Blood and Famine (Man of Conflict Series, Book 4)

by Andrew Wareham

  "Word has spread, Major Taft. Makes it easier for us. Would you put your telescope on that track over to the northeast?"

  Taft obliged and reported that the track seemed to turn over the shoulder of the hills, probably to head directly inland.

  "A route for the Frogs, one might suspect. I think we might offer Mr Black's Portuguese horsemen a few more of silver and gold pieces, do not you?"

  "I would like to know just how far away the Frogs are. Do we know the route the Army is taking in its retreat, sir?"

  "The valley of the Tagus, I think, but I do not know for certain. Twenty miles south of here, I suspect. The French should have cavalry out in this area, foraging parties for sure."

  "Was we to put a half of our people out on that track, sir, we might well come across some of those foragers. We could kill them and take their spoils into our care, sir."

  "What an excellent idea, Major Taft! Peter will tell us of all of the tracks leading out of this valley and we can examine them in turn."

  The three companies reached the little fishing harbour and discovered that it was both tiny and empty. There were six tumble-down cottages at the edge of the river where it reached the sea with a post outside each driven into the shingle to tie up their boat. There were racks for drying and repairing fishing nets and a single free-standing roof over a bench where the women could gut and fillet fish and, presumably, put them into barrels of salt to go to market.

  Peter said that the smaller fish were taken up to the market whole and sold on the morning they were caught. Only winter stockfish were salted.

  The cottages were empty of all except the bed frames, presumably too large to be put aboard the boats.

  "Where will they have gone, Peter?"

  "Different places, sir. They will have relatives - mostly by marriage - up and down the coast. The fishermen do not marry girls from their own little villages, sir - it is not the right thing to do."

  "Too many six-fingered babies as well, no doubt! This place is far too small for that sort of thing."

  "Ship, sir, out to sea a mile or so. British, sir."

  The navy, a sloop or frigate, small but with three masts - that was as far as Septimus' knowledge stretched.

  "We need not keep an eye on the shores then, Major Taft. Return to the Castle, I think."

  Man of Conflict Series

  BOOK FOUR

  Chapter Three

  The Castle was more active than at any time since last it had been besieged.

  The bailey was home to fowls by the hundred; chickens and a few of ducks scurried underfoot, mostly pursued by small children busily keeping an eye on the parental flocks and ensuring that untrustworthy foreigners, who included the children from the next village, kept their hands off them.

  The slopes of the valley were alive with sheep and goats and the villages were establishing the grounds for a century of feuds relating to the alleged poaching and sheep-lifting habits of their neighbours.

  The Marchioness was heard to hope that the French would soon arrive to provide an alternative enemy before full-scale civil war eventuated between her husband's villages.

  The horses were all safe inside the walls, the old stables put to use for the first time in a generation.

  Septimus found the Marchioness in her role of Chatelaine of the Castle in the exercise yard, listening gravely to the head groom's suggestions for the proper organisation of what was now his domain.

  "It occurs to me, ma'am, that the grooms will wish to ride the horses out each day. While this is obviously necessary, they must be reminded to stay in safety, well behind the Lines. They must not venture onto the flatter lands of their valley."

  "Could they not do so until we become aware of the presence of the French army, sir?"

  "Not wisely, ma'am - patrols of cavalry must be expected in advance of the army proper, and they would love nothing more than to capture horses of such quality as these."

  She was flattered by the description of the Marquis' stud, but irritated to be given orders by the foreigner who dared presume to greater wisdom than hers.

  "Do you know how close the French are, Colonel?"

  She deliberately chose not to use his title, knowing that this would be offensive to a Portuguese officer and unaware that he not only did not care but had not noticed her slur.

  "We are sending out a patrol of Portuguese horse, ma'am. They will ride out in the morning. They have the advantage over us in many ways, your ladyship. Not only can they speak to the local people but they can make far better time than my soldiers on foot."

  "Can you trust mere Portuguese, Sir Septimus?"

  "It is their country, ma'am. They know that the English will leave as soon as is possible and will pay all they can afford while they are here. The French offer foreign tyranny for all eternity, and will steal anything they can lay their hands on. The Portuguese people know that they can trust the English to a greater extent than they can the French. Their country is no longer their own, whichever army occupies it, but there is a far better chance that it will become theirs again while they aid the English."

  She found herself forced to agree, rather against her will.

  "Of course, ma'am, in addition, we are paying the horsemen in gold and silver coins, put into their hands before they go out. That helps as well!"

  Her sympathy towards the English evaporated as quickly as it had formed - they talked of honour and trust but behaved as merchants!

  "Then you will not be content to rely upon Portuguese patriotism, sir?"

  "The flag is a wonderful thing, ma'am, and no doubt the gentlemen all love their King. But a full belly has much in its favour as well. And the belly is here, ma'am, while the King is in Brazil!"

  "The philosophy of the shopkeeper, sir!"

  "Very true, ma'am, but I believe you have seen Bond Street. Our shops are very full, ma'am!"

  She regarded that as a very 'clever' comment; she much preferred honour and duty to cleverness in her soldiers. Besides, common people who thought invariably created trouble for themselves and their betters alike; stupid soldiers were far safer, she believed.

  "What is your intention if the French are still at a distance, Colonel?"

  "I shall send patrols of two or more companies to discover the nature of the land and seek out any other villages that have not come in. They must all deny their harvests to the French, your ladyship. The French Army is to starve, so that it may be forced to foolish assaults upon our strongholds. Hunger kills just as effectively as gunpowder, ma'am, and will destroy far fewer of our people, or of yours."

  "But, where is the honour, Sir Septimus?"

  "Where indeed, your ladyship? A most excellent question. When I was newer in the service I thought I knew the answer, but I have increasing doubts, ma'am. I have seen war in France and Denmark, and in India and in the Sugar Islands, and in Spain just a few months since; I have noticed dead men and screaming women and children and burned towns and farms, but I cannot remember seeing Honour, ma'am!"

  "But your majors tell me that you are known as one of the bravest of soldiers, sir, and won your title for your virtue in the field of battle!"

  "I am a soldier, ma'am. I am a man of war, and I am, I say unblushingly, one of the better sort of that breed. I would say as well, ma'am, that I am a shopkeeper born, not a gentleman - and have made all that I now am in the field. I have been rewarded, richly so, I believe, by my King, or his ministers at least, and suspect that I fight much more for that advantage than for any other virtue."

  "A professional man, in fact, sir!"

  "Just so, ma'am. What I am, I have worked for. I am proud of that, far more than of any ancestor who was a baron or whatever in the Dark Ages. There is much nonsense talked of the blue-blooded, in the Army and in Government. I know very little of such, but my experience says I value the red-blooded far more greatly on the field of battle!"

  She saw that the discussion was leading nowhere - a man who was not born to the pur
ple could never come to understand the true superiority of blood and breeding. There was more to battle than merely winning, but he would never appreciate that, she feared. It was time to consider the other, perhaps more pressing, matter.

  "What do you intend for my husband, sir?"

  "I have no 'intentions' as such, ma'am. I cannot afford to send a large escort to take him to Lisbon and the criminal trial that would inevitably ensue. He has chosen to defy the lawful government of the land, ma'am; he has indeed set himself up as above the law. The judges will hang him, I suspect, ma'am, if they can but try him. If a Portuguese brigade should be posted here then I would expect them to court-martial the Marquis at the drum-head; they would then shoot him, I would imagine."

  She was appalled that he could imagine that they would dare to lay bloody hands on a man whose great-grandmother had been a younger daughter of the king of the day - the French poison of Jacobinism was destroying all that was fine in the world!

  "Can the Marquis not be assisted to go to Brazil, sir?"

  "No, ma'am. Not by me! To find a ship and book a passage, all done on the quiet, with none to know that I was aiding a traitor to escape justice - I could not do it. I doubt I could go about that process successfully in England, where I know my way around. In Lisbon, where I have no contacts and do not even speak the language? I would end up in the next cell to the Marquis, ma'am!"

  "Perhaps you should have given him his pistol, sir!"

  "It might well have been the easiest solution, ma'am. But it is too late now."

  Thinking on the matter in her bed that night, she wondered whether it really was too late to provide the Marquis with a release from his dreadful imprisonment. The poor man must be permanently in a fret for his honour - the spectre of the demeaning gallows must be continually in his mind. An end to such fears could only be an act of kindness.

  The morning brought her no better counsel, added to her concern if anything when she remembered the Marquis' heir, the poor young man, also locked away and in fear of degradation. Something must be done, that was clear.

  She breakfasted in her room, as was her habit, considering the problems she faced; the honour of the family lay entirely in her hands. It occurred to her that if both Marquis and heir died then a son of her body - and for all any outsider knew, of the Marquis' paternity - must inherit the Marquisate, and all of its lands, including those in Brazil and in the colony of Goa in India which were very rich. There was the difficulty that the Marquis was in some ways incapacitated by age and was not in the way of fathering any child, and was in any case locked up distant from her bed; a little imagination could solve that problem, she decided.

  "Sir Septimus, I would appreciate the opportunity to speak with my husband, and to seek his approval for some of the changes I am forced to make in the Castle. I need as well the keys to the strongbox - there are wages to pay."

  "Of course, ma'am. I shall be pleased to escort you myself, though I will not, obviously, intrude on your privacy in his place of confinement."

  "I imagine that you must wish to assure yourself that I am not taking a pistol or means of escape to him, sir."

  "I could hardly do that, ma'am. I am sure that your word will suffice."

  "I am amazed, sir, had imagined that you might wish to search my person!"

  He would not have objected at all to laying hands on her person. He smiled hopefully and received a warm response, far more so than he might have expected, being a shopkeeper of low birth. He took her to the circular staircase leading to the top of the keep, rather enjoyed the walk upwards in the confined space.

  The guard company was spread over the top floor and the roof of the keep, mostly outside in the sunshine. A single platoon was actively on duty, the rest taking their ease but immediately available if need should arise.

  Septimus escorted the Marchioness to the locked door and waited while the company captain produced the keys. Very correctly done, as well; he approved the slow procedure. The Captain called his lieutenant who marched the four yards to his side accompanied by four men, each with musket loaded. They watched the stairs while the captain unlocked the door, bowed the lady through and then locked it behind her.

  "Thank you, Captain Colquhoun. Very precisely done, sir! Have you had reason to fear an attempt to release the gentleman, sir?"

  Colquhoun - pronounced 'Ka-hoon', to Septimus' irritation - if the damned man was to have a name that could not be spelt then he might as well attempt to say it properly - shook his head, announced that it was no more than a sensible precaution. The place was full of foreigners and there was no telling what those buggers might get up to, so it was better to go exactly by the book, or so he thought.

  "Yes, indeed, Captain Colquhoun, that is the problem with being overseas - some very funny sorts of people all over the place! What of the younger men?"

  "That one who claims to be the son of the Marquis, sir, is forever shouting out and making demands for all sorts of things! Complaining, so he was, that the bottle of wine in his cell was not what he was used to. Best blackstrap at three pence the quart, sir! Back on the road to Corunna that was changing hands at a guinea a time, sir!"

  "He wears a soldier's uniform, Captain Colquhoun, but I doubt he has ever campaigned - and, to be fair, very few have endured a campaign such as that! I believe him to be a pampered little fellow, and one who is used to sitting to the table with the very best of clarets to hand."

  "So I believe, sir. In fact, sir, to be frank, that is, I believe that the good lady, his father's second wife, that is, sent a bottle up to him but it got no further than the sergeant, who very fairly exchanged it for a bottle of his. The little chap can hardly complain, for the sergeant gave him a full quart in place of his pint!"

  "Wholly fair, sir! He has no grounds for any grievance he may offer."

  The Marchioness knocked at the door and was released from her husband's room.

  "Sir Septimus, the Marquis is fretting for being locked away in a stuffy little chamber. He has been used to riding out every day. Could he at least walk the battlements for a part of the day, for the fresh air? His son as well? They could talk together, rather than be kept in lonely silence."

  Solitary confinement was a severe punishment and Septimus could not justify it to himself.

  "Certainly, ma'am. When it is not raining the captain here will make all proper arrangements for the two to walk and talk together, in a degree of privacy as well."

  Colquhoun, who thought the Marchioness to be a very fine figure of a woman, was happy to assure her of his immediate attention to her wishes.

  "After all, ma'am, he will hardly escape except by flying, and I doubt he is a hand at that, at all!"

  "One trusts not, Captain."

  They delayed a while on the roof of the keep, looking out over the surrounding country, such as could be seen. The hills to the south and west were sufficiently high to block any view there, but they could see a distance into the valley and across to the east.

  "Poor farming country, Sir Septimus, to an English eye at least. Patches of fields in the valleys, which are mostly small but well-watered; grapes along the hillsides, those facing south especially. Olive groves where there is not too much of a wind. Goats, the long-haired sort particularly, but very few sheep in these parts. Dovecotes are common, and there are goodly numbers of chickens, as is only natural. The men hunt - many possess rifles and go out for meat."

  "Useful soldiers, perhaps, ma'am."

  "Cacadores, Sir Septimus; troops such as the German jaegers, I believe. There was word that battalions of them were to be formed, but the Marquis did not approve. He believes that only the cavalry is worthy of a place on the field."

  "He may be right, ma'am. I have known some very clever horses in the past."

  She ignored his comment - the facile wit of the underclasses was not worthy of her attention.

  "How far must one travel to the next town of any size, ma'am? Is there a place within easy reach that migh
t be used to billet an army?"

  "The towns are all small, Sir Septimus. One might be hard pressed to put a brigade under the roofs of any within two days of marching from here."

  "Very good! The French do not habitually carry tents, I am told, and so will scrape together bivouacs of brushwood and turfs. Cold and often wet, in deep winter, and tying them down - for the men will be unwilling to move away from the little bothy that they have spent weeks turning into a place of some slight comfort. An army is a sluggish beast in winter, ma'am - sleeping on the ground under a single blanket is no great sport in summer, but when there is snow or a blowing cold rain it is a penance indeed. A few raids, discovering any barns or cattle sheds and burning them of a night, will be highly profitable, ma'am!"

  "That is an unpleasant way of making war, Colonel!"

  "I spend my life attempting to be unpleasant to the King's enemies, ma'am. It is fair to say, the nastier, the better. In the summer, ma'am, both armies may be expected to take the field, to march and countermarch until battle can be joined, ideally forced upon the enemy on ground unfavourable to him. The army that has spent a winter in warm beds and eating a meat stew every day will have a great advantage over men weakened by a winter of privation. My men will have a better chance of living if I can be unpleasant to their enemies in the cold season."

  She could not imagine why he was so concerned – these ‘men’ of his were all of the lowest sorts of peasant and could be replaced if lost – the peasantry swarmed like rats, after all!

  She joined Septimus for a midday meal and took some pains to let him see that he was attractive to her before inviting him to dine that evening. He was much in favour – the winter might well be long and tedious and there was a lot to be said for a hobby, for something to do in the cold evenings.

  Captain Colquhoun reported that the Marquis and his son had enjoyed an hour’s exercise during the afternoon.

  “Good for them it was, sir. Though they did seem to be suffering a disagreement of some sorts between them. Much shaking of the raised fists at each other!”