by Mary Nichols
‘Remember you?’ He was puzzled.
‘The injury to your head. You were having trouble remembering things.’
He wanted to say, How could I ever forget you? How could I forget the woman who made me want to live again, gave me the will to fight again, made me love her and want her above all things, and then left me? But the words would not come and instead he said, ‘My memory is perfect.’
‘Good. You look well.’
‘I am. And you?’
‘Very well, thank you.’ She could not believe they were having this conversation; it was so trite, so inconsequential, when there were a thousand questions she wanted to ask him and a million things she wanted to tell him. Could they not even talk to each other any more? Had they lost even the comradeship of soldiers fighting for the same cause? She laughed suddenly and startled him, so deep in thought he had been. ‘I must not keep you from your duties.’ She could hear his comrades calling to him, though she did not take her eyes from his face. ‘Am I to assume I am your prisoner?’
‘Of course not!’
‘What are you going to do with me, then?’
‘I? Nothing. You are free to go where you wish, except…’
‘Except?’
‘Except to rejoin the French column.’
‘What makes you think I should want to do that?’
‘You seemed to be quite content to be with them until now.’
‘Oh.’ He had seen her with Rufus Whitely. ‘I was a prisoner.’
‘It certainly did not look like that to me. You were being more than civil to him.’
‘That was only…’
She did not finish. Coming up behind him was the runaway wagon with a grinning Portuguese partisan sitting on the driving seat and two more standing in the vehicle behind him. ‘We caught them!’ he yelled, waving the whip. ‘Come and see!’
‘Ask Captain Whitely,’ she said. ‘Ask him if I was his prisoner.’
Robert forced his eyes away from hers and turned towards the wagon, striding up to it as it drew to a halt. The vehicle had been captured by three partisans who had broken off the main engagement to go after it. They had Jeanne and Rufus Whitely securely tied up with the rope which had once bound Olivia.
‘It’s crammed with booty,’ one of the captors said. ‘Come and see.’ He dived into the back and returned with his hands full of jewellery. ‘Look! We could buy a big gun and boxes and boxes of ammunition with these. And food for our people.’
Robert ignored the riches and pushed past him to haul Rufus out on to the road. ‘This one,’ he said, his voice so calm that it terrified Olivia. ‘This one dies. But before we send him off to hell I have a few questions I want answered.’ He pushed the trembling man in front of him to the circle of wagons, where everyone else was gathered. ‘Anyone who wants to see what we do to traitors, let them gather round,’ he said in English.
The partisans looked from one to the other and the few voltigeurs who had survived to surrender trembled. They could not understand what the big man said, but they could see he was more than normally angry. He turned to Olivia. ‘You speak Portuguese; translate that.’
‘What are you going to do?’ She had followed the two Englishmen into the circle, afraid for Rufus, but even more fearful for Robert. She was sure that he was about to do something he would regret for the rest of his life.
‘Translate!’ he commanded. ‘Tell them everything I say.’
‘Very well.’ She turned to the assembled company to do as he asked.
‘Tell them that anyone who betrays his country and cheats his friends should be shot. Tell them that this man is an English traitor and…’
‘But Robert, he is not a traitor. He swore he had been sent by Wellington.’
‘And you believed him? Was that why you were so willing to travel with him?’
‘It is true, Lynmount,’ Rufus said. ‘The Peer did send me. Do you suppose I would come into this Godforsaken part of the country if I hadn’t been ordered to?’
‘You are a liar and a cheat…’
‘So I am a liar and a cheat.’ Rufus appeared calm, but a nerve twitched in his throat. ‘That does not make me a traitor.’
Olivia began to translate for the benefit of the partisans, but Robert interrupted her. ‘You do not need to tell them his feeble excuses.’
‘They have a right to know both sides.’
‘That is true,’ Martin Davaco said. ‘And this is neither the time nor the place to hold a trial. The French rearguard may come back at any moment to find out what has happened to their supply wagons and we cannot be caught in the open. Back to São Jorge, everyone. We will convene a court there and the schoolmaster will preside. He will know how to do it properly.’
‘What about the other prisoners?’ someone asked him.
‘Shoot them.’
‘But you cannot do that,’ Olivia protested. ‘They surrendered.’
‘I shall tell you something, senhora,’ he said, taking her arm and leading her away from where his men were lining up the prisoners, including Jeanne. ‘Masséna refuses to recognise us, the Ordenanza, as fighting men. He calls us bandits and criminals. When our men are caught they are not treated as prisoners of war and he has refused to exchange a single one. They are tortured before they die.’ He laughed harshly. ‘As an example to the rest of us.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘If these prisoners cannot be exchanged, why should we keep them in idleness, eating our food? We have little enough of that.’
‘But…’
‘You would have us set them free to go on killing our people?’
‘No…’
‘Then what else is there to do? They must die.’ As he spoke a volley of shots rang out and echoed round the hills. ‘Now we must go. Their friends will find them and bury them. Come.’
Olivia dared not look back, knowing what she would see if she did. She found Pegasus and climbed on his back, wishing she could be anywhere but where she was, with an angry Robert, a sullen Rufus and a crowd of barbarous partisans who had gathered up everything worth carrying and loaded it on to the mules they had taken from the shafts. Wagons were useless to them; they travelled over narrow mountain tracks and eschewed the roads. Robert set Rufus on one of the mules, tied his hands behind his back and put a noose about his neck. Holding the rope’s end in his hand, he mounted Thor.
‘Robert, you can’t take him like that,’ she protested. ‘If the mule stumbles, he will be strangled. And besides, it is so undignified.’
‘Undignified!’ He slapped the beast to make it start. ‘Why do you think he should be allowed his dignity?’
‘He is an Englishman, and whatever your quarrel with him you should not forget that. And I believe he is loyal to his country.’
He turned to look at her and then wished he had not. In another minute he would have softened enough to do as she asked and he dared not risk it. He turned from her to look straight ahead at the cloud-capped mountain and the path that wound across its slopes, now in sun, now in shadow, to São Jorge. ‘He has addled your wits with his caresses,’ he said. ‘You do not recognise lies when you hear them.’
‘I do not recognise you any more. What happened to the man I knew, the one whose only wish was to regain his claws and vindicate himself? If you did wrong, you have paid the price. There is no need to go on punishing yourself…’
‘I am doing no such thing. It is the traitor who has to be punished.’
‘And having done that, having executed him without trial, what will you do if you discover, when we return to our own lines, that what he says is true, that he is a loyal Englishman and an important agent? Will you be able to live with yourself?’
He knew that she was right but he was not yet ready to admit it; he could see no further than his present fury.
They arrived in the village just as the setting sun touched the mountain peaks and turned them to a glorious and breathtaking gold. São Jorge consisted of a single street surrounded on o
ne side by mountain slopes on whose sparse vegetation a few sheep and goats grazed, and on the other by pine woods and a stand of poplar. There was a handful of dwellings, built of stone and wood, with the living quarters, reached by outside stairs, above the stables and working areas. There was a town hall, a schoolhouse and a church.
The inhabitants, warned of their coming by a look-out, crowded round them, happy to see them safely returned. The booty they had captured was piled up in the schoolroom for all to admire and tales were told of the encounter which lost nothing in the telling. ‘The Englishman brought us luck,’ they said, crowding round Robert and patting him on the back.
Olivia slipped away to be by herself. No one noticed her going. The night was peaceful, the French were camped many miles to the south and nothing stirred, except a colony of bats in the church steeple, who swooped in and out of a hole in the eaves. She walked to the end of the street to stand looking out across the dark mountains to the north. Somewhere over those peaks was a green and pleasant land that was neither too hot nor too cold — her homeland — and she wished she were there.
She tilted her head to look up at the sky, twinkling with stars, the same stars she had watched with Tom the night he had proposed, the same which had lit the sky at Oporto and Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida. They shone on friend and enemy alike. For more than two years she had been wandering from one battlefield to another, enduring blistering heat and icy winds, ill-fed and ill-clothed, and for what? So that she could lose a husband who was no more than a boy, another who was one of her country’s enemies, and, worst of all, the man she loved.
To be so near him and yet so far, to speak to him and yet be unable to penetrate the wall he had built about himself, was purgatory. He had kissed her, sometimes in anger, sometimes with gentleness and sensitivity, but he had never been indifferent to her. There had always been a certain something between them, a thread of mutual respect, a passion even, that was there if never acknowledged, which ran through everything they did and said. But now even that had snapped under the strain; he was as much lost to her as if he had died along with Tom and Philippe.
She could hear sounds of revelry coming from the schoolhouse; they were celebrating their victory as if they had won the war. The war was not won yet. Her own private war was not won either. But, by heaven, neither was it lost. She would fight, she would not give up; there was too much at stake. She turned and walked slowly back to the centre of the village.
On the way she heard her name being called softly and turned to see Rufus Whitely chained to the church railings, like a puppy who could not be trusted to behave indoors. He smiled when he saw her; it did not make her feel any better about anything. ‘Well, my dear, what now?’ he asked.
‘They are going to try you tomorrow.’
‘I have already been tried and found guilty. Only the execution is to come.’
‘No. They are not barbarians.’
‘Oh, but they are. Did they give those poor fellows on the road a chance?’
‘There was a reason for that.’
‘Oh, I know the reasons.’ He laughed. ‘And I do not blame them for killing Frenchmen, but I am an Englishman, one of their allies.’
She smiled crookedly. ‘That is what the trial will be about — to discover the truth.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I do not know what to think. Robert…’
‘Robert Lynmount is an embittered and jealous man; there is no hope that he will be impartial. And his new friends are so enamoured of him, they will lap up everything he says.’
‘Why do you hate him so?’
‘My feelings do not come into it, but his certainly do. Olivia, you are the only person who can help me. I must get back to my regiment. I have important intelligence…’
‘I cannot help you.’
‘Yes, you can. Untie me, for a start.’
‘You will not cover a hundred yards before they shoot you down. There is a guard.’
‘Not now, later, when they are all asleep. I doubt they will leave me here all night. Come and find me.’
‘They will come after you. Why not put your faith in these people and Robert’s good sense? I will talk to him again.’
‘He is past listening to anyone.’
‘I must try.’
‘And if you fail? And if the battle is lost, even the war itself, because intelligence did not reach the commander in time, what then?’
‘I will not fail.’
It was an awesome responsibility and one she did not relish, especially considering she still had lingering doubts, but there was only one way forward and that was for all three to go back to the British lines, to stand side by side before Viscount Wellington and let him be the judge.
‘If you fail,’ he said as she began to walk away, ‘then you must set me free, whatever the cost.’ He paused and gave a short bark of a laugh. ‘And because you will never be forgiven for it you will have to come with me. I shall look forward to that.’
She stopped, a retort on her lips, then changed her mind and continued on towards the schoolhouse without speaking. He was right; she would never be forgiven if she went against Robert’s wishes and helped Rufus to escape. But if the unofficial court found him guilty, could she stand by and let them execute him? Whitely had mentioned cost; did he have any idea of what the cost to her would be if she helped him to regain his liberty? To be Robert’s enemy, never to ride side by side with him or laugh with him again, was an unbearable thought, but if Robert was wrong about Captain Whitely…
Martin Davaco and a companion passed her, shouldering carbines, calling a cheerful ‘Boa noite, senhora. The captain will show you to your lodging.’
‘Thank you,’ she said and turned to watch them as they went to where Rufus was chained and marched him into the church, where she assumed he would be spending the night. He went willingly enough and she supposed he was putting his faith in her. She turned from him and saw Robert standing at the door of the schoolhouse watching her; the building behind him was in darkness.
‘Where is everyone?’ she asked as she approached, her voice brittle with the effort of sounding normal.
‘Gone to their beds, all except the sentries and a patrol.’
‘Patrol?’
‘The war goes on,’ he said. ‘One small victory is not the end; we must be forever vigilant.’
‘You include yourself in that?’
‘Of course. I have joined them.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ he repeated, as if asking himself the question. ‘Because they asked me to and their invitation was not one I could easily refuse. And because they are doing something useful and I need to be of service. I hardly expect you to understand that.’
‘I do. Of course I do. But I should have thought you could have been of greater service elsewhere.’
‘Where else would I be appreciated as I am here? Where else would my past be so unimportant? Where else can I be myself?’
She took a deep breath; now was not the time to draw back. ‘Where else can you hide, you mean.’
‘I am not hiding. Why should I hide?’
She laughed suddenly and the old imp of mischief sounded again in her voice and reminded him of when they had first met, a few weeks, a lifetime ago. ‘Had you forgotten a certain pompous colonel you hoodwinked? He would love to know where you are.’
He grinned. ‘He is facing the other way. He thinks he is marching on Lisbon.’
‘And is he?’
‘No. He will be stopped long before that.’
‘By whom? By Wellington? But is Wellington expecting him? And even if he is, does he know from which direction? Does he know how big the army is he faces?’
‘I fancy he does. He has reliable intelligence…’
‘Provided by Captain Whitely, you mean?’
She was driving a hard bargain and he was not even sure what it was, but she knew how to hit where it hurt. ‘No. Anything he sent would be false
and, for all your defence of the man, you know, in your heart of hearts, that is true.’
‘You can have no idea what is in my heart of hearts,’ she said, fighting back tears. ‘Or you would trust me…’
‘My dear Olivia…’
‘I am not your dear anything,’ she put in before he could go on. ‘I am not anyone’s dear.’
‘My apologies, ma’am.’ He bowed a stiff acknowledgement. ‘I was about to say that I did not mistrust you. I simply think that you are misguided and have fallen prey to a few flattering words.’
‘Who has flattered me? You never have.’
‘I referred to Captain Rufus Whitely.’
‘Why should I believe either of you? I am convinced this whole situation has been caused by your rivalry over one girl; none of it would have happened otherwise.’
He smiled. ‘You could well be right. On reflection, I am sure you are right.’
She did not stop to ponder on why he had agreed so readily; she had the initiative and she meant to keep it. ‘And it is still going on. You are both putting your personal feelings before the good of your country and that simply will not do.’ She paused to look into his eyes, surprised that he had given her no argument; there was even a twinkle of amusement in them. ‘Save your personal vendetta until after the war is won; it is more important that Viscount Wellington has accurate information.’
‘And you have appointed yourself my conscience, is that it? You are determined to make me feel guilty.’
‘If that is what it takes to make you see sense, then yes.’
He took her shoulders in his hands and leaned back to look at her, laughing. ‘Oh, my dear, you are wonderful.’
Taken by surprise, she could only stare at him.
‘Don’t look so astonished,’ he said, gently now. ‘I cannot fight you; there are no weapons against the truth. You are right, as you so often are, but I cannot release him.’
His nearness and the softness of his voice were almost making her forget the cause of their dissension. In another minute she would be in his arms and all would be lost. ‘Why not?’