by Lynn Bryant
"Possibly. Are you remaining in the city tonight?"
"Yes, sir, we've got quarters in one of the old colleges, but my officers will be up at dawn to ride out to camp and make sure the men are ready to march."
Wellington took Anne's hand and kissed it, then looked at Paul.
"I see no reason for them to take so much trouble, Colonel," he said smoothly. "I imagine if they simply walk up to the city gate, they will be able to catch most of them on their way back from their excesses in the brothels and taverns of Salamanca. Good night, ma'am."
Chapter Two
The small party of officers ran into the first sentries during the late afternoon, their first indication that they were close to the British army. By that time they had been riding since early morning under a fierce heat and despite several stops to water and rest the horses, all four of them were tired, riding at walking pace and with little conversation.
It was a relief to be challenged by a stocky corporal in a red coat with silver grey facings who stepped forward leaving his three comrades relaxing in the shade of a small cork oak plantation.
"Who goes there, sir?"
"Officers of the British army, damn your hide!" Captain Vane snapped and Lieutenant Witham glanced across at Lieutenant Carlyon and rolled his eyes. Ensign Anderson, who was very young and unsure carefully did not look at either of them. On the long journey north from Lisbon, Witham had formed a bond with Carlyon, based almost entirely on their mutual dislike of Captain Vane. The man was rude, arrogant and unpleasant to be around and Witham felt sorry for Anderson who was new to the service and was going to have to serve with Vane in the 117th. Both Witham and Carlyon were from the 115th North Yorkshire, Carlyon fresh from service with the second battalion in India and Witham transferred in for promotion after a spell at the Cape of Good Hope. They had met on the transport from England and had swapped battle stories around the fire during their trip. Vane had joined in with enthusiasm. He was older than both of them, formerly with the 87th and had fought in Portugal and Spain before. Witham personally wondered about some of the stories. If Vane had been half as heroic and daring as his tales suggested, he should have been at least a Major by now.
The corporal saluted with a smartness that was almost ludicrous. "Yes, sir. Begging your pardon, I'd guessed that you were officers. But it's my job to ask which officers and where you're bound. Army's spread out a bit, you'll need directions."
The other three men had got to their feet and were walking forward. One of them, a long-limbed man in his thirties with a good-natured expression, wore a sergeant-major's stripes on his coat. As they approached, Captain Vane lifted his riding crop and slashed at the corporal. Witham flinched; he had seen Vane do it before. Carlyon gave an exclamation of protest, but it was unnecessary; the corporal moved with unbelievable speed and the crop slashed across the arm he had raised to protect his face. Vane stared in disbelief.
"You impudent, bastard!" he said slowly. "Put down your arm and stand still."
The corporal lowered his arm. Carlyon said:
"Sir, there's no need, he's only doing his job."
"Mind your own business, Mr Carlyon," Vane said softly. "Move a bit closer, Corporal. I don't want to have to stretch my arm too much."
The corporal remained where he was, his expression impassive. Vane raised his arm high.
"Corporal Cooper, step back, would you?" the sergeant-major said clearly. "Don't want to get in the way of the officer."
Witham caught his breath. The tall sergeant-major was coming forward, his pleasant expression gone. Without any sign of hesitation, he put his hand on Cooper's arm and moved him back out of range of Vane's crop, stepping between his corporal and the captain.
Vane's face was scarlet with anger. "How dare you? I'm going to have the skin off your back and those stripes off your arm for this, you piece of scum. What's your name?"
"Sergeant-Major Carter, sir, 110th light infantry. I serve under Colonel van Daan; best take your complaint to him."
Vane had lowered his arm. He looked, for the first time since Witham had met him, slightly uncertain. "Van Daan. Don't know him, but if you're an example of the men he commands, it's a bloody disgrace."
"You can tell him that in person, sir, I'll give you directions," Carter said impassively. "My apologies if I seemed rude, it's just that it's against army regulations for an officer to beat the men and I wouldn't want you to get into trouble. Probably best if you take your complaints to Colonel van Daan and see if he feels it warrants a charge."
Witham realised he was not breathing at all. There was a very long moment of silence. Vane did not seem able to speak. Finally he did so, and the words came out on a hiss of sheer fury.
"I shall remember your name, Carter, and your face. You'll slip up sooner or later and I will have the hide off you."
"Very good, sir," Carter said. His expression was a study in indifference and Witham struggled not to laugh aloud. "Might I ask which regiment you're searching for?"
Witham decided it was time to intervene. "This is Captain Vane, Sergeant-Major and Ensign Anderson, both for the 117th. Mr Carlyon and I are looking for the 115th."
"Very good, sir. The 117th are with the sixth division, they're with the main army at Medina del Campo, it's about six miles south-east of here. The 115th are serving with the light division up at Rueda; it's also where Lord Wellington has established headquarters. It's only a mile or so from here. Our relief pickets are on their way down, if you can wait a short time I can show you the way up." Carter looked at Vane. "Captain Vane, it's entirely up to you, sir, but you could come up with us and find a billet for the night, set out tomorrow to join your regiment."
"Thank you, Sergeant-Major" Witham said appreciatively. "It's been a long trip."
"It is, sir. Why don't you come through here, there's a stream beyond the trees, it's a bit low but you can water the horses and cool off a bit."
It was pleasantly shady in the small copse and the stream ran clear and clean. Witham watered his horse and tethered him to a tree while Carlyon and Vane's grooms did the same. Witham had brought no servant with him, having grown accustomed to managing his own kit and his horse with occasional help from one of the men of his company.
Witham had gained the impression during his conversations with Simon Carlyon, that his fellow officer was from a similar background to himself. Witham's family, like Carlyon's, were small landowners from old county families, Carlyon's from Yorkshire and Witham's from Sussex but unlike Carlyon, Witham was a younger son with two sisters who would require dowries in the future and he refused to ask his brother for any more financial help than was strictly necessary. He had found, during the journey, that his new acquaintance was more than willing to share the services of the taciturn, middle aged Reynolds and Witham had appreciated it, but he did not wish to presume too much.
With the horses tethered, Witham joined Carlyon who was stretched out on the dry, sparse grass by the river bank.
"Bloody dry here," Carlyon said. "Not good country for cavalry when the supply line fails."
"No," Witham agreed. "I'm glad we're close by, I'd rather not ride another six miles in the morning. Poor Anderson."
"Especially since he's got to ride those six miles with Captain Vane, and without the leavening joy of our society," Carlyon said and they both laughed.
They sat quietly for a while, listening to the gentle rush of the water over stones. Behind them, the men were talking, with an occasional burst of laughter, and further away, Witham could hear the aggressively loud tones of Captain Vane, complaining to Ensign Anderson. Witham glanced at his companion, who was aimlessly throwing pebbles into the water.
Witham had been conscious over the past couple of days that Carlyon's cheerful banter had seemed a little forced as they drew closer to their destination. Witham did not think his companion was worried about going into battle; Carlyon had fought for some years in India and had more actual battle experience than Witham. He might
, however, be slightly nervous about the transition to light infantry, which was new to both of them.
The 115th had always been a traditional line regiment. It was one of the newer regiments, raised during the long years of the war against France and had a chequered history. There were currently two battalions, one of which was in Spain and the other in India. Witham had been commissioned an ensign with the 120th four years earlier. His first campaign had been the horror of Walcheren and he had then been sent to Cape Town, but he had applied, as soon as he could afford it, for a transfer to a regiment fighting in Europe. The 115th had been cheap and Witham was not wealthy. He had been surprised and delighted to be informed on arrival in Lisbon, that the 115th was now part of the third brigade of the light division and that he and Carlyon would receive training in the field to fight as light infantry.
Witham had spent the journey alternately studying Spanish and devouring several second hand training manuals which he had picked up cheaply in Lisbon where the personal effects of officers killed in action were often auctioned off. He found the subject absorbing and could not wait to see how the theory worked in the field. Carlyon had seemed taken aback by the change initially, but during the journey he had borrowed Witham's books and they had spent hours discussing the various drills and manoeuvres and speculating on their new battalion, which had apparently suffered appalling losses in the bloody storming of Badajoz, including that of Major Stead, the battalion commander. Witham had thought his companion as enthusiastic as he was about learning new skills, but Carlyon's endless flow of conversation seemed to have abruptly dried up.
"Are you all right?" Witham asked, slightly awkwardly. They had never discussed personal matters and he was not sure how to begin.
Carlyon looked startled. "Sorry? Oh - yes, of course."
He did not sound it. Witham studied him for a few moments to see if he would say more. He was trying to decide if their friendship had reached the point yet where he could push beyond Simon's polite denial.
"You don't seem it," Witham said finally. "Look, old chap, it's none of my damned business, I know. But something's bothering you. If you want to talk, I'm here."
Simon Carlyon turned to look at him and gave a somewhat forced smile. "You might wish you'd not asked," he said.
"I won't. It can't be bad news from home, we've not had mail. What is it, Simon?"
The other man sat up from his lounging pose and took a deep breath. "I'd rather not tell you, but I'm going to have to. I should have told you about it before, there's no way to keep it quiet. I believe it was quite the scandal at the time."
"Scandal?" Witham said, bewildered. He had been expecting another polite denial and was somewhat surprised at his companion's sudden willingness to confide.
"Yes. And if I don't tell you, somebody else will. I'd rather you heard it from me," Carlyon said. He sounded depressed and it bothered Witham. "It happened just after I joined. My older brother was in the regiment but moved on to the quartermasters' department and came out to Portugal in 1809 with Wellington – Wellesley as he was then. He brought a young wife with him."
Witham was surprised. "I didn't know you'd a brother in the service," he said.
"I don't, he's dead. He was killed a couple of years ago and we don't really talk about him. He married not long after I joined, a local girl. She's about the same age as me so I knew her better than Robert when we were young - hunting and tea parties and such like. After that, of course, I was away at school a lot and then I joined up. I remember her very well, though. When I heard Robert had married her I remember thinking how lucky he was. Her father was wealthy, a local textile manufacturer, it must have been a good dowry. But she was so beautiful."
"Was?" Witham asked.
"Probably still is, she can't be more than twenty two or three." Carlyon gave a painful smile. "Robert did all right, earned a promotion to captain. But I'm not sure the marriage went all that well. My father always said he'd married her just for the money, he didn't entirely approve. Robert was like that; always wanting more. My father has a good little estate and was the local MP for years. Enough for a respectable income. We were all shocked when Robert chose the army; he didn't need to. But he wanted fame and fortune. It didn't come quickly enough and I think he saw Anne Howard as a comfortable living. Maybe she resented that. We heard all sorts of rumours, but in the end he was charged as a thief and a deserter, he'd run off with money from the army pay chest. There was a warrant out for his arrest, it broke my mother's heart. And then we were told he'd died – shot while attacking his wife, by another officer."
"Oh Christ, Carlyon, I am sorry," Witham said, appalled. "Bloody awful for your family"
"It was. My father wanted me to sell out. He said I'd never get anywhere with Robert's reputation following me around. But it wasn't so bad, a lot of people don't make the connection, and I liked the army, I didn't want to leave. I served time in India and then was offered promotion to lieutenant in the first battalion. I thought I'd be all right, even out here." Carlyon gave a painful smile. "It was almost a point of pride for me, that I could live it down. Some stupid idea about restoring the family honour, I suppose. I was an idiot, but it might have worked. And then when we arrived in Lisbon, I heard where we were serving."
"Why does that make a difference?" Witham asked.
"Because she remarried. Very quickly." There was bitterness in Carlyon's voice. "He's now the commander of the third brigade of the light division and that's where we're serving, Nick. And I'm fairly sure my former sister-in-law isn't going to want me in her husband's brigade. So I'm rather wondering, if I'm about to be transferred somewhere else or sent home on half pay."
"Surely she can't do that," Witham said. He felt a rush of indignation on behalf of his friend. "It's nothing to do with you, what your brother did, and it sounds as though she wasn't entirely innocent."
"Perhaps not, I don't know enough about it. But it's more complicated than that; the man who shot him is very senior in the brigade. I'm not naive, Nick, I'm on my way out. I just don't know where."
Witham could think of nothing to say. "I'm sorry, Simon," he managed eventually. "It's so bloody unfair."
"It's army politics, old man. We both know how it works."
Carlyon's revelations cast a slight gloom over Witham and he was glad when the sound of marching feet heralded the arrival of the new pickets. Sergeant-Major Carter went to meet them and Carlyon and Witham rose, brushed off their dusty trousers and went through the trees to find half a dozen men in the same uniform and an officer on horseback. Sergeant -Major Carter appeared to be explaining the new arrivals. When he had done, he saluted and went to speak to the new pickets, giving them instructions and the officer walked his horse to where the four new arrivals waited.
He was a pleasant faced man, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, with mid brown hair neatly tied back and a pair of shrewd green eyes. A major's insignia adorned a coat which had seen considerably better days. Both coat and trousers were patched and stained and it made Witham acutely conscious of his very new uniform; he felt like a greenhorn next to the major's battle stained garments. He saluted and was aware that the other officers had moved forward, doing the same. The major returned the salute.
"Welcome to Spain, gentlemen. You must be exhausted, travelling in this heat. Major Carl Swanson, first battalion, 110th. I've been riding the lines, checking all the pickets are behaving themselves, but I'll ride back up to the village with you."
Witham was surprised; picket duty was the province of junior officers, with a captain in overall charge. Something must have shown in his expression because Major Swanson grinned.
"It isn't my job, but it's a good excuse to exercise this lad and besides, every now and then I like to surprise them with a visit, it keeps them awake. Names?"
"Nicholas Witham, sir, and this is Simon Carlyon. Both for the second company."
"Welcome to the light division, gentlemen. Mount up while I speak to the
se officers and then we'll have a chat on the way and I'll tell you what's been going on."
Witham and Carlyon obeyed and Major Swanson rode over to Vane and Anderson. Witham saw him talking quietly with them for a few minutes, then he turned his horse.
"Major Swanson," Vane said loudly, and Carlyon looked at Witham.
"Oh, no."
"If he makes up some shit to get that NCO into trouble, I am telling the truth, Simon, I'm bloody sick of him," Witham said very quietly.
"I'm with you," Carlyon said. They watched as the major turned his mount back and looked enquiringly at Captain Vane. Vane stepped forward.
"I have a complaint to make, sir, and a serious one. About that NCO - Carter, is it?"
"Sergeant-Major Carter?" Major Swanson enquired politely.
"If that's what he is," Vane said contemptuously.
"Oh, I'm fairly sure that's what he is, Captain," the major said cordially. "What's the problem?"
"He was insolent. Spoke to me disrespectfully and interfered with discipline. The man is a disgrace, he should be flogged and demoted. I was shocked; no NCO of mine would speak to me that way."
The major looked over at Carter. "Is that true, Sergeant-Major?"
"No idea, sir, I never met any of Captain Vane's NCOs," Carter said, straight-faced.
"Don't get bloody clever with me, Sergeant-Major, I have not had my dinner yet," the major said. "Did you actually do anything?"
"Not intentionally, sir. Bit of a mix up."
"Right. Apologise to Captain Vane for confusing him."
Carter looked over at Vane, and Witham recognised, with dawning delight, that Major Swanson required no explanation and was completely uninterested in Vane's complaint.
"Sorry you became confused, Captain," Carter said warmly. "Sincerely didn't intend it to happen, I'll try to be much clearer in future."
Vane looked nonplussed and Witham did not blame him. Carlyon was leaning forward, pretending to adjust his bridle to hide his laughter.
"Captain Vane. Accept Sergeant Carter's apology."