that could react in such a way – the institution to a great extent bigger than any man in it. It made him feel just a little insignificant, however.
Man of Conflict Series
BOOK FIVE
Chapter Six
Septimus walked his charger quietly through the wide streets of Lisbon, wrinkling his nose against the smell, worse in the dry weather of summer. He found the offices of the General Commanding and discovered the Town Major, the unfortunate gentleman who was responsible, among many other duties, for billeting all troops passing through.
It was the rule that Town Majors were harassed, irascible and generally incompetent; they were seconded from their battalions to assist the General, and in the nature of things tended to be the officers their colonel would miss least. If they were not drunks then they were likely to be idle, ill-tempered and quite probably stupid. This man was an exception, General Cookson-Waring probably having demanded a useful captain to be brevetted to perform the role; Lisbon was too important a city to be abused by an idiot.
The Town-Major was well into middle-age and possibly was no longer fit for service in all weathers in the field; be that as it may, he was efficient.
“Colonel Sir Septimus Pearce together with servants – ideally no more than six, sir?”
“Five, in fact, sir. Together with horses, of course.”
“Naturally, Sir Septimus. I am instructed that you will remain in L
isbon for a relatively short period, not being attached to the garrison here. Such being the case, I have assigned you rooms in quarters that are probably familiar to you, immediately opposite to General Cookson-Waring’s offices. Your servants are also to be accommodated there. There are stables. You will wish to dine in the General’s Mess, Sir Septimus, or so I am informed.”
On public display, not tucked away out of sight. That was heartening news; whatever he had done, or been caught out in, was not seen as of court-martial quality.
“Thank you, sir. I shall walk across now, sir, and settle in. I believe I am to report to General Hill?”
“I have a note for you, Sir Septimus.”
Septimus glanced at the brief, noncommittal lines; he was to report to the general on the following morning.
“Interesting!”
“Just so, sir.”
Septimus entered the mess and greeted old acquaintances there, noting the few who shied away from him and no doubt would not wish to play piquet again. Not to worry, there might well be some who wanted their revenge and who had still to discover that strong drink and gambling were unwise bedfellows.
The food had improved in quality but the drinking was still hard and the gambling even fiercer; there were, Septimus discovered, a number of officers who had recently come out to fill vacancies in regiments in the field and who were remaining a while pending a convoy to the army. They could have travelled separately, but they were very green in almost all cases and needed their hands held in a foreign land. Being very junior and wholly inexperienced they found the need to swagger and brag and act like mature men, or so they supposed. The bold soldier was a hard man, so they knew, who gambled as if there were no tomorrow and drank as if to forget today. Their schools had much to answer for.
Septimus located the General and had a few words with him, as was only courtesy.
“You have found a new chef, sir! An excellent meal, I thought.”
“Discovered him in one of the hotels, Sir Septimus, and offered to double his wage and take him back to London with me. Well worth the money!”
“I agree, sir. I have several times been tempted to find a man myself to bring back to the estate for later years.”
“I will speak to my man, if you wish, Sir Septimus. I am sure he would know another in his trade whom he could recommend.”
Septimus closed on the offer – he liked the idea of a chef in his house. The neighbourhood would flock to his dinners, and that must be to the benefit of the family.
“Will you patronise the card tables tonight, Sir Septimus?”
“I am more inclined to sleep in a bed tonight, sir. I have been many weeks on a camp cot and could enjoy a feather mattress!”
“Stay for an hour or two, Sir Septimus. There are a number of very green young men here who would benefit from observing the conduct of a real soldier. Many of them will know your name, of course. General Picton named you in his report to Lord Wellington after Fuentes de Onoro, and the mention reached Horse Guards, and the newssheets!”
“Oh, dear! I shall have my ear well battered when next I see my wife! I wrote her that the battalion had played an insignificant role in the battle, concerned only to hold its ground.”
“Well, Sir Septimus – that has elements of truth to it, after all…”
“Another visit to the jewellers, General! There will be no alternative!”
“All the more reason to play cards, Sir Septimus!”
Septimus did his best to avoid the company of the drunks, settling to play with a major on the general’s staff, enjoying quiet conversation and copper stakes. Inevitably, a rubber completed, he was challenged by one of the young men, who believed that he would be able to provide Sir Septimus with better opposition. It was impossible to refuse without giving offence, the young gentleman showing very ready to raise his hackles.
The boy lieutenant played a wild, risk-taking game and enjoyed occasional successes when he picked up the cards he wanted; Septimus played the odds, cautious and defending whenever possible. Half an hour showed Septimus just two shillings up, and perfectly satisfied to end the contest and go to bed.
“I am rather tired, Mr Carruthers. I have been working on the borders these past few weeks and am looking forward to sleeping in a bed tonight. I suspect I am growing too ancient for the rigours of the field!”
“Another rubber, Sir Septimus! You must give me my revenge! Proper stakes as well, sir, if it is to be the last. A shilling on the point and five guineas on the rubber!”
The stakes were higher, but would be unlikely to result in more than ten guineas changing hands. Carruthers was dressed richly – real gold and best cloths – he could afford the loss and the win would mean nothing to him. There could be no harm in one more rubber.
Septimus played a wilder game, preferring to rise from the table as a loser; every chance he took showed good, piques, repiques and capots all coming to him and not a hand lost. He ended up collecting fifteen guineas, much to his annoyance.
“You judge your risks well, Sir Septimus! Small wonder you have a name, sir!”
“Luck played a great part, Mr Carruthers! Thank you for the game! Good night, sir.”
By the morning Carruthers had convinced himself that Septimus was right – he had been lucky, no more. A rematch must surely reverse the turn of fortune.
“Unbelievable, Cooper. I played to lose, would you believe?”
Cooper laughed and counted the gold pieces, stacking them neatly on the dresser.
“Full dress in the morning, sir?”
“No. Best campaigning dress, I think. Full dress is for courts-martial and reviews – not for meeting Daddy Hill informally.”
Less formal or not, Cooper turned him out smart in the morning, bright scarlet and gleaming gold and leather reflecting the sunlight.
“Dress sword, sir – not the hanger. Official pattern, sir?”
“That is the only dress sword I possess, Cooper, is it not… what have you done now?”
Cooper produced the Count’s sword, dripping with gemstones and useless as a weapon.
“Tell me, Cooper, would it be precisely tactful of me to wear this in Daddy Hill’s presence, particularly when my dealings with the Count may well constitute the bulk of the morning’s business?”
“It’s a pretty sword, sir.”
“The count was a pretty sort of chap. I ain’t!”
“Maybe not, sir. Go down to the waterfront, shall I, sir? Talk to that jeweller bloke again?”
“Do that, Cooper. Tell him that I was much impressed by the rubies he came up with last time.”
“Right, sir. Get rid of the signet ring as well, shall I? It’s one of them intaglio things, sir, with a coat of arms on it. Won’t fetch much – too easy to see who owned it.”
“Throw it in the sea if he won’t take it, Cooper. That could hang the pair of us!”
“Nah! No fear there, sir. Too much stuff doing the rounds in Lisbon for another ring to be noticed!”
General Hill was his normal, kindly, warm-hearted self; it was almost impossible not to be won over by his gentle nature. Septimus wondered again just how so amiable a man could be a soldier – how could he live with sending men to die in battle, or signing a warrant for the execution of a condemned criminal? However he reconciled character and duty, he was a fine soldier, respected by all except the shirkers and the back-stabbers.
“Sir Septimus, so good to see you again! Do sit down, sir!”
Hill enquired of Septimus’ health; had he fully recovered from the blow to his head, so dangerous a wound potentially!
“I am well now, sir. The headaches plagued me for a while, but they have cleared now. I suspect that campaigning out in the fresh air did no end of good!”
“Ah! I do not doubt that you are right, Sir Septimus! I have wondered often at the logic of sending ill men to the atmosphere of Lisbon – the miasmas, you know.”
“I had not considered that, sir, but you may well have a
very sensible point of view there. Lisbon is hardly fit for the healthy to dwell in!”
“True – but not perhaps to be said in public, Sir Septimus. Now, sir, we have a problem to solve, and need to do so in a manner that is openly, overtly, honest and fair to you. To keep the matter simple, sir, the French are accusing you of the murder of this damned Count. They say that you took him into the wilderness and killed him off, probably at Lord Wellington’s command, you being known as a follower of my lord’s. Most of the Spanish guerrilleros disbelieve the rumour – knowing the French of old. A few might be upset by your presence, however. You will certainly be a target for the French if you remain in Spain – I understand that there is a price on your head.”
“Is there really? What am I worth, sir?”
“A lot, Sir Septimus, but the guerrilleros do not trust the French to pay up, so they will not go treasure-hunting!”
“You say ‘if I remain in Spain’, sir. Am I to go?”
“That will be best, Sir Septimus, for you and for the Army in Spain.”
“My battalion to stay, I presume, sir?”
“They are, Sir Septimus. Far too valuable a regiment to lose their services. The Hampshires have been made into one of the best battalions to hand, sir.”
“There are some very good men among them, sir.”
“Men are often what their commanders make them, Sir Septimus!”
Spanish Tricks (Man of Conflict Series, Book 5) Page 14
