‘Kick him again,’ called a voice, and a boot slammed into my ribs, which explained the earlier pain.
‘All right,’ I gasped now opening my eyes. ‘I am awake.’ My vision was a bit hazy after the blow but I could see that I was still inside the dark windmill. There were three strangers in the room, one with the sharp boots standing next to me, one seated on a tall chair nearby and another standing behind the seated figure. They all had big beards and travelling clothes and looked like partisans; but if they had ambushed me I wondered if they were working for the French. At least the French treated the British honourably and I was still in my uniform, so could not be accused of being a spy.
‘Why have you tied me up? I am a British officer.’
‘Oh, we know who you are,’ said the seated man, and I saw teeth smiling at me through his shaggy beard. He spoke with menace and his voice sounded familiar, but I did not recognise the face at all.
‘Then for God’s sake let me go. If you work for the French, then take me to their commander. If you are partisans then you should know I am here on General Wellington’s orders.’
‘I do not care about your General Wellington,’ said the seated man. ‘He has, I suspect, had enough from me already. I know exactly who you are. You are the mongrel fornicator Thomas Flashman. Don’t you recognise me?’ The voice was familiar and for a second I was puzzled, and then everything fell into place. I should have probably guessed from word ‘mongrel’, as only one person had called me that in my life, but lying with my face on the floor I noticed something else. Looking across at the seated man I saw he had no feet, or at least, none that reached the floor.
‘It’s you!’ I gasped, looking into the bearded face of the marquis. He had been clean shaven when I had last seen him.
‘Yes.’ White teeth shone through the beard as he gave me an unpleasant grin. ‘I came to collect Maria to make sure that these partisans treated her well, but I had no wish to meet her Lord Wellington. So I arranged to meet her here.’ The grin was slowly replaced by a look of sadness as he continued, ‘I have missed her all the months she has been away. Someone like you will not understand this, but I am very fond of my wife. We parted arguing over you and that is not going to happen again.’
I felt a chill run down my spine; if he just wanted to warn me off there was no need to tie me up. ‘Look, if you just cut me free, I will get on my way back to the British and you and your wife need never see me again.’
‘I don’t think so. Do you think I have forgotten how you insulted me in my own house, how you mocked me and laughed at me? I have burned to avenge myself on you. Then I heard you were with my wife again, like a festering sore between us. Well, I am going to cauterise that wound once and for all, so that you never bother us again.’
‘You can’t kill me for God’s sake, I’m family damn it. Maria will never forgive you for this.’ Then taking a deep breath I yelled, ‘Maria, I am in the windmill, come quickly!’
‘She is long gone down the valley,’ the marquis laughed at the fear that must have started to show in my face. ‘And you are right, I cannot kill you. When my wife does discover that you are dead, if she ever asks, I want to be able to look her honestly in the eye and say that I did not kill you.’
‘Thank God,’ I breathed.
‘Oh, you misunderstand me,’ chuckled the dwarf. ‘You are going to die, just not by my hand.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘A few days ago some Polish lancers were ambushed near here and the men were all killed or tortured to death. Their commander has sworn vengeance and has been hanging Spaniards ever since. One of my men is taking a message to the commander to tell him that the attack was organised by a British officer, and if he stops hanging our people we will hand him over. Of course the commander will agree, whether he actually intends to stop the hanging or not, and then my man will tell him of this windmill.’
‘You cannot do that,’ I gasped.
‘Of course I can. What is to stop me? You get the death you so richly deserve and I might even save some innocent Spaniards. Have you ever seen lancers fight, Flashman? Their points are razor sharp and they love nothing better than to stick them in a running man. If you are lucky they will run you through, but maybe they will untie your legs and chase you for sport.’
‘Please, look, I know we got off on the wrong foot so to speak, but we are on the same side!’ I was gabbling but I was desperate as I realised that this pint sized tyrant had carefully planned out my death. ‘I am sorry,’ I pleaded. ‘I realise I was wrong to do the things I did, I apologise of course. I am truly sorry. If you let me go I will put in a good word of you to Wellington. Perhaps he can help you with the leadership of the Central Junta; he would be keen to help both you and Maria.’
As soon as I mentioned his wife’s name I saw his face darken and I realised that this had been an error of judgement. ‘Oh, I can imagine how keen your commander is on my wife.’ The marquis sneered. ‘I hear you have been acting the goat with her maidservant too. Well, I hope you enjoyed it because you might get a closer view of your manhood than you have ever had before, soon. When the partisans tortured the Poles, they cut off their pricks and stuffed them into their owners’ mouths. That is how they were found the next day. Perhaps the Poles will do the same to you.’ He grinned nastily before sliding off his chair and standing on the floor. ‘Now it is time for me to get going. But in case my wife ever asks if we parted on good terms, let me wish you good luck for when the Poles arrive, probably around dawn tomorrow.’
‘You bastard,’ I shouted at him. ‘You filthy, stinking, murderous, pint sized little bast…’ a boot slammed into my head, roughly where I had been hit before, and the world exploded with a flashing light before returning to blackness.
It was night when I awoke. The door to the windmill was open and I could see stars in the night sky. For a moment I could not remember where I was or why. Then the memories came flooding back, followed swiftly by gut wrenching fear. I could not just lie there waiting to be tortured and mutilated by vengeful lancers. Even if I had to crawl or roll I would try to get into the forest and hide. A second later I discovered that in addition to tying my hands and feet tightly, the rope around my feet was secured to one of the beams in the windmill. I twisted trying to reach my sword to cut the rope but the scabbard was empty. Looking around I could see my sword embedded in the floor a few feet out of my reach. It was glinting in the starlight, a razor sharp blade that could be my salvation if only I could get to it. The gold hilt was valuable but the marquis evidently thought it was worth more to use it to taunt me in my final hours. I managed to sit up and reached around for anything sharp that could cut the ropes, but there was nothing. All I could find was the sharp edge to a wooden beam, so I sat there rubbing the rope around my hands against it. I did not think it would cut through the rope by morning but it gave me something to do and helped keep the panic at bay.
It was not the first night I had spent expecting imminent death, nor was it to be the last. Just a few years ago I had been destined for an explosive execution and I nearly went mad with fear that night. I knew I had to keep busy. I kept rubbing the rope against that beam until my arm muscles burned with the pain. It seemed to be futile I was making no progress at all. When I thought of my likely fate my legs instinctively clamped together and I felt physically sick. I would protest my innocence and try to explain, but would they listen? Surely they would not mutilate a British officer, I tried to reason, but then I remembered that this ‘little war’ – the guerrilla war – was completely different to the world of regiments and battle lines. There was unlimited savagery on both sides, no quarter asked or given, and if the Poles thought I had a part in it then they would give me what they thought I deserved.
Suddenly I heard a noise. A horse, it was definitely the snicker of a horse outside. Oh, Jesus, were the Poles here already? It was still dark but perhaps they thought it would be safer to travel at night. I strained my ears, I could hear
hooves now but only one horse I thought, surely the Poles would come in strength.
‘Señor, are you there?’ It was the voice of the partisan guide, and relief flooded over me.
‘Rodriguez, is that you?’ I called, remembering his name. ‘Please help me.’
‘Come out so that I can see you.’
‘I can’t. I am tied up in here.’ He did not reply but I heard him slowly approach. I thought he was looking carefully through the door before something crashed into the woodwork behind me.
‘Jesus,’ I jumped, my nerves were already on edge, ‘What was that?’ I asked, twisting around to see.
‘A rock, I had to check you were alone and not being used as bait for a trap.’ He was through the door now, a large knife glinting in his hand. He reached me in two strides and bent down to grasp my shoulder. His rough hands went down my arm until they found the rope, and then my hands were free and burning with renewed circulation.
‘My feet as well,’ I gasped.
‘Who did this to you?’ he demanded.
‘That bloody dwarf,’ I snarled.
‘But he is your cousin’s husband, I saw him greet her.’
‘Yes, well, he is no damned friend of mine.’ I picked up my sword and put it back in my scabbard. ‘Now, let’s get of here before those bloody lancers arrive.’
‘What lancers? What is going on señor?’ Of course then I had to explain what the marquis had organised, as we hurried into the trees. ‘I need to get my men away,’ Rodriguez said when he understood the situation. ‘We were just coming back down the valley after escorting your cousin higher into the hills when I found your horse and dog still tied up in the trees. If the lancers are coming you should go back through the forest. There is more cover and it will take you back in the direction of the British.’ He was interrupted by a welcoming bark from Boney, who recognised us approaching through the trees towards him.
‘What will you do?’ I asked. I had been hoping he would escort me back to the British lines.
‘I must find my men. It was my people who attacked the lancers.’ He was rushing now, anxious to get on his way. ‘If they spread out to look for you we may be able to kill some more. Good luck, Captain, keep in the trees and keep heading west,’ he said, pointing me in the right direction. With a shake of the hand he was gone. I was left standing in the forest with my hands and feet still tingling at the renewed blood flow, just a dog and a horse for company and a squadron of angry cavalry on the way. For a moment I had considered joining the partisan gang for safety in numbers. But then I would be drawn into their savage pitiless war; sooner or later they would get cornered and slaughtered. If I could just get away from those Poles who thought I was with the partisans, then even if I was captured by another French unit I would be treated honourably as a British prisoner of war.
I estimated that there was at least an hour or two of darkness, so grabbing the horse’s bridle I walked on in the direction the Spaniard had pointed. Unless you want to lose an eye to a low hanging branch or worse, I knew better than to ride through an unfamiliar forest. The foliage was blocking out any light from the stars so that it was black as pitch. We made slow but steady progress. I heard a screech from the undergrowth as Boney tracked down his dinner, but I did not feel hungry, I just wanted to get myself as far away from that windmill as possible. As the grey light of dawn filtered through the leaves I could see more clearly and mounted up. Later, once the sun was well over the horizon, I thought we had covered several miles and at last allowed myself to rest. I breakfasted on wine from my canteen and the food in my saddle bags. We had found a little clearing in the forest and the horse was grazing on the sparse grass. I sat in the dappled sunlight and congratulated myself on my good fortune. I had escaped the Poles and with luck and two days careful riding I should be back amongst the British, where I would write a very informative letter to my cousin. I tipped the last of the wine down my throat and then out of the corner of my eye I saw Boney stiffen. He had heard something and his head was turned to the west, the direction we were travelling. I strained my ears but at first I could hear nothing. Then faintly on the wind came the sound of voices.
You may have found this yourself, but to me languages seem to have a distinctive sound even if you cannot make out the words. Compared to English, French is a more nasal tongue, while Spanish has rounder tones. This language was neither, it was harsher, more guttural, the only thing similar I had heard was Russian a few years back, when I had been with Wilson. It must, of course, have been Polish, and in the second it had taken me to recognise the sound I had not been idle. Grabbing Boney’s collar and the horse’s bridle I was hustling my little menagerie into the thickest nearby undergrowth and scanning the clearing to check that there was no trace of my presence left on the ground. Of course such is my fortune that there in the middle of the clearing was a still steaming pile of horse dung that my mount had just left as it grazed. There was no choice but to dart back into the clearing, scrape up the filth with my hands and run back and throw it into the undergrowth. It took two trips and there was still a horsey smell over that particular spot, but as the lancers were sitting on horses themselves I did not think they would notice.
By the time I had buried myself back in the thick foliage with the animals, the voices could be heard quite clearly. From the sound of them, the Poles were relaxed, laughing and joking with each other like soldiers the world over. The voices were getting louder though, and I realised that they would pass close by. I crawled forward on my belly to get a glimpse of them from between the leaves. There were around twenty in the group. They all wore blue tunics similar to those of the French with white cross belts and looked like other French cavalry apart from the tall lances with points that glistened in the sun and their helmets. Instead of the normal round tops, their shakoes finished in a square shape with points fore, aft and to the sides. They looked damned comfortable on their horses too which were all good quality, fast mounts. Slowly I shrank back into the foliage. I stayed still for a good five minutes to give them time to get away. When all was quiet again I emerged from the undergrowth keen to put some distance between me and those lances. I had put one foot up into the stirrup and was just bouncing to swing up when across the top of the saddle I saw two more lancers enter the clearing.
Quite why they were so far behind the others I never found out, nor at that moment did I particularly care, for their intentions were all too clear. With a shout of triumph they both spurred their horses forward with lances lowered to the horizontal. I realised instantly that I did not have time to mount and get away, by the time I could get settled in the saddle their lance points would be in me. I still had my hand on the reins and I pulled my horse to obstruct the path of the lancer to my left and ducked my head under the height of the saddle. The lancer to my right gave another shout, this time of delight as he saw his fellow blocked and me exposed to his approach. I reached down to grab my sword, but the lance tip was just a yard or two away with the Pole’s face grinning in triumph as he judged which part of me to impale on his point. I realised that I would not have time to draw my weapon before I was skewered. In desperation I raised my hands to try and deflect the lance, with little hope of doing so given its horse driven momentum. But then just as I thought I was about to die, something grey flashed across my field of vision. Boney jumped and hit the lancer in the chest. The man raised his arms to fend off the snarling teeth from his throat. The lance point rose, its shaft hit me a glancing blow to the head, but then the lancer was alongside, with Boney still half in his lap, the dog’s jaws snapping and growling. The lancer was reaching down trying to draw his sword but I grabbed hold of his right boot and hauled it up, tipping both man and dog into the dirt on the far side of the horse. That, I thought, would give Boney better odds and hopefully take one man out of the fight, but the second lancer was already wheeling around.
If Boney expected me to intervene further in his fight he was destined to be disappointed. I was grate
ful to him for saving my life but now it was every man and animal for himself. Staying in the clearing would be fatal and I darted into the nearest, thickest undergrowth making it harder for the horseman to follow. But from his higher vantage point the lancer could see my path, and he spurred his horse down a deer run in the forest. As I stumbled blindly through the bushes in panic, with twigs whipping my face, I could hear the thunder of hooves to my right. Then a lance point jabbed at me through the leaves. I twisted and turned to try and shake him off. I could hear more shouts from behind now as his comrades charged back to join the fray. By now I had lost all sense of direction and just stumbled from one clump of undergrowth to another, but whatever I tried my pursuer always seemed just a few steps behind. I was panting with panic and exertion and knew this could not last. The undergrowth was too thick to draw a sword, but I had the presence of mind to put a hand in my pocket and draw out one of my pistols. It was in the nick of time too, as when I flung myself around the next tree trunk the lancer was already there just a yard or two away, raising his lance to stab down at me over his horse’s neck. Instinctively I rushed towards him so that I was too close for him to use the weapon, raised my hand and discharged the pistol into his chest.
We stared at each other. I was still panting but it seemed a moment of calm after frantic activity. Time almost seemed suspended as the smoke drifted slightly from my pistol muzzle and his horse moved several steps to the side. I remember he stared down at me with an expression of surprise. He was only young, just out of his teens I guessed, and he did not seem wounded at all. For a heart sickening moment I thought the pistol had misfired. Surely even I could not have missed at that range? Then slowly a small red dot appeared in the middle of his shirt. He looked down and we both watched it grow, it was quickly the size of the top of a cup. He looked up at me again then, his clear blue eyes locking onto mine, and then with infinite slowness he toppled from the saddle to land at my feet. I stood frozen for a few seconds more and then the sound of another pistol shot broke the spell. This one came from some distance back and was followed by the yelp of a dog.
Flashman in the Peninsula Page 28