He chose MacKay and five others, including Hickson to accompany the cart, which was loaded high with a fine selection from their catch, carefully arranged to conceal their rifles and two kegs of powder, below a quickly constructed false floor, installed by the local carpenter.
The Spanish captain had made good his promise. His relations, and many other citizens of the little port had been unstinting in their efforts to help. Cloaks, hats and all the information they could supply about the most likely buildings that would be chosen for Tasselot’s quarters.
MacKay took the reins of the little cart, with Welbeloved on the seat beside him and two more men riding on the tailboard. Three more men tramped alongside, carrying ropes attached to the cart, and ready to lend a hand and their weight to help the diminutive donkey haul its cargo up and down the steep tracks to their destination. The rest of the Hornets, also cloaked and hatted, filtered along behind, marking those positions from which they could support their comrades, should their eventual withdrawal be contested. The two fishing boats were secured to the jetty by a single line, fore and aft, and could be cast off and under way in an instant.
The track wound its way up the steep inclines and the men tailed onto the ropes to help the donkey with its task. Welbeloved walked in front, to be the first to encounter any pickets or foragers who might be exploring away from the main force.
The miserable weather might well have dampened the enthusiasm of the French. It wasn’t until they were entering the town after an arduous march, that they met the first of the patrols; a squad of grenadiers under a sergeant, tramping dejectedly down the road. They stopped the cart and demanded to know what they were carrying and where they were going.
The sergeant was a tall, aggressive man with an enormous black moustache, which he stroked and curled as he roared at them. Welbeloved was suitably servile as he replied in a mixture of Spanish and French, making no great effort to be understood, but repeating, “Fish for French General Tasselot. Special order, fresh fish for eat tonight.”
After the third repetition, the man appeared to get the message, but was not going to let them go that easily. He inspected the cargo and helped himself to a large hake, in spite of Welbeloved’s vehement protests that he was stealing fish belonging to his own general. The squad marched off laughing, leaving Welbeloved shouting insults after them, in the manner he hoped a Spanish fisherman would have done.
The first of the guard posts was only a short distance from where they had been stopped. The sentries and their sergeant had been amused spectators to the exchange with the patrol. Welbeloved went through the same routine, but this time shrugged fatalistically when the man helped himself to a couple of fat fish.
Happy with this unexpected windfall, the sergeant cheerfully directed them towards the house that the general had commandeered for the night, and MacKay whipped up the donkey for the final two hundred yards.
The house itself was probably the home of a rich merchant or the town’s chief citizen. A large white-limed, three-story structure with a pan-tiled roof and a wide arch into a courtyard at the rear of the building. The front door was guarded by two grenadiers outside, and probably more inside. One of these sentries called his sergeant when the cart pulled up. The sergeant made a further inspection of the fish before directing them through the arch into the courtyard, following them in and marshalling them through the guard at the archway to the kitchens. He then yelled and banged on the door until it was opened by another sentry, who was sent post haste to fetch the kitchen staff.
It was the general’s cook himself who came to have a look. A fat, jowly man who looked as though he spent much of his time sampling the dishes he was cooking. He was inclined to be aggressive. He knew nothing about any fish, he declared. He had planned other things for the meal tonight, but he would examine the offerings to see whether there was anything of sufficiently good quality to set before his master.
The sergeant eventually lost his temper. “For God’s sake, Louis, get this stuff unloaded and into the kitchen in the dry. You can decide what you want to do then, instead of standing out here in the rain until I’ve got webbed feet. If you don’t want it, I’m damned sure my lads’ll be glad to take it off your hands.”
The cook gave way grudgingly. “All right then. You get these men to carry it through to the kitchen. I’ll have a table cleared so that we can see what they’ve brought. You can have anything I don’t need.”
He walked away and the sergeant followed after, gesturing to Welbeloved to unload the cart and bring the fish into the house. A quick glance round proved that apart from the sentries at the front of the house and in the archway to the courtyard, there was no other guard outside. All the others must be inside, out of the rain.
He and MacKay lifted a large basket of fish between them. He whispered to the others to break out the rifles and follow. They hefted the heavy basket down a short passageway and through a door into a large warm kitchen. It was full of the smells of cooking food, emanating from pots suspended from hooks hanging over the top of the fires, by the side of the ovens in the long range.
There were five men in the kitchen; the sergeant and the grenadier, the cook and two assistants. The two soldiers were standing close to the fires, warming themselves and steaming gently as the heat drove the damp from their clothes. The cook’s two assistants were clearing a big, square table, and the cook gestured for them to put the basket on it. They swung it up and left it for the cook to inspect, both of them moving casually towards the fire, as if to warm themselves when the rest of the Hornets crowded through the door, rifles at the ready.
Before the two soldiers could react, they found two razor-sharp knives held at their throats and a snarled admonishment to all of them. “Stand still and keep quiet! Anyone making a sound is dead!”
The sergeant opened his mouth as if to protest. The increase in the pressure of the knife at his throat, changed his mind for him and all present were made to lie on the floor, expertly and quickly searched, then gagged securely and trussed with strips torn from their clothes.
Welbeloved and MacKay removed their wide hats and fishermen’s cloaks and donned their caps again. The men had already done so before they burst in, which may have contributed to the speed and silence with which the French were subdued. Disciplined, uniformed men commanded much greater respect in such situations, than cloaked anonymous desperados.
Thoughtfully, Welbeloved removed his cap again and donned the sergeant’s shako, handing the other to MacKay, who adjusted the strap under his chin and followed him through the kitchen door, moving stealthily towards the front of the house, eyes and ears straining for sounds and signs of sentries or any other occupants.
They were in a passage with a staircase rising sharply above their heads on the left, and a door towards the end on the right. The passage was lit by a guttering tallow dip in a sconce above head height. It was quite dim, but light enough to see where they were going. Beyond the bottom of the stairs there was much more light, where the passage opened out into the hallway, with reception rooms leading off on either side. From their position behind the stairs they could see the figure of another sentry, standing stiff and wooden in front of the door on the right, presumably where the general was at the moment.
Carefully he opened the nearest door. He could sense that the room was empty as soon as the door started to move, although it was quite brightly lit and there was a large table, ready laid out with five place settings. He waved to his men, who quickly filed from the kitchen and ducked through the door.
Resuming their watch from behind the stairs, Welbeloved waited patiently. The only sound they could hear was a soft murmur of voices from behind the door that the sentry was guarding. There was no other sound or sign of life, either above their heads up the stairs, or from any of the other rooms across the hall. The doors of these rooms were closed, but that didn’t guarantee that they were unoccupied.
They needed to be certain that no-one would be in a
position to attack their rear, when they tackled General Tasselot and his colleagues. At the moment, the sentry was the biggest problem. He was too far away in a well-lighted hallway, for there to be any hope of silencing him in a quick attack. One shout would alert Tasselot, the sentry at the front and anyone else upstairs or in the rooms opposite.
Welbeloved calculated the angles and whispered to MacKay. “Is Ryan one of the men in the dining room?” MacKay answered with a nod. “Go and get him Sergeant.” Within seconds he was back with the skinny Ulsterman, who in spite of his gaunt frame, had one of the biggest appetites of all the Hornets.
“Have yew got that knife of yors with yew, Ryan?” A wolfish grin and a nod of the head was the reply. “Take a look at that sentry and tell me if yew can silence him from here.”
Ryan eased himself into a position behind the stairs, his fingers already caressing the wickedly pointed knife, with which Welbeloved had once seen him bring down a rabbit at full stretch in Scotland. He shook his head regretfully. “It’s four payces closer than this, I need to be, sor. That’s if I’m to be sure he’ll be mayking no noise.”
Welbeloved eased the shako off and whispered back. Put this on to make him hesitate. He’ll think yew’re one of them at first. Walk forward casually ‘til yew’re in range, then do what yew have to.”
Ryan fumbled the shako onto his head and the strap under his chin and settled it comfortably. He wriggled backwards until he could stand straight without being seen, and casually walked towards the brighter light in the hall, inevitably attracting the attention of the sentry.
It was only a sideways shift of the eyes. This man regarded his duty as that of ceremonial doorkeeper, put there to prevent his master from being disturbed without warning. He never for a moment considered that there could be any danger from within the house. Other sentries were posted outside to prevent that sort of thing.
His lack of imagination cost him his life. There was a blur of movement as Ryan’s hand flew forward and the point of the knife slammed home below the man’s ear. There was the faintest of gurgles as he choked on his own blood and crumpled to the floor without a sound. Ryan had continued swiftly forward to catch the man’s musket as his hand released its grip. He also pushed him hard against the wall as he fell, so that he slithered down like a sack of beans.
By that time, Welbeloved and MacKay had reached him. They gathered him up between them and carrying him quietly, dropped him in the dining room, where Ryan pulled out his knife and carefully wiped it clean of blood, then slipped it back into its sheath, strapped to his forearm.
While they were doing this, the rest of the squad moved quietly out of the room and made a rapid inspection of all the other openings off the hallway. Welbeloved followed them, thoughtfully bolting the door opening to the front of the building. The rooms across the hall had been converted into offices for the general’s staff. They were deserted and so was the staircase. There were no noises indicating occupation of any of the upstairs rooms. It now seemed possible that the only people remaining in the house were all in the room so recently guarded by the dead sentry.
CHAPTER 24
Welbeloved had his ear pressed against the door, but the timbers were solid and thick. He could hear one voice raised in anger and the soft murmur of a reply, but could get no idea of how many men were attending the meeting. There were only five places set in the dining room, which might be a good indication. He frowned and shrugged fatalistically. He was going to have to lead his men in there, no matter how many Frenchmen he found. If there were too many to overcome silently, it would be a bloody business.
MacKay and Ryan carried a keg of powder and placed it by the front entrance. It had been fused for thirty seconds only. If they had to make a fighting retreat, the more confusion they could create the better. Twenty-five pounds of gunpowder exploding in the main entrance would certainly divert attention from his line of retreat at the rear.
Speaking softly, he gave his instructions, then turned the handle and walked quietly into the room, followed in a steady file by all his men, rifles loaded and cocked and bayonets fixed. As they entered the door they moved alternately right and left, spreading out with their weapons covering the men seated around the table.
Four men sat there, and because the Hornets marched in steadily, in a military manner, they made no move for the first vital seconds. What they were seeing was a military drill and they were used to military drills. They lived with them; they took part in them every day of their lives. This was normal, even though it was not right. Then they realised that these were not French soldiers and started to react; hands going to the hilts of their swords and half rising from their seats
Welbeloved gave them no chance. He halted facing them and barked out in terrible French, “Sit down! Don’t even think about resisting! You’ll be dead before your swords are drawn! That’s better. Sit down and be quiet!” the last was said sharply but more softly, with a tone of menace that had them all back in their seats as an instinctive reaction.
Tasselot was the first to recover. As one of Napoleon’s generals, he would have attained his rank entirely on his own ability, over years of campaigning, and he would not allow himself to be overawed for long. He relaxed and placed his hands on the arms of his chair in full view. No sudden move of his was going to cause a finger to tighten on a trigger.
Calm grey eyes narrowed quizzically. “I have been wondering under what circumstances we would eventually meet, M’sieu. You are, no doubt, the notorious Frelons Bruns, the so-called Avispónes that the Spanish peasants have been making into such a legend? You have been exceedingly tiresome, M’sieu, but I think you have now overreached yourself. We only have to call out and you will be captured or killed in minutes.”
Welbeloved had to admire the calm way he handled himself, but recognised he was playing for time. “Not so, General. There is no-one left in this house who would reply to your call. I have only two options: to capture you, or to kill you. It would distress me, a little, to have to kill you, so please stand up and release your sword belts. Do it now! Thank you, Messieurs. Now turn and face the wall and put your hands behind you. I regret the necessity to bind your hands, but I am sure you will understand.”
The four men complied under protest. “This is not the action of a gentleman, M’sieu, but then, your actions over the past weeks have not been gentlemanly. You have fought like footpads and robbers.”
Welbeloved grinned mirthlessly. “We will have ample time to discuss my shortcomings, General, when we are safely away from here.” All the prisoners now had their hands tied behind their backs, and before they could protest further, gags were slipped into their mouths and tied behind their necks.
They walked in line to the rear of the house, through the kitchen and out to the yard, where they were all forced to the ground and their legs tied, before being bundled into the cart like so many rolls of carpet. The false floor was replaced over them and covered with fishy tarpaulin. The Hornets reclaimed their cloaks and wide-brimmed hats. MacKay whipped up the donkey and drove unchallenged past the sentry at the archway, turning sharply in the direction of the sea. Welbeloved sat himself on the tailboard, looking backwards, and the other men walked briskly alongside ready to reclaim their rifles from the cart at any hint of trouble. Also ready to tail onto the ropes to stop the cart running away as they descended the steep slopes towards the sea, the harbour and the boats.
They cleared the archway just in time. As they straightened up and set off down the road, there was a clatter of hooves and a troop of cavalry drew up outside the house, then trotted off again, leaving one of their number to stalk past the sentry and into the house. It was raining steadily, and in the dark it was difficult to see well. Something about the arrogant way the man walked, however, told Welbeloved that it had to be Roussillon. That would explain the fifth place laid at the table.
The cart was now about a hundred yards away and Welbeloved could hear his angry voice raised, and the noise o
f running feet. The Colonel would have found the front door locked against him and no-one to open it from within. Doubtless the running feet were those of the sentry, despatched round the back of the house to unbolt it and discover why it had been barred.
As soon as he entered the kitchen, he would discover the bound figures of his sergeant and the others. Welbeloved looked over his shoulder. The guard post they had negotiated on the way in was only fifty yards away. It would be touch and go whether they would get past it before all hell broke loose behind them. He resisted the temptation to order MacKay to whip the donkey into a trot, contenting himself with a soft command to the men to close in, nearer to their rifles.
There was a mouth-watering smell of baking fish as they drew level with the guard post. The sentries were disposed to be lenient with the fishermen who had provided their evening meal, and waved them on without incident. They were noisily jovial about it, which was just as well. Welbeloved casually stood up from his seat at the back of the cart, prepared for instant action to uncover the rifles, and listening for the first yells that would tell him that the kidnapping had been discovered. He helped divert their attention from the commotion that was likely to develop, by hurling friendly abuse at the soldiers, amusing them mightily and putting them into an even better mood; shouting catcalls and jeers after the cart as it moved off into the night.
The minute they were out of view, the men reclaimed their weapons and moved up a pace, MacKay whipping the donkey into even greater efforts. They had travelled no more than a quarter of a mile when the notes of a bugle shattered the silence and the men dropped back and scattered, flitting along like ghosts, ready to face any challenge.
A Despite of Hornets Page 26