‘Come, you must, Captain Hanley, for we insist upon it,’ Mrs MacAndrews declared, and as usual would not be gainsaid. ‘Why, I am instructing even the major to practise.’
Thus Hanley sang, and it was even more of a relief when he was able to excuse himself to go to his meeting on the flagship. Edward Pringle arrived as he left, and it seemed the naval officer was a frequent visitor whenever Sparrowhawk stopped at Cadiz. In the hallway leading to the stairs Hanley heard Miss MacAndrews laugh – a light, genuinely happy laugh of a kind he had not heard for months. Then he caught a pleasing tenor voice launching into ‘Annie Laurie’ and felt the resentment surge up within him as he damned their joy, which seemed treacherous to the memory of his friend.
‘You seem on edge, my dear fellow, quite on edge.’ Wharton brimmed over with sympathy and for the moment was simply the kind, harmless country parson and not the admiral’s chief of intelligence. ‘Are things truly so bad?’
‘They are far from good,’ he replied, shaking off the mood, and told of the recent French attacks, the activities of turncoats like El Lobo, and the losses to the guerrilleros. ‘Without the organised and more skilful bands it is becoming harder for the peasants to gather and perform the bigger ambushes. From all I hear, the French convoys are getting in and out of Ronda and the other mountain garrisons with little or no difficulty.’
‘Some large-scale advances by our armies would no doubt help,’ the chaplain told him. ‘Whether Romana, Blake or some of the brigades at Gibraltar. Something like Lord Turney’s expedition, but with greater fortune. As I am sure you are aware, the governor and other great men who dispatched him have been busily writing reports which allot the general all of the blame. You would know better than I whether this is fair, but I would judge it inevitable when he is a captive and they are not. However, from all that I have heard no criticism has been aimed at your own corps or Major MacAndrews. He is shortly to take the One Hundred and Sixth to Tarifa, both to guard it and to launch raids against the French outposts.’
‘Will they be there long?’ Hanley asked, thinking of the major’s family and feeling an unexpected and very strong desire to remove them from this city and the visits of Billy Pringle’s brother. Tarifa lay inland a short distance from Gibraltar, but he was not sure whether it was sufficiently secure for MacAndrews to summon his family.
‘A month or two, I should think, and they will be contributing in their small way to giving the French a few problems and forcing them to pull men away from the mountains to meet such fresh threats. There is talk of a larger expedition from Cadiz itself where the Navy would land a force several times the size of the Malaga expedition. General Graham is keen, but as yet has struggled to persuade the Spanish and we should need them to find the necessary numbers.
‘In the meantime there is talk of a smaller raid, intended as a diversion so that the Spanish can secure the main crossing from the Isla to the mainland. I believe your battalion will play a role in this, although in the main it will be a Spanish affair. We should also endeavour to encourage and supply the irregulars. A stock of arms and powder is being gathered. Would it be best if you were landed first, so that you could arrange where they are to be dropped and ensure men and mules are waiting?’
Hanley nodded. He had hoped for a rest, but this afternoon had left a sour taste in his mouth, and, even though he knew he was being unfair, he no longer cared to stay in Cadiz.
‘Sparrowhawk will carry you – Captain Pringle has had plenty of practice in this business.’ Hanley smiled in satisfaction, which Wharton no doubt saw as a mark of confidence. ‘However, you shall not go for several days, and I trust that you will be able to carry some good reports with you.’ Wharton beamed at him, once again the meek country parson. ‘Admiral Keats has arranged a little present for Marshal Victor.’
On Christmas night, the entire squadron of British gunboats gathered together with the Spanish ones in the bay. At one o’clock in the afternoon of Boxing Day, when the tide was at its height, the Spanish began a bombardment of the fort at San Luis, which protected the main concentration of French vessels. Bomb ships fired at other forts to keep them occupied, and then the British gunboats led in more boats packed with marines and sailors to burn the enemy’s little fleet.
Hanley watched from the shore outside the city, early on spotting Edward Pringle and Miss MacAndrews and joining them. ‘It would help my understanding to be guided by your experience, Captain Pringle,’ he announced with the most innocent expression he could muster.
In the event it was difficult to see very much, as low cloud came in from the sea, bringing showers of rain. An elderly Spanish lady and her companion invited Miss MacAndrews to share the canopy erected by her servants, and the two officers stood near by. It was in a little depression, which offered protection from the wind at the expense of a significantly worse view. They could hear the muffled sound of the guns, with now and then the deeper booms of the bomb ships’ great mortars. Yet the low gunboats were hard to see at a distance in such conditions, even with the aid of a glass.
For an hour and a half the action went on without their becoming any the wiser as to its course. Hanley wondered whether he was being unfair. Pringle joked and flirted with enthusiasm, much in the manner of his younger brother. Perhaps such conduct was unusual in a widower who had had so little time to mourn, but was it possible that he and the girl sought each other’s company because they found comfort in someone who had also experienced a great loss. Hanley thought that there was more on Pringle’s part, the hint of a harder, desperate edge behind his flirting. He could not tell whether Miss MacAndrews wanted more than mere friendship.
‘Captain Pringle is to escort me to the New Year’s Day races on the Isla, Captain Hanley,’ she said once it was clear that the action was over. ‘Would you care to join us?’
He was not sure what answer Miss MacAndrews hoped to receive, but suspected that events would intrude whatever he said. ‘If my duties permit, it would be an honour and a pleasure.’
With two hours to spare before he was due to meet Wharton, he asked to walk with them to the young lady’s home. ‘I would like to give the greetings of the season to your mother,’ he said, ‘and to young Jacob.’ Edward Pringle excused himself, saying that he was sure he could entrust the lady’s protection to this escort, but when they parted he held Miss MacAndrews’ hand just a little longer than was necessary. The girl said little to Hanley on the walk back.
‘Twelve,’ Wharton told him happily when he reported aboard the flagship. ‘Twelve gunboats or other small vessels sunk or burned, and with little loss to us. Sir Richard is confident that they will not risk putting out into the bay in force, still less chance any attempt to land troops on the Isla or the city itself.
‘For the moment we are safe, unless Bonaparte risks all and lets his fleet out of Toulon. He’d need to be lucky, but no blockade can overcome tide and weather so fully as to be complete, and he could get out, and could reach here and attack from the sea. For the moment that is the only serious threat to Cadiz, and it is a distant one. And much as the Regency Council and the new Cortes bicker, they are too busy passing laws banning ladies from wearing short sleeves or white shoes to think of talking to the French.’
‘Have you discovered the story behind the gold captured at Las Arenas?’
‘In part, although it is so difficult to be sure since it was taken by us and so not used by the enemy. There is something larger and darker at work. I have little doubt that it was intended to persuade notable men here in Cadiz to offer allegiance to King Joseph. We have a fair suspicion as to who they are, but they are unlikely to move through spontaneous enthusiasm or on mere promise of reward.
‘I do wonder if Soult’s attention is shifting away from us, and his money may well precede his army if it marches in another direction. He could go east and smash Blake, overrunning Murcia and so bringing even more of Spain under French control. In truth that would leave very little free and might make man
y lose heart. But it is more likely that he will go west and do something to aid Massena. We have captured dispatches from Napoleon telling Soult and the other marshals to do everything they can to aid the invasion of Portugal – and also to do everything they can elsewhere. It is our good fortune that Bonaparte does not return to Spain, for from such a distance his orders lack their usual ruthless concentration.’
‘The frontier fortresses?’
‘Perhaps,’ Wharton said. ‘Assuming that it is not all a bluff and he is hoping to lure an expedition out from Cadiz so that he can destroy it and break the will of the Spanish government. There is some game at work, I do not doubt, and we must hope to see it before it does real harm.’
‘The attacks on the guerrilleros do hint at greater knowledge than in the past,’ Hanley said, voicing a concern which had grown stronger and stronger. ‘They know more, which suggests someone has been telling them more.’
Wharton rubbed his chin. ‘Yes, that is the most likely answer. It may be gained from prisoners, but if so it has come remarkably quickly and in a manner which seems too convenient. Such men rarely tell you all you would wish to know.’
‘A traitor – or several of them.’ Hanley did not make it a question.
‘It fits best. All sorts of men end up with the partisans, and since some have changed sides they would know more than the French, but it seems they are gaining more information all the time, and so someone is still at work. He could be Spanish, but we should not consider all of our own officers as entirely above suspicion.’
So open a statement surprised Hanley, and then he instantly felt disappointed in himself for the implied greater confidence in one nation over another. He did not like to think that he was so innately patriotic.
‘Some of the officers with the partisans appeared early on in the war, and we really know so little about them.’
‘Sinclair?’ Hanley said. ‘There is something odd about that man.’ He felt foolish for saying that, since everyone – including himself and this outwardly simple parson – involved in such work tended to be peculiar.
‘It may be unfair, but there is a natural tendency to suspect an Irishman. After all, many of Tone’s men were true believers in their cause, and such belief can well survive the worst of defeats. But it could as easily be someone else, and dealing with him could just as easily distract us from the real source. We do not know enough to act, so keep your eyes open.’
‘When do I go?’
‘You will sail on the twenty-eighth. Come again tomorrow at this time and I will provide you with any new information.’
Hanley stood up. There was little chance of Edward Pringle being in Cadiz for New Year, and he decided against calling on the MacAndrews family for another uncomfortable half-hour.
‘Oh, I had forgotten, there is a report via Gibraltar of yet another injured English officer being hidden by the partisans. This time with El Blanco. I thought that I would tell you in case it is your missing friend.’
Hanley felt himself reconciled to Williams’ death, although deep down he knew that he was not. Spending so much time away from the battalion, it was easier to forget and pretend that his friend was still there, awaiting his return with Billy Pringle and Truscott and the others. Wharton’s news forced him to think and brought gloom rather than optimism. Every rational part of him was convinced that his friend was gone for ever.
‘Thank you,’ he said flatly. ‘We can still hope.’
‘Sir Richard has ensured that his name will remain among those to receive prize money for Las Arenas in spite of the agent’s eagerness to strike him from the list.’
‘Thank you,’ Hanley said again, and left the cabin.
22
The man winced as he dropped the roughly fashioned crutch and let some of his weight rest on his left leg. That weight was a good deal less than it had been, for he had lost two and half stone in the long weeks of fever, but his frame was large and he was a tall man. He hissed again as he shifted more and more of the burden until he was standing naturally. There were a few flecks of sleet amid the rain, but he did not feel the cold as it soaked into his shirt.
He stepped forward with his right leg, the good one, but that meant that all his weight fell on the left and the pain seared him almost as if the surgeon was once again probing for the ball that had buried itself near his hip. Somehow it had missed the blood vessels, and not done any real harm to the bone, but then the wound had been sewn up to heal and a week later it had gone bad. It had taken the doctor a long time to find the distorted ball and remove it, and then check nothing else was buried inside him. He had never known such agony, and would have screamed and screamed had the girl not held his arms, all the while speaking to him as if he were a child, soothing and calming. It did not take the pain away, and he did not know whether it was calming or whether foolish pride in front of a kind and attractive woman had kept him from crying out.
‘Oh, damn,’ the man said under his breath, ‘damn, damn, damn.’ He brought his hurt leg forward and then stopped. His shirt was clinging to him and he wished that he had worn jacket or cloak, but was not about to run and fetch them. He shivered and the hot wind of earlier months no longer seemed so oppressive.
The man walked on again.
‘Dear God,’ he said, but forced himself to go on even though his left hip screamed in angry protest. The scar on his head throbbed in sympathy and he felt giddy. A bullet had left a bloody welt across one side of his head and made a little notch at the top of his ear. At the time it had bled profusely and knocked him out, and even half an inch closer and it would have killed him, but since then it had given little trouble. The surgeon had felt his skull, but found no sign of fracture or depression and declared himself unconcerned. Three months on, the scar was fading.
Another step and another, each one as agonising as the last, and he told himself that this was good because it was not getting worse, and forced himself on. Then his right boot slipped on the wet grass and he fell forward, just managing to turn so that he dropped on to his right side, but still the jet of pain was savage in its intensity. The man screamed, a long cry without words, but he did not pass out.
When he had been wounded he had woken and then crawled because he knew that he had been left behind and did not want to be a prisoner. He had crawled and crawled and the sun had gone down and come up again and still he had dragged himself onward, fainting time and again from the pain. Later they told him that he had gone for two miles, but at the time it had seemed more like two hundred, as he went up and down the rolling hills, avoiding the village and heading for the convent he had never seen. He was almost there when the peasants found him and took him in. Tired, covered in filth which had got into his wound, the man had been aware of very little and soon fell into a fever. He was ill a long time.
Once again the woman was beside him, one hand slipping underneath his head and the other holding one of his. She kissed him on the cheek, the touch delicate, and he went quiet.
‘You will die,’ she said. ‘The wound will open and turn bad and then you will die.’ There was sadness in her voice, a deep sadness of past hurts, and also rebuke because he was reawakening the memories. Without her care he doubted that he would have lived, for the fever had been a bad one and yet she had stayed, mopping his brow, holding his hand. More than once he would have given up, for he felt so weary and so hopeless that it seemed too much effort to cling on, but she was there, a desperate longing in her eyes. It would have hurt her if he had died, and looking back he was sure that only the horror of causing her more suffering had pulled him through.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, for what else was there to say. He was upsetting her now, and could see the pain in her eyes, but he fretted at the idleness and was determined to recover as fast as he could. He started to push himself up, only just restraining another gasp as his hip complained.
‘No you are not,’ she replied, but still helped him, looking hurt when he gently freed himself from h
er grip.
‘I must do this alone,’ he said, standing for a moment to steady himself, and then he began to pace once again. With her watching he did not cry out, although his cheek still twitched with every spasm and he was sure she would see it.
The young woman watched him for a while, her black hair plastered down tightly against her head with the rain. It was longer now, covering her ears, and even wet it framed her face. She was very pretty and so very sad, but more often these days there was a new light which brought out her beauty. It was not quite happiness, and though it made his heart leap to see her smile, he was afraid that it would not last and that he might take it away.
‘ ’Amish,’ she said, rolling the first letter and placing all the emphasis on it. ‘Do not stay here too long. You need to rest or you will make yourself ill.’ Guadalupe stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek again, and Williams felt her brushing against him. Then she was gone through the field gate and back to the shelter of the farmhouse.
He kept walking, and for a long time was so absorbed with thinking about the girl that he barely felt the pain.
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