Keane's Company (2013)

by Gale, Iain

  Then it began to clear and there in front of them lay twoscore or more of dead and dying Frenchmen and their mounts. The others had turned tail and fled, officers at their heels attempting to turn them. But Keane could see there was no likelihood that any of those men were going to ride back into that murderous fire.

  There was a hurrah and the Portuguese flung their shakos into the air. The captain turned to Keane and clasped his hand. ‘Did you see them? We did it, senhor. We did it.’

  ‘Well done,’ said Keane for want of anything else, feeling grateful to be alive, and then he looked to his flank to see if anyone had been hit. But he was met by nothing less than a line of grinning faces.

  ‘Be careful, Tom,’ he said to Morris. ‘They might not have had enough.’

  And sure enough the dragoons were turning back now, forming up. But he could not be sure whether it was their intention to attack once more or simply to quit the field. They stood still, as if weighing up the odds, and within seconds he was sure that it was the latter. He heard a bugle call retire and saw officers rallying their men, and just at that moment another sound made him turn his head to the rear of the square. A huzzahing and hallooing that might more likely have been heard on the hunting field. Cavalry. And it could only mean British cavalry, at that. Staring, he began to see forms on the track to their rear. Cavalry in parcels of five or six men, one or perhaps two troops in all, wearing the blue tunic and Tarleton helmet of the Light Dragoons.

  They came galloping past the square, hollering and shouting, their curved sabres whipping the air high above their heads. And as they flew past it was clear where they were heading. The French dragoons had seen them too now and, still reforming, seemed for a moment frozen to the spot. Then almost as if by magic they began to ride away, trying desperately to outrun the British cavalry before they hit.

  Keane watched as the British made good ground and saw the leading troop smash into the almost stationary French, scattering bodies and horses as they did so. But the bulk of the French dragoons were well on their way now, back over the hills to the left from which they had come, keen to put any distance they could between them and the English cavalry. Keane looked for a moment longer and then turned to Ross.

  ‘Sarn’t, I think we might stand down now. Well done, all of you.’ He watched as the Portuguese did the same, the men drawing straw-covered bottles and canteens from their haversacks. He found Heredia. ‘Ask the captain if he has any rum, will you? We could all do with something.’

  Heredia found the Portuguese captain, who laughed and pointed him towards his sergeant major before walking over to Keane. ‘I’m sorry, captain. Bad manners. Perhaps you would prefer some of this.’

  He held out an engraved silver flask to Keane, who thanked him and took a long draught of what turned out to be a surprisingly fine port. He was about to thank the captain again when he was aware of a horseman having ridden into the square. The newcomer rode across to the two men and, leaning down from the saddle, reached out for the captain’s flask, which Keane surrendered.

  Taking it, the man spoke as Keane rose to meet his gaze. ‘Thank you, captain. Gentlemen. May I toast your good fortune?’

  And Keane found himself staring up into the grinning face of Charles Blackwood.

  14

  Sir Arthur Wellesley frowned and rubbed at his forehead in a way that he was sometimes accustomed to do when he was, as now, profoundly troubled. ‘You say, Captain Keane, that you had beaten off the French dragoons before Captain Blackwood attacked them?’

  ‘Yes, sir. They were unformed, demoralized and quite ready to quit the field.’

  ‘And yet you say that Captain Blackwood led an attack on these men. Men who to all intents and purposes were already hors de combat?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Most interesting, Keane.’

  Wellesley folded his hands behind his back and walked a few paces. ‘You may know, Keane, that Captain Blackwood has already made his report to me of the affair.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I was aware that might be the fact. He gained a day’s march on us, in his hurry to rejoin the army.’

  Grant, who all the while had been standing close to Wellesley, gave a snigger. They stood in the shade of a tree on the spot that the commander-in-chief had chosen for his headquarters that day. Wellesley glared at Grant and chose to ignore the slight. ‘And what do you suppose that Captain Blackwood might have told me in his report?’

  ‘I would suppose, sir, that it might have alluded to the fact that Captain Blackwood, on hearing the sound of gunfire on the army’s left flank, and being in close proximity to that position for reasons of his own, had ridden to the aid of the beleaguered Portuguese and had found a square under attack from the French. It might also have suggested that the square might have been about to break had it not been for the timely intervention of Captain Blackwood’s troop.’

  Wellesley smiled, but his response was terse. ‘Two troops, to be precise, Keane. Captain Blackwood, by virtue of a brevet rank, was in command of two troops at the time. Yes, clearly you do possess the spy’s acuity for being able to anticipate prevarication and detect possible subterfuge.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Keane, do you suppose that I should be more prepared to believe your story or that of Captain Blackwood?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know, sir.’

  Wellesley smiled. ‘Don’t know, eh? Diplomacy, Keane, is most certainly one of your strong suits.’

  He looked across at Grant and then back at Keane. ‘I am fully aware, Keane, of your vendetta with Blackwood and everything involved in it. Everything. And I expressly forbid any further meetings with his sister. Is that quite clear?’

  Keane reddened. ‘Sir, I can hardly think that I need to be commanded not to engage in the pursuit of happiness.’

  ‘I am not asking you to curtail your happiness, Keane. I am merely instructing you not to exacerbate a situation which is already far beyond any that I will tolerate in my army. I will not have officers engaging with one another in personal vendettas. Do you understand?’

  Keane nodded. ‘Yes, sir, of course.’

  ‘You will comply with my orders, captain?’

  ‘Of course, sir. I would not go against your orders.’

  ‘Very well. That’s settled, then. And as you will be aware, I am more inclined to favour your description of events than that of Captain Blackwood. You say the Spanish will not fight, but that the Portuguese will.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Given British commanders, they will fight and die where they stand. They are good soldiers, sir. I am sure that the Spanish too are valiant. But they are poorly led. It is as you supposed, sir. They have no spirit for a fight in which they know that their own officers will quit the field first.’

  ‘You swear that you saw them run?’

  ‘I saw an entire battalion break and run on seeing their cavalry attacked and cut to pieces by the French. Yes, sir.’

  ‘Strong stuff, captain, if you can prove it. And you really wish me to believe this?’

  ‘I do, sir.’

  ‘Then I shall take your word as an exploring officer in good faith, Keane. You have done well. And as to the other matter, let that be an end to it.’

  Wellesley turned back to Grant. ‘Major Grant, it would seem from Captain Keane’s account that we are unable to rely upon General Cuesta’s forces.’

  ‘Indeed it would. But the captain is right, sir. The Spanish, like our Portuguese allies, are a valiant people. Even as we speak many of them are flocking to the colours. They do wish to fight the French. And we can rely upon the guerrillas, Sir Arthur.’

  ‘Yes, Grant, I am aware of that. And we need men like Captain Keane here to keep them on our side, do we not?’

  ‘Indeed, sir. He is invaluable.’

  Keane made the most of the moment. ‘Do you wish me to take my men out again, sir? On the same mission?’

  ‘We will continue to advance, captain, and you will continue to monitor the pr
ogress of General Cuesta’s force. Yes, if you will. Rejoin the column and this time it will not matter whether or not you are in evidence. General Cuesta, I fancy, will have heard about your exploits from his own sources.’

  ‘I am certain of it, sir, but I hope very soon to hear more of him. I have a man at this moment in his camp.’

  *

  It was barely ten miles from Wellesley’s tree to the private house which Cuesta had requisitioned as his own temporary headquarters. He had chosen the only fine dwelling in the district, presuming that with it might come the contents of a cellar. He was not wrong.

  Charles Blackwood took another sip from the chilled glass of twenty-year-old white Rioja which the general had been pleased to offer him and smiled across the table. ‘As I was telling you, general, it was then that I seized the moment and took my dragoon with a swift uppercut to the face. Felt the sabre slice straight through the man’s teeth. Hiss. Something like that. God, it’s a bloody affair, doing battle, don’t you agree, general?’

  General Cuesta called to the servant to pour more wine. The man, not his usual orderly but a swarthy-looking fellow in the uniform of a Spanish grenadier with a handkerchief tied about his head, poured with a flourish. Cuesta, white-faced at the captain’s gory accounts of his recent skirmish, took a hasty gulp from his glass and smiled at Blackwood. ‘Yes, captain, a bloody business indeed. But we are men of steel, are we not? More wine?’

  Blackwood stretched out his arm and accepted as the steward poured. He drank and spoke again. ‘You are aware that a British officer is putting the word around that it was not I who saved the battalion, but himself?’

  ‘Yes, you mentioned the fact. What was his name?’

  ‘Goes by the name of Keane. An Irishman. A very forward fellow. Full of self-importance and desperate to get on. No money, you see. Lost the lot gambling away the family estate. Dreadful thing to do. And now it would seem he’s lying to get the general’s ear.’

  Cuesta shook his head. ‘Some men know no honour, captain. I will speak of him with General Wellesley when next we meet.’

  ‘You are kind, general. That will be a great service to the British army. And you may be as disparaging as you please. I would not as a rule be so very uncharitable to a brother officer. But you do see that his word would have it that I simply exploited his victory, when as you and I know it was I and my own brave boys who chased off those Frenchies, risking our lives to save the poor, hapless Portuguese. How they got themselves into that position in the first place is my wonder. I’m sure that none of your own Spanish officers would have mishandled the action so.’

  Cuesta grinned at him. ‘You are so right, captain. My officers are professionals. Not like these fools of Portugueses. They even need your officers to train them. Which I am sure is most helpful. But don’t they have their own men to do such a thing?’

  ‘Presumably not, or they would not need our help. They might quite easily have broken, especially with Keane whooping around and terrifying them out of order.’

  ‘Yes. It really was an appalling way for an officer to behave.’

  Blackwood took another drink.

  ‘Yes. As a matter of fact, I intend to bring charges against Captain Keane.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. It is evident that the officer in question was reckless in the extreme. His action endangered the safety of the entire column. What was he thinking of? Riding on the flank and coming in unannounced? He was foolish in his handling of the situation and has been more so ever since. I do not treat lies lightly, general. It is a question of honour. The man must be cashiered. He is a rogue, sir. A scoundrel who should never have been given a commission in the British army. I shall have him out, sir, I tell you. He will leave in dishonour.’

  ‘What puzzles me is that he should have been on the flank of the army at all. What was he doing there with his handful of men?’

  ‘You don’t know? He is a spy, sir.’

  ‘A spy? Was he spying on my men?’

  Cuesta called for more wine, but on looking up saw the bottle sitting on the campaign chest. Of the steward there was no sign.

  *

  In their small bivouac close to the lines, Keane stood in his tent with Morris and Ross and questioned Gilpin. ‘And you heard all this, just as you can hear me now?’

  ‘Just the same, sir. The Spanish general was sitting there plain as day and Captain Blackwood was spouting out such slander against you. It was all I could do to bear to hear it.’

  ‘You say he claimed that it was his men who beat off the French.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And that he was going to bring charges?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You did well, Gilpin. You may go.’

  Keane turned to Morris. ‘This is bad, Tom. The man seems bent on ruining me.’

  ‘Quite so, James, and I wonder what we can do to prevent him.’

  ‘There may be nothing to be done. Unless he can come by some accident.’

  Morris looked at him. ‘James, don’t be foolhardy. We will think of some means—’

  Suddenly they heard shouting. It seemed to be coming from a good distance away from the bivouac. Both men moved to the tent entrance and listened.

  ‘Sounds like trouble,’ said Keane, and together they advanced towards the noise, but it was not until they drew closer that they were able to recognize the raised voices. They heard Heredia first.

  ‘You are lying. My countrymen are brave soldiers. We do not need you here. We will send the French from our home.’

  Another voice joined in. Silver. ‘You’re the liar. You dago. Your bloody Spanish general’s a coward. The only reason your bloody infantry didn’t run was ’cause they’d been told not to by one of our commanders. They’ll only fight with an Englishman in charge. That’s all you lot – Portos, Spanish, the lot. If it hadn’t been for our officers teaching you the proper ways then you’d all be dead. You’re nothing without us.’

  ‘Nothing? Have you looked at where you have spent the last few weeks? Have you seen my country? How do you call it nothing?’

  ‘’Cause that’s what it is. Nothing. Can’t even speak English, can you? But you’re happy enough to have us die for you. And to screw our women in the camp. I know where you’ve been, Mister Heredia. Down the alley with our women, haven’t you?’

  Keane was hurrying now, trying to push through the crowd of soldiers and followers that had gathered around the argument, anticipating the coming fight. But it was too late. He heard the thud as someone’s fist crashed into bone. And then another, and by the time he managed to get to the edge of the crowd they were hard at it, fists flying and arms flailing in a vicious bare-knuckled brawl.

  Keane yelled at them. ‘Stop! Stop that now. Both of you.’

  But either he went unheard or they chose to ignore him. Heredia’s fist smashed against the side of Silver’s jaw, sending the man reeling backwards, but the Englishman managed to recover and charged towards the trooper, headbutting him in the diaphragm and sending him sprawling before landing on top of him. Silver smashed a fist into Heredia’s nose and the blood spurted out. Silver was kneeling on him now, shouting, ‘Get up, you dago dog. I’ll bloody kill you.’

  The Portuguese pushed Silver off and rose to his feet, fists flying, one of them catching Silver in the eye.

  The crowd was cheering now and Keane pushed through and stood just a few paces away from the milling men. He was about to intervene when a huge hand landed on Silver’s shoulder and dragged him off Heredia, throwing him to the floor. Another arm went up and the flat of his hand took the full force of one of Heredia’s punches without flinching.

  Behind him was Ross.

  ‘You’re both on a charge. You filthy soldiers. Get up. Both of you.’

  He saw Keane. ‘Sir, sorry, sir. They were at it before I knew.’

  Keane nodded. ‘Yes, sarn’t. Get them both cleaned up and I’ll see them in half an hour.’ He looked behind Ross
to where Heredia was rising from the ground and saw a knife in his hand. ‘Look out, Silver. Watch him.’

  Silver turned just as Heredia launched himself at him, but it was Gilpin who was there, pushing himself between the two men. He caught Heredia by the arm and twisted his wrist, making the knife fall to the ground.

  Garland was on them too, now. But Keane pushed forward and pulled them apart.

  Heredia, his eyes rolling with anger, was held back by Garland as Ross looked at him. ‘You bloody fool. What the hell did you think you were doing?’

  Heredia struggled against Garland’s grip and Ross shook his head.

  ‘No, laddie, that’s not right. I can’t have fighting among us. Not right, see. Not for Captain Keane.’

  Heredia pushed one arm free from Garland and managed to take another step towards Silver, but before either man could do anything there was a piercing scream from behind them, followed by a woman’s voice cursing in Portuguese.

  Heredia shrugged and Silver turned to see his wife. ‘Bloody hell. What are you doing here?’

  She screamed again in Portuguese and Silver answered her. Then she shouted at Heredia, who had become calm now.

  The crowd had dispersed, with the prospect of any more bloodshed now gone. Keane walked across to her. ‘Gabriella? I thought you were to stay at Abrantes.’

  ‘Yes, sir, but I had to come.’

  ‘You came after your husband?’

  ‘No, sir, I came to find you.’

  Keane was taken aback. ‘Me? What do you want from me?’

  ‘A woman, sir, she came to the camp asking for you. A fine lady. Very beautiful, with black hair and lovely eyes. A yellow dress. She found me.’

  Keane felt his heart pounding. Kitty? ‘Where is she now, this lady?’

  ‘She came to the army, sir. She said she would find Major Grant. I told her you would be close to him.’