‘It’s very necessary to be so, sir, if you wish to completely humbug your opponent.’
Sir David Dundas growled low in his throat, but it was Hanger who spoke. ‘I am not one to give credence to the opinions of such a very junior officer, milord …’
He should have said nothing; kept his mouth shut and stared straight ahead. But he couldn’t resist it, and his eyes were blazing as he cut right across Hanger.
‘They’re of more value, Colonel, than those of someone who was more interested in the fork in his hand than his duty. Had you bothered to leave the officers’ mess, you might have observed something unusual yourself.’
The look in Hanger’s eye was singular. Markham could see hate there, certainly, as well as anger, but there was also something else, altogether more enigmatic. Whatever it was never got aired, since Hood started shouting, which stopped everyone from speaking.
‘How dare you, young man? Remember your station and apologise at once!’
He had to oblige, not only for the sake of the admiral’s authority, but because there were officers who’d been in that same tent whom Markham held in some regard. Serocold himself had been wining, dining and gambling. So had Major Lanester. But he had to phrase it to exclude Hanger, since he’d rather expire than say sorry to him.
‘My apologies are unreserved, sir.’ Heads began to nod as he paused. But they stopped quickly enough when he added, ‘To those officers who would grant that physical experience is better than ill-informed prejudice.’
‘I would remind you where you are, sir,’ said Hood coldly. ‘I would also remind you that rank and title given can also be removed.’
‘I had no wish to offend either you, or your office, sir.’
‘That is not an apology,’ barked Hanger.
‘Really, Colonel Hanger, it sounded very much like one to me.’ Hood’s eyes changed. They were no longer flashing and angry, but amused and full of insincerity. He had no desire to hide his pleasure in his pun. It was often reported that the admiral had little regard for Bullocks, finding them timid, and always more prepared to object to some idea than to act upon it. Yet he lacked the strength in marines to proceed independently, so considered himself hamstrung by the army.
Markham could see both sides of the equation, could understand Dundas’ disinclination to act without adequate force. Rumours were rife that he and Hood had exchanged warm words about investing Bastia, even going so far as to commit their quarrel to writing. The Army demanded two thousand more men before they’d move. And it wasn’t just troops Dundas wanted. He needed a supply train that could cope with the rough terrain of the island. Hood, who took his bed and his guns with him wherever he went, and never went ashore to look at the ground he was asking the troops to fight on, had some difficulty in understanding the problems of land warfare.
‘It’s a damned nuisance,’ Hood continued, addressing no one in particular. ‘It’s my turn to entertain every senior officer the Corsicans have tonight.’
‘And we’ll be sitting there wondering if one of them is working against us,’ snapped Dundas.
‘It would be very unwise to say anything, sir,’ insisted Nelson.
This remark added to the manifest confusion on the faces of most of the assembly. No one looked more perplexed than d’Aubent, who took refuge in repeating what he’d said earlier.
‘General Paoli’s presence is essential. We will struggle to secure the island as a base without his willing co-operation.’
‘We must rely on our own strengths,’ said Nelson emphatically. ‘And we must move with despatch.’
It was revealing the way the naval men nodded, while the Army, to a man, gave Nelson a hard look. If they were at loggerheads, then this must be at the root of it. No one produced a colder glare than Hanger, and when he spoke, his tone was even more rasping and rude than normal.
‘Does this occur to you, Captain? That the Corsican commanders know even better than we do they should have stopped Lacombe. They did not move with anything approaching enough speed.’
‘I have already said, Colonel, there could be any number of mitigating factors.’
Hanger sneered. ‘I have taken the trouble to read up on the history of this island, and have discovered that there is a long tradition of individual Corsicans playing Judas.’
‘They claim to be as surprised as we were at the sudden withdrawal,’ added Dundas, unnecessarily, and in a tone which left no doubt of his lack of belief in such a proposition. ‘It is not beyond the bounds of possibility that someone was bribed.’
It was Hood who replied, looking to the deck-beams above his head to disguise his exasperation. ‘Suspicion is one thing, proof quite another, and that applies to the Corsicans as much as it does to us.’
‘What if the lieutenant were to attend your dinner tonight, Admiral?’ said Hanger. Markham stared at him, completely puzzled, not least by the cold smile on the Colonel’s scarred face. ‘That will allow you to introduce him to our allies. It will be interesting to see how these Corsican leaders react when you tell them he is the officer who alerted us to the French withdrawal.’
Nelson responded swiftly, obviously worried. ‘They might see that as tantamount to an accusation?’
‘How could they, Captain, unless it is true?’
‘It could be imparted as no more than mere information,’ added Dundas. ‘But what if one of them questions Markham, asking him if he saw anything untoward, presses him even?’
Hood’s big hand slapped down hard on the table, a right he clearly allowed to himself while denying it to others. But Hanger was not to be deflected, and continued speaking in spite of the admiral’s anger.
‘If they have a Judas, he must be exposed. If not, we will be unable to plan anything, reinforced or not.’
‘Tenuous, Colonel,’ said Dundas, ‘very tenuous. A man with the wit to deceive his close companions will hardly fall prey to a total stranger, and a mere Lobster lieutenant at that.’
‘But worth a try, sir.’
‘Certainly Colonel Hanger,’ Dundas replied, looking keenly at Hood. ‘It is worth a try.’
Markham was wondering if he, detached from the actual debate, was the only one to see how contrived the exchange between Hanger and Dundas had been. It had the air of something rehearsed. Hood drummed his fingers on his table, eyes fixed firmly on the papers before him, having ignored the general in the most blatant and insulting way. The sudden release of pent-up air left no one in any doubt that the words that followed were spoken by a man forced into a position he didn’t relish.
‘You will say nothing untoward, Markham, d’ye hear? When you meet these Corsican coves you will be all innocence. They’re a touchy crew, in the main. The last thing we want is every man jack of them feeling we’re accusing them of treachery.’
‘Sir.’
Markham replied automatically, as the realisation of the whole nature of this interview dawned on him. It was Dundas who’d requested his attendance at this gathering. Perhaps not everyone at the table had been informed of his speculations. Certainly the second in command, d’Aubent, had seemed perplexed on more than one occasion. But many had, including Hanger and very likely Nelson. There was a certain amount of amusement to be had from two things: their different interpretations, allied to the collective behaviour. In possession of a secret so comprehensively shared, they seemed debarred from any open allusion to it, which could only mean that such an act would be perceived as a breach of faith.
Dundas was determined, even if he was prevented from saying so, to blame the whole Fornali fiasco on the presence of Corsican traitors. It then followed that the same forces were at work as the French retreated. No great leap of imagination was required to see what effect that would have on any future operations. The General would have a perfect excuse to sit on his hands, regardless of what Hood urged on him. The wily Scotsman really didn’t expect exposure from Hood’s guests. He was just stalling, putting on pressure to compensate for the stress h
e was under himself, creating more obfuscation to avoid a prospect he abhorred: that he should be obliged to march on Bastia without the required troops or supply train.
‘Captain Serocold,’ snapped Hood, ‘take the lieutenant out and talk to him about that other matter.’
Markham saw Hanger’s face move then, and he was in no doubt about what the admiral was referring to, which was confirmed as soon as they were on the maindeck.
‘Captain de Lisle has asked that you be brought before a court martial for disobedience of specific orders, gross insubordination and a failure to honour his rank.’
‘I’m aware of that, Captain.’
‘Hood is against it,’ Serocold replied, his saturnine complexion as hard as his dark eyes. ‘He feels sure that, if he asks your captain, he can get him to drop the matter.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘He knows that the Army’s after-action reports concerning the taking of those field guns have diminished the role of the fleet marines in the affair, in favour of the deeds of the soldiers. According to the information he received privately, you and your men behaved well.’
‘Who told him, sir?’
‘I’ve just said it was private.’
‘With respect, Captain Serocold, I should advise the admiral against interfering.’
Serocold smiled then, showing good teeth through the heavy black growth on his chin. ‘That’s not a set of words I’d care to put to someone like Admiral Hood.’
‘I mean it, sir. Or at least let him enquire as to what witnesses Captain de Lisle intends to call.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘If Colonel Hanger is listed, in order to blacken my character, then the admiral will face an embarrassing rebuff.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it will confirm that Captain de Lisle is merely acting on the Colonel’s behalf.’ Serocold was looking into his eyes, a stare that Markham returned, one that told him that the naval officer knew all about his past. Suddenly Serocold grinned.
‘That will only make the admiral more determined. The Army have never been high on his list of favourites, and after the list of objections and excuses they gave him today they have sunk to a new low.’
Leghorn, full of British civilians, from exiles to Grand Tourists, was just one day’s sailing away. As soon as news of the capture reached the Italian mainland, it seemed every one of them wanted to visit the place. Corsica, which rarely figured on the list of places interesting to rich and spoiled travellers, had suddenly become fashionable. Markham, when he came ashore from Victory, landed on a San Fiorenzo quay full of babbling visitors, each one trying to negotiate accommodation and porterage with the locals. Several officers’ wives had also come ashore, to be whisked away to quarters already requisitioned from the previous, now departed, French occupants.
San Fiorenzo was an occupied town, but for the British that had to be applied with a light hand, the native islanders being very touchy about their honour. Orders had already been issued that no liberties were to be taken with women or property. This applied to officers as well as the men, who were told that any perceived insult could be on pain of a knife in the ribs. The Corsicans were held to be a lawless breed, addicted to the vendetta, who would act first and face the consequences of committing murder second.
Markham, lacking clear instructions once the battle was over, could easily have gone back aboard Hebe. Instead he chose to seek a billet on land, in an abandoned sail loft. Rannoch and the men had quickly set to and turned the place into a home from home, while Halsey, on his officer’s instructions, had raided the commissary for the supplies they needed to sustain themselves, using the confusion which still reigned to acquire rations for three times the number of men actually in the unit.
With their ship on an independent cruise, such abundance had persuaded the Seahorses to stay put; what they would live off ashore was much better than the rations they would receive aboard their host ship. But they kept themselves apart from the Hebes, while Bellamy found himself shunned by both groups, and so occupied a corner of the loft all of his own. If this bothered him, it didn’t show, his black countenance a mask of seeming serenity, this no doubt aided by the ample provender with which he was able to satisfy his hunger. When Markham realised just what that consisted of, he had immediate words with Rannoch.
The Highlander was sitting over a small open stove, heating his bayonet, before running it down the seams of his coat to kill off any eggs left by lice. He was sanguine. ‘We only have to be concerned, sir, if a Provost Marshal or an angry local comes to our door.’
‘Which they will do shortly, given what that pair have brought in.’
Quinlan and Ettrick, despite the strict rules governing nefarious activities, had got hold of two kegs of the local wine, plus most of the carcass of a recently slaughtered pig, several hams and a coop of live chickens, claiming that these luxuries had been retrieved from abandoned French stores.
‘He knows how to stuff himself, does Johnny Crapaud,’ said Ettrick, when Markham challenged them. ‘Their storehouses was bursting at the seams.’
‘And unlocked,’ added Quinlan, who was a master at opening closed doors, his eyes angelic in their innocence.
It couldn’t be true, and Markham knew it, since the locals would have stripped any warehouses, padlocked or open, the French left behind long before the British occupied San Fiorenzo. But he was loath to enquire too deeply, because what the two men had done would see them at the end of a rope if they were found out.
‘You took a risk, did you not, carting this lot through the streets?’
‘Never in life, sir,’ protested Quinlan. ‘We got Dornan to do the humping, him and that darkie you rescued.’
‘Suitable work for the pair of ’em,’ added Ettrick, with a loud sniff, ‘though I take leave to doubt whether Dornan, dense as he is, would take kindly to bein’ ranked with a black.’
‘Just make sure whatever you have got is shared equally.’
‘There’ll be a capital dinner for you, your honour, if’n you want one.’
‘I’m dining aboard the flagship, Ettrick.’ When he saw the two men raise impressed eyebrows, he continued, ‘Believe me, I’d rather eat here. The company will be more congenial.’
‘Right kindly said, sir,’ replied Quinlan, in a wry tone. ‘But given that you’re goin’ where you’re goin’, it be just as well that we rescued that marine officer’s chest.’
‘Abandoned, like,’ added Ettrick.
‘What abandoned chest?’
‘The one in your billet, sir,’ Ettrick replied, pointing to the screened-off corner in which someone had made up a cot. What little kit he had was in there, resting on top of a polished chest. Even at this distance, Markham could see the bare patches which had, no doubt once held engraved brass nameplates. ‘As luck would have it, there are proper uniforms in there, marine ones, with good shoes and clean cambric shirts.’
‘Where did you get it?’
‘I told you,’ said Quinlan, ‘we found it abandoned. No doubt some local tried to filch it, an’ had to scarper when he saw us hove into view.’
‘There was no way to identify the true proprietor, your honour. And seeing it was marine kit, and you was short on the necessaries to look the proper part, we thought we’d fetch it back for you. If you’re to dine on the flagship, it seems we’ve had a stroke of real good fortune.’
Bent over it, examining the contents, Markham was wondering what he should do with them. They were not his, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to find the true owner, since there weren’t many marine officers ashore. That reminded him of his own troubles. If de Lisle and Hanger had their way he wouldn’t be a marine much longer himself. And the men would have a new officer to deal with, which for their sake was probably just as well. But thinking of appearing before a court softened his initial resolve to find the real owner.
Though hardly a dandy, George Markham liked to dress well, the evidence of whi
ch had been in the chest he’d had to abandon when he fled aboard Hebe at Chatham. If he was going to face a court martial, it would be nice to appear before them in smart attire. When he was acquitted or found guilty, he could return these clothes to the officer who’d either lost them, or had them stolen. He held up the red coat, a beautifully cut piece of fine, soft broadcloth, with white facing, collar and cuffs, edged with braid that, like the fouled-anchor buttons, gleamed invitingly.
That was how Midshipman Bernard found him, causing Markham to drop the coat and shut the sea-chest abruptly. A quick call for a glass of wine was necessary to cover his confusion – a temporary alleviation, as it recurred when the youngster remarked on the outstanding quality of the drink. His host, taking a deep and satisfying gulp himself, quickly demanded an explanation for his visit.
‘I have tried, several times,’ the boy said, ‘to tell Captain de Lisle that I will not testify against you, sir. But my courage fails me at the last moment.’
‘No wonder, Mr Bernard. You’re risking everything for someone you hardly know.’
Bernard held his position entirely at the whim of his captain. There would be a connection, of course, some person who’d exercised the influence that had got him his berth in the first place. Markham resisted the temptation to ask the boy if that someone was powerful enough to check de Lisle’s anger. If he was, Bernard would know it already and be less concerned.
‘Besides,’ Markham continued, ‘if called before a court martial you will be asked to tell the truth. That is something you can hardly avoid.’
‘I could show confusion.’
It wasn’t necessary to actually lie, since what he said next had a grain of truth in it. ‘A waste of time. “Spotted Dick” will call all the ship’s officers, as well as the purser. I’ve said enough damning things in their presence to make your testimony superfluous.’
Bernard smiled at the use of de Lisle’s nickname. ‘He goaded you, sir.’
‘It has to be said, Bernard, that it didn’t take much.’
The boy stood up, trying to add as many inches to his slight frame as he could. ‘I wish to apologise to you, sir, for any previous occasions when my behaviour has been less than polite.’
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