"What of our own losses, gentlemen, in this last action?"
They had taken little fire while dealing out their own volleys into the mass of blue coats.
"Major Carter, sir. Through the head, sir. Instant. Not another even wounded, sir."
Septimus was truly grieved - he had relied on Carter, a strong man and wholly honest in his duty.
"That is a loss we can ill afford, I fear. I had expected to see Major Carter take my place eventually. Who will wish to purchase?"
The battalion would get first refusal on the commission - it would go for general sale, as Major Perceval's had, only if there was no taker in the mess.
The senior men shook their heads one after another, lacking the cash; eventually Captain Taft raised a hand.
"I can afford the purchase, sir, but you may feel me to need more experience yet."
"Another two years would be ideal, Mr Taft, but I am not to refuse you on such grounds. You will learn, I doubt not, sir. I would say that following our experience of the past few weeks, there is little more for any of us to discover. I would be obliged to you if you would put up the marks of rank immediately and commence the purchase as soon as we reach England."
There was a murmur, not quite of approval, but of acceptance; Taft was one of theirs, far better than any outsider. He might not be the perfect man for the position, but they knew him and could make necessary allowances and he would certainly not play the tyrant.
The message came that they were to march to the wharves, there to board ship. They were one of the lucky few who did not have to wade out from the beach into the naval longboats in a January night. They stood in their ranks, scowling forbiddingly at sailors who attempted to object as Black, the Quartermaster, ushered his fifty surviving mules aboard and then dumped bales of fodder and sacks of oats beside them.
"They saved our lives, those of us who did live, and I will not see them with their throats cut on the shore!"
"Quite right, sir. If the need arises, I can find pasture for them myself, Mr Black. They have done their duty and they have their rights!"
The sailors muttered that they supposed one soldier was much the same as another and set up a makeshift pen on deck.
They occupied two of the smaller transports which cast off in the middle of the night and sailed slowly out to the far side of the harbour to await escort, were gone from the shores of Spain by daylight.
Four weeks later, after a rough passage, they docked at Portsmouth. The battalion eased its way down the gangplanks and formed up on the quayside. The mules followed, stamping and moaning, glad to be off the ship but bright enough to realise that they were about to be loaded again; holiday was over for them.
A naval officer approached the men, very cautiously, speaking clearly and loudly in simple English in case they were foreign; dressed in rags as they were, they did not look like English soldiers.
"Good morning! Are you the senior officer, sir? The chief? Who are you, sir?"
"Colonel Sir Septimus Pearce; First Battalion, the Hampshires, sir."
"Oh! Very good, sir. I shall discover your orders, sir. If you would be so good as to form up, sir, I am sure we shall have your marching orders within minutes, sir." The lieutenant fled to warn his captain that the soldiers were in a very rough condition and must be treated with care.
They were directed back to Winchester where the barracks had been vacated for them.
Word had reached England of the exertions of some battalions during the campaign and there had been mention of the Hampshires' actions in the rearguard. The newssheets had made much of them and of General Moore who had become a national hero for his death at the last moment. Had he survived to face a Commission of Enquiry then there might have been a more rational sentiment, but he had died romantically, which was all that the politicians and their servants in the press could ask for.
The Hampshires were cheered as they marched out of the docks, a remarkable experience - public opinion of soldiers had generally polarised at the opposite extreme in the past. They had been forced to retain their old uniforms, for lack of any other to wear, and swaggered past the crowds as battle-worn veterans, to their admiration. Many of the men were still tired, and Septimus suspected they would receive medical discharges over the next months as they showed unable to recover their full health. For the while they took three days on the march, slowly and easily.
Septimus entered his office, informed the Sergeant-Major that he intended to do as little as possible for the remainder of the week and made his way homewards.
A few minutes of greetings of wife and children and then he begged that the carriage might be called.
"I must visit Mrs Carter, my dear. Will you come?"
The transports had outrun the post and he knew that he must break the news. She could imagine only one circumstance that could call him out of his home at such a time.
"Where did he die, Septimus?"
"At Corunna. He survived the retreat and was our sole casualty in the final battle. The worst of bad luck. Fortunately his lady has a rich family to fall back on. She will not be dependent on a pension that may not be paid."
She was also eight months gone with child; their second.
They sent a servant on horseback to her parents at Owlesbury, less than an hour distant; when the family arrived they left her to her to be private with her grief, as was only correct.
"Were our casualties very great, Septimus?"
"They have destroyed the battalion, my dear. I do not believe that three hundred men will remain in three months time, when the medical men have finished with them. We lost all except one of the ensigns, and he I have made lieutenant. Young Purkiss of all people! You will not recognise him - he is ten years older. Three lieutenants are gone, and Carter, of course. The captains all survived - they were very good and worked so hard they had no time to feel the cold, I suspect."
He tried to explain the retreat to her - the cold; the snow and sleet driven down the mountain winds; the harsh terrain; the unending watch for the French cavalry; the bodies lining the tracks; the despair that overtook many otherwise fit men.
"Some of them died inside their heads first, or so I think. Men who could have survived just lay down in the snow and stopped - they lacked something they needed, and I know not what. Moffat died - he was one who had nothing left, I fear."
She shook her head, did not say that she had never expected to see him again - he had left like a man going happily to his own funeral.
"Our two are well, Septimus. I thought for a time there might be a third, but it came to nothing. All is well with us. You have lost much weight, my love. There is grey in your hair as well!"
"I am amazed it is not white, my dear!"
"You have lost all of your baggage, it seems, sir!"
"Everything I possess is on my back, ma'am. I do not doubt that I shall be called to Horse Guards within days. I shall attend my tailor in London. For the while, it will be civilian clothes, I fear me!"
The summons to Horse Guards arrived within the week; Septimus left Winchester a day early so that he could present himself to Scott first.
A young man greeted him politely, and with no sign of recognition. Septimus introduced himself, knowing that he bore the appearance of middle-age now.
"I am back from Corunna, sir, and have lost all of my baggage. A full set of uniforms, if you would be so good. You have my measurements, but I fear they may no longer be relevant."
A boy was sent running into the recesses of the establishment, came back bearing the ledger with Septimus' details. Scott himself followed.
"Sir Septimus! May I welcome your fortunate return, sir? Are you to attend at Horse Guards immediately, sir?"
"I am bidden there for tomorrow, sir. I should have presented myself to you last week, of course, as soon as I reached England, but I fear me I was fatigued beyond all measure."
"You held the rearguard, the place of honour, Sir Septimus. That you are fatigued is
hardly a matter of surprise, sir! I presume you are to be found at your usual hotel, sir?"
"I am, Mr Scott."
"Then, sir, if you will make yourself available for eight 'o clock of the morning my people will come to you with a first set of uniforms so that you may present yourself properly, sir. It is the very least one may do!"
"Thank you. You are very good, Mr Scott!"
"Not at all, sir. All of the military men come to me, sir, and know that in a rare case such as yours they may expect my very best. As you have given of your best, sir, it is a very small recompense that I may offer!"
Septimus bowed, being unable to phrase a sensible answer.
The tailor measured him again, shaking his head at the results.
"You may be described as one of Pharaoh's lean kine, Sir Septimus, if you will pardon the familiarity - not an ounce of flesh upon you, sir! With your permission I will arrange for shirts and such as well, sir - you must be in need of them! Will you attend at St James, do you know, sir?"
"I do not expect to, Mr Scott. I have certainly not been warned of such an event."
"It is not, one suspects, impossible, sir. An augmentation of your coat of arms will be highly likely, one must imagine."
"The College of Heralds is yet to inform me of the nature of the arms that accompanied the baronetcy, sir - I doubt I need concern myself too much with that matter."
"Possibly so, Sir Septimus. If you will excuse me, sir, I see General Tarleton who also favours me with his tailoring."
General Tarleton was notorious for his service in the American War and was now active in the political field. There had been insistent rumours that he wished to take the field again, had desired Moore's command and wished to take the army that must, many said, return to the Peninsula. He was within hearing range.
"I beg your pardon, Mr Scott, and yours, sir, for any discourtesy, but did I hear the name Sir Septimus?"
"You did, sir. I am Sir Septimus Pearce."
"Banastre Tarleton, Sir Septimus! I am honoured, sir!"
They exchanged bows, most formally.
Tarleton was close to sixty but still retained the lean, rakish appearance of his controversial youth.
"Your Hampshires, and yourself, of course, Sir Septimus, accrued the bulk of the glory that was available in this last campaign. I have been told that you lost five hundred men and saved ten thousand, sir. Tell me, what was Moore intending to do? What was his strategy?"
"I was not privy to his plans, sir. A regiment of the line and well distant from headquarters - you will know how that is. From the little - far too little - that I ever heard, I am to understand that he believed he was subordinate to the Spanish and was to support them in their actions against the French. His strategy, if such it may be called, may well have been to conform to the last demand sent from the Spaniards. I am given to believe that there were several competing Spanish governments and that he endeavoured to obey them all. My battalion was sent up into the hills - for what purpose I never discovered - and joined the army only on the third or fourth day of the retreat and I met him but twice in the return to Corunna."
"You almost imply that he had no strategy, Sir Septimus."
"I do not know what orders he brought out from England, sir. He may have had his hands tied, for all I know. And of the dead there should be no ill spoken, sir!”
“I tend to agree with you, Sir Septimus. Why should we blacken the name of a man who died performing his duty as he saw it?"
They parted on that note, Tarleton, an inveterate gossip, to spread the message that Pearce, an honest and straightforward fellow, refused to criticise Moore because it would not be decent to do so, the man being dead and unable to defend himself. There was a general agreement among the political people that this said much for Sir Septimus, although far less for Moore.
The next morning brought Septimus to Horse Guards, beautiful in his tailoring. He was led upstairs again, taken straight before a committee that seemed to include every spare general in London. The Duke of York, who had recently been embroiled in scandal by his avaricious mistress, was not present, was, in fact, thought to be clearing his office.
"Welcome, Sir Septimus! I wish first to offer the most wholehearted thanks for your services, sir! More on that topic later, sir. We are aware that you can offer no insight into the events leading up to the retreat, for being elsewhere in the mountains. There are a number of questions one must ask about the conduct of the retreat, however. It is rumoured that there were failures of discipline in certain battalions, sir. Is that so?"
Septimus described all that he had seen.
"I believe, gentlemen, that the troops I saw were predominantly of English provenance. I saw no badges of either Scottish or Irish regiments. The Hanoverians of the King's German Legion behaved very well, and, indeed, saved my battalion from destruction on at least one occasion. I do not believe there were either Spanish or Portuguese soldiers present, sir."
"Can you explain why, Sir Septimus, an opinion at least?"
He repeated his belief that the problem was of gaolbirds who contaminated good men by their presence.
"It might be possible to control them aboard ship, sir, but the Army offers too many opportunities for them to revert to wickedness. I would recommend, strongly, sir, that any man convicted of felony should be sent to garrison duty on the Slave Coast or in the Sugar Islands or possibly India; they should be kept away from the field of battle, sir."
"One might tend to bear that in mind, Sir Septimus. How then do we recruit to the Army?"
"Peasants from the Irish bogs, sir, make the best of soldiers, especially when fed well. Other than that I have found that men from the Militia will settle in well to the Regulars. Was there to be a substantial Bounty, sir, paid in cash to the families of the men, then I think we might find many thousands of good soldiers to be available. Increase the numbers balloted into the Militia, sir, and then, when they are used to life in uniform, encourage them to join up. I think we could solve our problems like that."
There was a mutter around the table that it would be damned expensive, but it would be far less likely to lead to riot than the introduction of actual forced conscription, which was an alternative under discussion.
"Did you see the death of General Moore, Sir Septimus?"
"At a distance, sir. I was perhaps a furlong away. I was told that he was hit by artillery fire - the French were firing canister at the time. Later I heard he had died. Men I respect saw him struck down, sir, so I believe that is how it happened."
"It has been suggested that he might have put a pistol to his head, Sir Septimus."
"No, sir. That is quite impossible. At least a dozen officers saw him to have a massive wound to the chest and shoulder and many private soldiers told me they saw him struck from his horse. There is also the point, sir, that he did not believe that he deserved anything other than praise for his genius in extricating so many of his army from Spain. The rumour of suicide is wholly unacceptable, sir."
Many of those present knew Moore, and had had some experience of his self-belief; they agreed that he was not a man to kill himself.
"Thank you for those words, Sir Septimus. You are very convincing, sir. There comes now the problem of what to do for you, sir! We cannot promote you - as a lieutenant-colonel your step to major-general must come by seniority. You are already a baronet, so a knighthood is only marginally eligible. We cannot set a precedent by making you a baron - that would lead to a hundred others who believed they had the right to the same; peerages must be reserved to the commanders of expeditions or armies in the field, or fleets, of course. Even ten years ago one could have discovered a sinecure for you - a Surveyor of Green Wax Monies was a popular post at the time, for example - but of late there has been much protest in the House at such things. The damned man Cobbett has made great noises lately, and has been listened to. The sole course available to us is to make you a Grant-in-Aid - a cash payment, which I much hope you will be
able to accept. Money is vulgar stuff, I know, sir, but it can be very handy on occasion!"
"There are a few fields just adjacent to my house in the country near Micheldever, sir, which I would much like to make mine. A sheepwalk that could with only a little ingenuity be put down to wheat, actually marches with me. Such being the case, sir, a Grant-in-Aid would be welcome to all of my family!"
They were glad to hear that, and even more glad to hear that he was turning himself into a country gentleman in proper fashion.
"There is a Levee on Thursday morning, Sir Septimus, and I know that His Majesty would wish to greet you again."
Septimus bowed - it was a command, he needed make no acceptance.
Scott provided all that was needed, with a very superior smile. Septimus sent an Express to Winchester to inform Marianne that he could not be back before Saturday. He paid a visit to Rundell and Bridge and discussed rubies with them; they discovered a necklace that had come to them at well under the market rate and were able to pass it to him at a very favourable price. He noticed that the discussion took an outlandishly long time and that his name was mentioned repeatedly whenever there were other patrons in hearing range; there were advantages to being in the public eye, he presumed. It was pleasant while it lasted, which he fully expected to be for another week at least; the newssheets would have another story by that time.
The King was still sane, although increasingly doddery, but the old gentlemen was better described as ancient these days. He could hardly see and his hearing was suspect, but he kept his kindly smile. The Duke of Kent was at his side, further proof that the Duke of York's star was waning - the two brothers hated each other, which was hardly a matter of surprise, the Duke of York being a hard-working public servant with a few minor vices, while Kent was renowned as an idle and sadistic pervert.
Septimus was aware of Kent's reputation and took pains to bow deeply to him - that was a gentleman whose enmity he did not need.
Fire and Folly (Man of Conflict Series Book 3) Page 22