An Untrustworthy Army

by Lynn Bryant

  Vane looked as though he would have liked to argue, but something in the young major's steady gaze seemed to prevent it. He muttered something which might have been an acceptance. Major Swanson nodded.

  "Right. Glad that crisis is averted, let's get going before I miss supper. Danny, I'm going to ride on ahead with these gentlemen, see you back in camp."

  "Yes, sir."

  They rode in silence for a short while. Vane had dropped back to ride beside Anderson. Eventually, Major Swanson said:

  "They'll have told you in Lisbon, I imagine, what happened at Badajoz?"

  "Some of it, sir," Witham said. "And that we'd been attached to the light division. I was sorry to hear about Major Stead although I didn't know him."

  "No, you came in from the 120th, didn't you?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I didn't know Major Stead that well myself, he'd only been around for a couple of weeks. The battalion is under the command of Major Corrigan now, newly promoted from the 112th. You'll be under Captain Lewis, who also transferred in from the 112th. I'm not sure if you're aware how badly the 115th got mauled at Badajoz, they're short of officers and men at present so you'll be very welcome." The major glanced behind him at Vane. "Have you been with him all the way from Lisbon?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "That must have been a real joy."

  Witham gave a choke of laughter. "Let's say I'm glad I'm not bound for the 117th," he said cautiously. "Not really my kind of officer, sir."

  "I'm glad to hear it, Mr Witham." Major Swanson was regarding Carlyon with a thoughtful expression. "The 115th, Mr Carlyon? Are you from Yorkshire?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Witham heard the change in Carlyon's tone with a sinking heart. He looked at the major and realised that he knew, but he said in the same easy, pleasant tone:

  "Colonel van Daan did a spell in Yorkshire years ago in temporary command of your regiment. He..."

  "I'm his younger brother, sir."

  Swanson studied the other man. "I see. Have you heard that question often, Mr Carlyon?"

  "A few times. Mostly from men who served out here, but I suppose I'm going to hear it a lot more now."

  Major Swanson sighed. "Very likely," he said. "I'm sorry, lad, your life just got more complicated, but then I suppose you've already worked that out."

  "Yes, sir. I've been worrying about it ever since Lisbon."

  Witham looked from one to the other, feeling uncomfortable. "Look, this feels like something that's none of my business," he said. "I'll drop back..."

  "No." Simon Carlyon shot him a quick smile. "It's all right, Nicholas, you already know, and it's clear the major does too. I imagine Colonel van Daan will see me as soon as possible and let me know where I'm to serve."

  Major Swanson gave a little smile. "Don't be so hasty, Mr Carlyon. I told you, the colonel is short of good officers, he's not going to want to lose you unless he can help it. Wait until you've spoken to him at least."

  "That's good of you, sir, but I imagine the colonel will put his wife's comfort ahead of an officer he's never even met."

  "The colonel will do what's best for the brigade, lad, and she wouldn't ask him to do anything other. Keep your tongue between your teeth and give them a chance, this may not be as bad as you think. Here we are, it's up this way. The light division is based in and around the village and Lord Wellington has moved his headquarters up here to be closer to the centre. He's waiting to see what the French do, so we might have a week or two here. Then again, we might be on general alert in a couple of hours. There's been fierce competition for billets in the village, but the colonel has left the fight to the first and second brigades. We're camped out this way in tents. There's been some sickness among the troops; our men seem mostly clear of it so far and the colonel wants to keep it that way."

  The camp was laid out at the top of a long ridge, with a view over acres and acres of cattle pasture and vineyards and then on In the bluish light of evening there was a softness to the landscape but Witham thought it seemed a dry, harsh land although surprisingly fertile. He had seen cattle as they rode up, mostly black or grey with long horns and the hardy build of draft animals. There were flocks of goats roaming the scrubby uplands, but it was clear that the main crop of the area was the vine.

  The area felt arid and remote. Unlike the neat rows of vines that Witham had seen in Portugal, these were stubby plants crouched low to the flat ground and spread far apart. From a farming family, he guessed this was to enable the roots to grown deep, essential in such a hot, dry climate which could turn frosty overnight.

  "Wine making," Major Swanson said, glumly. "It's one of the reasons I'm out checking up on our men more often than usual. Keeping this lot sober is a twenty-four hour a day task just now. The whole army is as bored as we are with nothing to do, but unlike them, we are sitting right on top of an extensive underground network of wine cellars and caves that go back centuries. The 95th have already lost one man who drowned in a vat of wine, and yesterday Sergeant Duffy of my sixth company hauled two very sorry specimens out of the river half dead because they got drunk and went for a swim. Gave a great laugh to the French watching on the opposite bank."

  "They're that close, then?" Witham said, surprised. "The French."

  "They're camped on the other side. You'll see them in the morning, it's all very friendly. A lot of the men go down to bathe in the river and they're doing the same. I give them a couple of days and they'll be exchanging rations and splashing each other, I've seen it before."

  "Is that allowed, sir?" Carlyon asked.

  "Probably not officially, Lieutenant, but I'm not going to stop them. It doesn't do any harm, occasionally, to remember that we're all men. Up this path."

  The horses negotiated the rocky pathway with care, and Witham looked down in some surprise on a well organised circle of large tents, around a number of cooking fires. Beyond that were neat rows of smaller white tents, divided into blocks which might denote companies and battalions. Each section had its share of bigger tents for the officers and the smoke of numerous fires streamed lazily into the stillness of the late afternoon air. Sentries were dotted about in small groups around the edges of the camp, which must have stretched for at least a mile, and there was a smell of food cooking which made Witham's stomach rumble in protest.

  Witham was struck by the number of women and children about as they made their way through the lines towards the larger tents in the centre. He was accustomed to the presence of some wives and camp followers with the army but there seemed an unusually large number here. At the edge of the inner circle, Major Swanson reined in and swung himself down from the saddle.

  Two men, privates in the uniform of the 110th came forward immediately to take the horses. Witham dismounted uncertainly and was immersed, suddenly, in a small wave of efficiency as other men came to deal with luggage and to speak to Carlyon's groom. Witham stood watching in some bewilderment. He was more accustomed to arriving unheralded into an army camp and scrabbling to find space to put up his tent or graze his horse.

  A voice was raised from a tent on the far side of the open square. "Major Swanson," it roared, and Witham jumped. "Where the devil have you been, I thought you'd fallen into the river and drowned yourself. How long does it take to ensure that the pickets are sober?"

  "That depends on the pickets, sir," Major Swanson said placidly, beckoning to the newcomers and making his way across the square. "We've got guests for dinner."

  "Have we? Well ship them in then. Although if one of them is planning on hitting my men with a riding crop he's going to end up head first in Sergeant Kelly's beef stew."

  A tall figure was striding towards them, a fair haired man of around thirty with an attractive smile and a pair of deep blue eyes. He wore the insignia of a colonel although he seemed young for his rank, but Witham supposed it must be the commander of the third brigade of the light division. He saluted and the other man returned the salute.

  Major Swanson w
as laughing. "How the bloody hell did Carter get back here ahead of me?"

  "Apparently there's a shortcut up through one of the wine caves, you couldn't do it with a horse. He's got a funny sense of humour," the colonel said. "Welcome to the light division, gentlemen. Come and get a drink, supper will be ready soon. Bet you're sick to death of travelling. If you're lucky you might get a week's break before Marmont makes up his mind which way he's going."

  Major Swanson came forward. "Sir, this is Captain Vane and Ensign Anderson who are for the 117th; I've said they can stick with us tonight and we can find them a guide tomorrow to where the sixth are bivouacked."

  "I expect we can find space for them," the colonel said. The blue eyes rested on Captain Vane thoughtfully. "Vane? The name's familiar, have been out here before, Captain?"

  Vane saluted stiffly. "Yes, sir. I fought with the 87th up until..."

  "Talavera," Van Daan said quietly. "Cadiz after that I believe?"

  "Yes, sir, although I wasn't aware we'd met."

  "I don't think we did." There was a sudden stillness about the colonel. "I've a memory for names, though." The blue eyes moved to Anderson and Paul van Daan smiled. "Mr Anderson, welcome. Don't look so worried, you'll get used to it."

  "Yes, sir."

  The colonel glanced at Witham and Carlyon. "And by your uniforms I think I'll be seeing more of you two. Second company?"

  "Yes, sir," Witham said. He was conscious of a feeling of belligerent protectiveness. "We only recently realised we were fighting as light infantry."

  "It's a recent change, we're still working on training so you've not missed much. Apart from Badajoz and believe me, that was not a loss. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your names."

  Major Swanson intervened. "This is Mr Witham, sir, recently of the 120th, transferred for promotion. And Mr Carlyon is local to the regiment and has been serving with the second battalion in India."

  Witham found that he was holding his breath. Paul van Daan looked at Simon Carlyon for a long moment. Carlyon saluted and stood very still. Suddenly the colonel smiled.

  "You look like him," he said quietly. "Not your colouring, but the shape of your face and your eyes. I don't think we met, did we? Weren't you at school?"

  "I'd left by then, sir, I was already with the regiment, an ensign."

  "How are your parents?" the colonel said. Knowing what he did, Witham was surprised by the question and he could see that Carlyon was too.

  "They're well enough, sir. Father retired, you know."

  "I know, my brother-in-law took over his seat."

  Carlyon took a deep breath. "Look, sir, I realise..."

  "Not here," Paul van Daan said quickly. "It's personal to both of us." He glanced over at one of the orderlies. "Jenson, will you get Captain Vane and Mr Anderson settled and make sure they've everything they need, then you can bring them over for supper, it'll be ready by then. And get Mr Ashford to escort Mr Witham here over to the 117th. My compliments to Major Corrigan, I'd like them both to dine with us this evening. Oh and Jenson?"

  "Sir?"

  "Make sure some of the men set up their tents and unpack for them, will you? They're an idle bunch in the 115th, they won't do it otherwise."

  "I'll send Browning with Mr Ashford, sir, he can supervise them."

  "Thank you. This way, Mr Carlyon."

  ***

  Simon Carlyon followed the colonel into a large tent. It was clear that this was the colonel's headquarters as well as his sleeping quarters; part of it was split off with a makeshift curtain, separating the sleeping area. The rest was scattered with boxes and chests, a portable wash stand, a campaign table strewn with paperwork and a smaller folding table with several camp chairs set around it. There was an elegant portable writing desk which appeared to have been abandoned, open, in the middle of the floor. Over the back of one of the camp chairs, a lace shawl was draped and a woman's straw hat lay in solitary splendour on top of a chest.

  The colonel grinned and picked up the shawl and hat, moving them to the far side of the tent, then lifted the writing desk out of the way. "Looks as though my wife has been in," he said, and turned as another man entered the tent, a tall dark sergeant in his twenties carrying a ledger. He placed it on the desk and saluted.

  "There you are, sir. I thought you'd deserted after this afternoon's effort."

  "What effort?" the colonel demanded. "What have I missed?"

  "You not heard?" The sergeant grinned. "The fourth company found a wine cellar unguarded and decided to celebrate. Captain Barry has just gone down there now."

  Colonel van Daan froze. "I thought the fourth company were supposed to be on picket duty on the north ridge."

  "They were, sir. The cave is cut just below it."

  "How many of them?" the colonel said in a strained tone.

  "Pretty much all of them, I think, sir. Don't worry, Major Clevedon has sent out fresh pickets from the 112th instead and Captain Barry..."

  "No," the colonel said firmly. "This is the sixth incident in three days, it stops now. Get over there, Hammond, take a guard from the light company and keep them there until I arrive. My compliments to Captain Barry, but I'm dealing with this lot personally."

  "Yes, sir."

  Hammond left the tent and Paul van Daan went to a bound chest where wine and several cups were set out. "Sit down, Mr Carlyon, and have a drink. When did you realise who you were serving under?"

  "In Lisbon, sir."

  "That thought must have kept you occupied most of the way."

  "Yes, sir. I didn't expect to meet you so soon. I was going to try to talk to Major Stead, first..."

  "You've heard about him?"

  "I have now, sir. I'm sorry, I didn't know him. It sounds as though it was bad."

  "It was a bloody disaster," the colonel said frankly, opening one of the bottles and pouring two cups. "The 115th had literally joined the brigade two weeks earlier. They were intended for the seventh division, but they'd been having a few disciplinary problems and Lord Wellington thought they might do better with me. They weren't trained as light infantry but that hardly matters when storming a town and I'd hoped we'd have time to work with them. They hit a mine going over the wall. There were six companies, around five hundred officers and men. A hundred dead and another hundred and ten wounded."

  "Dear God."

  "It was horrible. It took out a fair few from my German and Portuguese battalions as well. We've got reinforcements coming in steadily but most of them are raw troops and we're short of officers, so you'll be very welcome."

  There was a brief pause. Simon Carlyon took a deep breath. "Will I, sir?" he asked.

  Colonel van Daan folded his long length into a camp chair and pointed to the one opposite.

  "Have a drink," he said quietly, and sipped his wine. "I'd no idea that Robert's younger brother had joined up. I'm not sure how that one got past me but I'm hopeless with the gossip, I never listen."

  Simon sat down awkwardly. "I joined when I left school. I was in India when the letter came to say that he'd been charged in his absence with theft and desertion. My parents were devastated."

  "They must have been. They were good people, I liked them very much. I stayed with them for a while when I was in Yorkshire. The barracks were not fit to live in when I first got there and it was terrible weather. Your brother was a big help to me, I employed him as quartermaster. We were quite friendly."

  "Did you know her then? His...your wife?"

  The colonel nodded soberly. "Yes. He'd mentioned that there was a lass he was trying to court and I'd worked out it was for money, but that was his business. I've never struggled for money, Lieutenant, so I've never felt able to judge on that score. I met her by accident during a snowstorm."

  "I remember how beautiful she was, sir."

  "She was seventeen and I'd honestly never met a girl like her before, but I was already married. After I left she married Robert. I met them again about a year later on a transport to Portugal."
/>
  "I never saw either of them again," Carlyon said. "When we heard, my father begged me to sell out. He said I'd never have a career with his reputation following me around and besides, I was his heir now. But I'd always wanted the army, more so than Robert did. And I did all right."

  The colonel sipped the wine. "Can you tell me what you know about what happened to your brother, Lieutenant? I've never been sure what your family was told, which is why I've never written to your parents although I wanted to."

  Carlyon set his cup on the table. "My parents were told that he had deserted and stolen army money, that he would be cashiered in his absence and his effects sold to cover some of the loss. After a time, a letter came to say that he'd been shot dead by a senior officer because he attacked and tried to murder his wife."

  "Is that it?" Van Daan asked quietly.

  "Not entirely. My parents had a letter from your wife after she married you. It explained the circumstances in more detail. Up until then I had assumed that it was you who had shot him."

  "I see."

  "I gather there was some mistreatment of his wife, sir."

  "He used to beat her. Badly."

  "I've run into a few men since then who were out here at the time, they all have their own version of the story. I try not to listen."

  "Good man, they'll all be bollocks. Very few people know what actually happened that day. All right, Mr Carlyon, I'm going to tell you the truth. If you're going to find it hard to serve in my brigade, we can arrange a transfer to another. It won't be hard, the army is screaming for good officers, somebody will take my arm off."

  "What makes you think I'm any good, sir?"

  "Because your brother was. He worked in administration, no real combat experience, but he was very good at what he did. Reliable, clever, quick, got on well with both junior and senior officers and didn't seem to struggle with the men. I liked him when I first met him but it turned out I was wrong about him. He was a good officer but he'd a problem with women and he beat his wife regularly and brutally. You'll hear, in some circles that it was because she and I were sharing a bed. We weren't. He was jealous of any man who looked at her. He'd deliberately compromised her reputation to force her to marry him because he wanted her money, but within a year he was completely obsessed with her. I will readily admit that I wanted to kill him, but I didn't. He was shot dead by one of my officers while he had a pistol pointed at her head."