Talavera

by Griff Hosker

  Talavera

  Book 6 in the Napoleonic Horseman Series

  By

  Griff Hosker

  Published by Sword Books Ltd 2019

  Copyright ©Griff Hosker First Edition

  The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  Cover by Design for Writers

  Chapter 1

  I am Major Robert Matthews. I was not born with this name. I am the illegitimate son of a French Count who had been executed during the Terror. My mother was Scottish and the daughter of an aristocrat. I did not have the opportunity to be close to my father who was a cold and distant man but I was sad when he was executed. I had joined the French Chasseurs and served in the French Army until Napoleon Bonaparte abandoned his army in Egypt. That had not been the reason I deserted. I killed a senior officer in a duel and I had had to flee. After a series of adventures and misadventures, I was offered a position in a British Regiment by an Intelligence officer, Colonel Selkirk. My skill with languages and martial skills made me a valuable asset and he used me. I rarely saw my own regiment for I had been loaned to generals such as Sir Arthur Wellesley and Sir John Moore. I was unique amongst officers. I could operate behind enemy lines. The only person in whom I could confide was my servant, Sergeant Sharp. He was a good horseman and, like me, he had skills. I would not have survived as long as I had without his assistance.

  Sergeant Sharp and I did not have long with the regiment. We had returned from Corunna in January. I had barely got to know the new troopers and officers of the regiment when the letter from the war office arrived at the barracks at the end of February. The Sergeant Major could not believe how little time I had been granted. Joe Seymour was the best soldier in the regiment, despite his white hairs, and he had seen it all before.

  “It is a time of war, Sarn’t Major. I learned much with Sir John Moore, not least the threat the French pose. I would rather be fighting them than parading here and preparing to defend England. That is for the Fencibles. We should be in Portugal. We are cavalry and the 11th is one of the finest regiments in the British Army. Perhaps I have been summoned to receive orders for the regiment.”

  “Perhaps, Major Matthews, but both of us know that it is more likely that you will be sent ahead of us. You have skills the other officers don’t.” He stroked his chin, “If they do send you then take care, eh, Major? Britain will need lads like you when this war is over.”

  “Perhaps. Have my gear stored eh, Sarn’t Major? In case I am sent on ahead.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  I had three horses. All were fine animals. Until I knew the purpose of the summons to Horse Guards, I would ride the one best suited for London, Star. My other two were valuable war horses. I had spent a long time training them. The noise and clamour of London was not for them. Sharp knew how to pack for me and he had a spare horse with our trappings and war gear. Over the last years, we had accumulated a variety of weapons. I even owned a Baker rifle. It had been frowned upon by other cavalry officers. They saw it as the weapon of a common man. I had been called that by many officers and even Sir Arthur Wellesley had thought the same. Not long before he left Spain to travel to England for the inquiry which would exonerate him, he had given me faint praise. He had told Sir John, ‘You can trust this one. He may have little breeding but he is a damned fine soldier, honest and brave.’ It was the most generous thing Sir Arthur ever said to me and I had remembered it.

  As we headed down the road, Alan Sharp asked me about the letter I had received. “Is it Colonel Selkirk again, sir?”

  Each time Colonel Selkirk was involved with us we ended up behind enemy lines risking being shot as a spy. I shrugged, “The letter was from a Colonel Williams. It said I was needed by the Army. However, this has Colonel Selkirk written all over it. We have been asked to bring spare uniforms. We are going abroad again.”

  “I thought we had been thrown out of the Peninsular, sir.”

  “No, there are still a couple of regiments in Gibraltar and Sir John Craddock has the remains of the men that landed last year at Lisbon.”

  Alan Sharp was a good soldier and he knew officers. He shook his head, “With respect, sir, Sir John Craddock is as much use as a one-legged man in an arse kicking contest. He is scared of his own shadow.”

  I smiled at Sharp’s colourful language. I allowed him to be informal when we were alone and his judgement of Sir John was not particularly harsh. He was a natural pessimist. What the army needed was a commander who was an optimist and believed that we could actually win! “Remember to keep your thoughts to yourself in Whitehall, Sergeant. There are a large number of officers who would have your stripes for such comments.”

  He smiled cheerfully, “Aye, sir, and I dare say that they would add a few stripes to my back. Don’t worry, Major Matthews, I can play the game!” We rode in silence for a while and then he asked, “Where will we be staying, sir?”

  “I am not certain yet. It may well be that we can stay at my cousin’s place. We will speak with Mr Hudson. I think I am still welcome there.”

  Sharp nodded, “Aye, sir, and it means we will have decent wine too!”

  My cousin, Cesar Alpini, lived in Sicily. Thus far he had avoided the attentions of Napoleon but there was a risk that, with his British connections, he might have to flee for his life. His English agent, Mr Hudson, kept a small house for him. It was not far from Queen Anne Square on Wells Street. Mr Hudson had a housekeeper who lived there with her husband. George had been a sailor on one of Matthew Dinsdale’s ships. An accident with a block and tackle had cost him the use of his left arm. His accident had been fortuitous and both the Alpini family and George and his wife benefitted.

  We rode first to the offices of Mr Hudson. He also acted as my agent and handled the money I received from the goods Mr Fortnum sold for me. My relationship with the Alpini family meant that I benefitted from the sale of their goods. I had helped Matthew Dinsdale to buy a second ship and I had a lucrative income. Had I chosen I could have left the army and lived the life of the idle rich. It was not in my nature. The French revolution had cost me my family, my home and any hope of a title I might have had. Until it was defeated and the monarchy restored, then I would fight. I had money and I never had to worry if I needed to make a purchase.

  David Hudson smiled broadly when he saw me. He was my agent but he was also a friend. I think he lived, vicariously, through my adventures. When I was in London, I always made a point of visiting him. We exchanged letters when we could. He knew I had been in Spain. When his clerk admitted me to his office, I saw the furtive glance as he appraised me for wounds.

  I smiled, “Do not fear, sir, I am whole. God knows that there are many who will not be.”

  He beamed, “Major, as ever, it is a joy to see you.” He nodded to Alan Sharp, “And you too, Sergeant. The world is treating you well?”

  “The world? Not that you would notice, sir. It is full of Frenchmen trying to kill me. Major Matthews, on the other hand, treats me like a gentleman. I am content, sir.”

  “Go and find Jennings, would you? Ask him for wine, bread and cheese.” As a supplier of fine foods and wines to Mr Fortnum’s establishment, not to mention half of the great houses in London, Mr Hudson had a fine larder. As Shar
p left, Mr Hudson said, “Sit, I pray you.” He put another log onto the fire. February and March might not be the coldest of winter months but they were still cold. “Is it your business which brings you here, Major, or the Army?”

  “The Army, but I will cast my eye over the books whilst I am here. I fear the war will go on too long for me to be able to buy a home but I would know how I stand in relation to the prospect of purchasing something.”

  “You have more than enough, sir. Now might be a good time. This war has bankrupted some men and made the fortunes of others.” He smiled and spread a hand, “At the moment, I am one of the latter as are you. There are estates which belonged to lords and merchants. You have more than enough for one.”

  Jennings and Sharp came in with two laden trays. I waited until the wine was poured and we had been cut bread, ham and cheese. This did not feel like England. This was Sicily! The bread was thickly cut and the ham was slightly spiced. They had good ham in Sicily. I could tell that this was from a wild boar. Mr Hudson had good taste. I washed the food down with the rich red Sicilian wine. It was an Alpini wine. I procured it for the mess. The Alpini family was my family. Until I had washed up in Sicily, I had known little about them. I smiled at the memory of my meeting with the Knight of St John on Malta. That meeting had changed my life.

  “Then I shall heed your advice about land. If you would be good enough to keep your eyes open for a property. At the moment it is just myself and Sergeant Sharp, but who knows what the future holds?”

  Mr Hudson smiled, “Major Matthews, you are a fine young man. There will be many fathers seeking a match for their daughters. With your money, your title and your looks there will be many queuing up for an invitation. Now that you are in London and society you will have many calls upon your time and company.” He smiled, “As I say, your situation may change. I will enjoy this challenge. You would like a house with land, would you not? Horses and the like?”

  I had not thought about it but he was right. My best horse, Badger, was with the regiment. The stable master would care for him and I did not think I would ride him to war again. I would like him to enjoy retirement. “A good idea, Mr Hudson, but nothing too grand, eh? I am a simple man.”

  “Leave it with me.”

  “And, while we are in London, we would like to use the house in Wells Street if that is agreeable to you. I know not how long we will be in London. The letter just asked us to present ourselves to the Military Secretary at the war office.”

  “St Margaret’s Street?”

  “I believe so.”

  Mr Hudson nodded, “They are the newer buildings. Some of the older ones are decidedly damp and full of rats.” He laughed, “And I don’t just mean the politicians!” We laughed too. The corruption in Parliament was well known. As soldiers, we had suffered from it when suppliers who had bribed politicians to secure contracts delivered rotten food and sub-standard equipment. Sir John Moore had been one of the first to stand against such practices. “And as for Wells Street, of course, George and his wife enjoy playing host. How long will you be in London?”

  “As I said, that is out of my hands, Mr Hudson. It will depend upon my meeting.”

  He waved an airy hand, “No matter. It will give me time to have my clerks prepare a detailed account of your finances. Your investments have done well.” He beamed, “I benefit almost as much as you do, Major.” As an agent, he earned a percentage of the profits I made.

  We chatted, inconsequentially, about London and the changes the war with Napoleon had wrought and then Sergeant Sharp and I headed for Wells Street.

  It was dark when we arrived and I felt guilty having tarried so long at Mr Hudson’s. Poor George and his wife, Mary, had to race around airing beds and lighting fires. They asked if we wished to have hot food. We declined and, instead, Sergeant Sharp and I headed for the inns and taverns of Oxford Street. This was not the most salubrious part of London. Criminals heading for Tyburn and execution were brought down the thoroughfare and it was filled with low alehouses. Bystanders would spend the morning drinking and then when the poor souls to be executed were brought along the street they would follow, heckling and jeering. They seemed to enjoy the spectacle of men being hanged. It had been the same in Paris during the Terror. The poor from St Giles’ Rookery would flock to watch. The Rookery was a tangle of tenements and the homes of the lowest in society. Sometimes they slept eight or ten to a room! Both Alan and I were armed and I did not fear those we might meet. The food would be plain and wholesome and the ale drinkable. The poor liked their ale!

  We approached the Lion and the Lamb. I had never heard of it but it faced the road and looked to be clean. I did not mind rough but I would not go somewhere which was lice and flea ridden. As we ducked beneath the low lintel, we entered a dingy and poorly lit room. I would have turned and left had I not seen the welcoming fire and then I saw a familiar face. “Jenkins!”

  The one-armed ex-soldier had been at Vimeiro. Jenkins was a rifleman. There was no higher praise than that. He stood and tried to salute with his stump.

  I seated myself next to him, “None of that, Jenkins! You survived then?”

  “Aye, sir. It was a good sawbones and he took the arm off clean, like, sir. I was luckier than most.”

  I observed that he had just a gill of beer and an empty plate. He looked thin and emaciated. The entrance of an officer and a sergeant had caused some alarm. Some men thought that we were conscripting. I spied the landlord surreptitiously reach down below the bar. It would be for a club. I smiled. We had handled worse. I nodded towards the bar. “What is the food like, Jenkins?”

  “Decent enough for the like of us, sir, but not for an officer like you.”

  “I will be the judge of that. What would you recommend?”

  “The beef and oyster pie is tasty enough and I know the oysters are fresh, I helped to carry them.” He gave me a wan smile, “Paid for the ale and a scrap of stale bread.”

  I nodded to Sharp as I rose. He would watch my back. As I neared the bar, through the fug of smoke from pipes and a smoky fire, I smiled and took out my purse. It jingled for it was full. I had had back pay. “Good evening, landlord. I am Major Matthews of the 11th Light Dragoons.” I saw that his hands were hidden and he had a furtive look on his face. “You can take your hands from the club you are fingering. We are not here for conscripts, we are here to enjoy your beef and oyster pie.”

  He smiled and put his hands back on the bar. His relief was obvious. “Sorry, sir, can’t be too careful. We lost lads from around here in Portugal. There is some bad feeling. Would that be two pies then, sir?”

  “No, three. I have a guest. And three pints of your best bitter.” He nodded. “And don’t try to fob me off with watered down slops. I may be an officer but I know ale.” I fixed him with a steely stare. It had worked in the Chasseurs and the Light Dragoons. The landlord was no fool. He nodded.

  There was, however, one fool. As I went to put the purse away with my left hand, a young lad of nineteen or twenty took what he saw as his chance to become rich. He had a dagger and he lunged towards me. His intent was clear. He thought to hack at the hand which held the purse and, when I dropped it, take it and run. I allowed his dagger to whip towards me and, as I drew back my left hand, I punched him hard in the side of the head with my right. I had learned to fight in the Chasseurs. The light went from his eyes and he crumpled to the floor.

  I looked around, “Does he belong to anyone?” I saw two older men, not much older but older than the youth; they looked guilty. I pointed to the prostrate figure. “Take him and leave.” They leaned over to pick him up. I patted my sword with my right hand, “And if I even smell you when I leave, I shall use this sword and, believe me, I know how to use a sword.”

  They nodded, “Sorry, sir. He is young and daft, sir.”

  As I neared the table, I saw that Alan had a brace of pistols on the table. Ex-rifleman Jenkins shook his head, “Sorry about that, sir. Local thugs.”

&n
bsp; “Not your fault. Do you live locally?”

  “Aye, sir. I lodge in St. Giles Rookery. Ten of us in a room. Most are either matelots or soldiers. We get on and look after each other.” I nodded, He went on, “I miss the army. At least we were fed and had respect. Most of the folk who live in London cross the street when they see an old soldier. They think we are all beggars and thieves. They forget that we were fighting for them.”

  “I know, I know.”

  The food and ale arrived. I saw that we had a full measure of ale and the food filled the large metal platter. The landlord and serving girl looked at me nervously. “I am sorry about Dick, sir. I should have barred him.”

  I nodded, “My friend here tells me that you have good food and good ale. You could attract a better clientele. You don’t need to pander to such customers. I am here for a few days. If your food is up to muster you will see me again. If I choose then I can spread the word. It is your choice, landlord.”

  “Thank you, sir. That is very fair.”

  I saw Jenkins salivating. “Go on Jenkins, dig in. My treat.”

  “If you are sure, sir.”

  I nodded and he wolfed down the food. I do not think he had had a decent meal in a long time. The pie was a delicious one. The gravy and the bread were also good. I did not feel like a pudding but I thought Jenkins did. As the platters were taken away and the next round of drinks brought, I said, “Do you do a pudding, landlord?”

  He grinned, “Aye sir, the wife does a lovely spotted dick and custard.”

  “Then bring three and we shall have three pipes, too.” Alan looked at me in surprise. We rarely smoked a pipe. I shrugged and he nodded. Alan and I paid lip service to the pudding. It was all that the landlord had said but I had had enough with the pie and bread. Jenkins finished his and then looked at ours. “Finish ours off too, if you wish, Jenkins.”

  He did so with relish and we had another ale. He looked better already. “Well sir, you have fed me and given me ale.” He held up his pipe, “And given me a pipe. “What would you have of me?”