Burke in the Land of Silver

by Tom Williams

  ‘We’ve been planning to take our battle to the heart of the enemy,’ he said, with all the conviction of a general planning a summer campaign. ‘We have attacked some of the oppressors from the merchant class but our leader says we should engage the military.’

  William said nothing.

  ‘Mano a mano,’ said Miguel.

  It sounded impressive but William doubted they had muskets to hand, so any attack could hardly be anything but mano a mano.

  ‘What did you have in mind?’ said William.

  ‘Some of the soldiers have taken to drinking outside the barracks. We know where they drink. We wait outside and then attack them when they leave.’

  Simple, thought William. Brutal but effective. Whoever came up with this plan (and it clearly wasn’t Miguel) had no romantic notions about the revolutionary struggle, but they certainly understood how to make an army uncomfortable.

  ‘I’m in,’ he said.

  *

  James had decided that Otto Witz should retire from Society for a while before people began to bore of their Prussian, which meant that he was spending the night in his room at the O’Gormans’.

  William, once again the perfect manservant, presented himself at James’ bedside the next morning with his master’s breakfast cup of tea.

  James groaned at the light streaming in through the window that William had just unshuttered. He extricated himself from the sheets enough to sip at the tea while William reported on his activities of the previous night.

  ‘Not much to it, really. A couple of the gauchos joined us and we made our way to that drinking hole on Arze.’

  James knew the place he meant: a nondescript place near the river and just the sort of tavern that enlisted men would make for when they slipped out for an illicit drink. The officer in James often despaired of the predictability of the common soldier but he had to admit that it made his life easier.

  ‘Anyway, we hung around there for a bit, telling dirty stories in Spanish – which did wonders for my vocabulary – and then a couple of chaps come staggering out dragging along a mate who’s pretty well passed out with booze and . . .’ William hesitated.

  James sensed that William was uncomfortable with what had happened next and prompted him to continue his account: ‘You fought them.’

  ‘It wasn’t hardly a fight, sir. There was four of us, for all that Miguel wouldn’t be much use in a bun fight at a vicar’s tea party, but the gauchos are hard men. And there was just two of them in any state to stand unaided, let alone to fight. And it was dark and we came at them by surprise.’

  ‘How badly hurt were they?’

  ‘Ah, well, sir, you see, the gauchos had knives.’

  ‘Ah.’

  The two men sat in silence while James finished his tea. Finally William spoke.

  ‘They didn’t stab the one that was drunkest. He just fell over when it started and I think they drew the line at killing him as he lay there. And one of the others might live.’

  ‘We’re in a dirty business, William. You did your duty.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Let’s hope something comes of it.’

  *

  Over the following weeks William joined another attack on a group of drunken soldiers (after which Colonel Calzada Castanio put the garrison under curfew), threw stones at an army patrol (and ran away, pursued by six armed men, whose kit fortunately made them slower in a sprint), and started a fire on one of the piers, which was not a success as the general dampness of the surroundings stopped it from spreading. Although Miguel applauded all these efforts, none of them appeared to warrant an introduction to Miguel’s own mysterious leader.

  ‘Someone is giving him his instructions,’ complained an exasperated Burke. ‘He admits as much to you. But we still have no idea who it could be.’

  William was, again, bringing him his morning tea to provide an inconspicuous opportunity to discuss progress.

  ‘This Miguel,’ Burke said. ‘Would you say he was an NCO type?’

  ‘I suppose so, sir.’

  ‘If this conspiracy is as organised as it seems to be, he must report to an officer.’

  William nodded.

  ‘I don’t see how that gets us any further forward, though, sir.’

  ‘I think the secret is to provide a potential officer recruit. I doubt Miguel will be allowed to deal with such a man himself.’

  ‘So are you going to join me in trying to start bonfires on the piers?’

  ‘No, William. I think we can be a bit more sophisticated than that.’

  He put aside his tea.

  ‘Here’s what you have to do.’

  *

  Molly counted the pesos carefully. She still thought of them as ‘pieces of eight’. It hardly seemed real money – not like the golden guinea she’d earned on the Rochester. She had to smile when she remembered that. It had almost been like a game, for all there’d been killing involved. But Mr Burke’s man, William, had explained she was doing it for the king, so she’d really been doing a good deed as well as making a guinea. And she’d found she enjoyed the pretending. After all, most of what she did for a living was pretending. The moaning and the screaming and ‘You’re the best,’ and ‘I always feel happy when you call.’ But never happy enough to forget to take the money.

  She wrapped the coins in an old stocking and returned them to their hiding place under the floorboard. There was a prodigious amount of silver in the stocking. The voyage had been a long one but coming to a country where men so outnumbered women had undoubtedly been a good move.

  There was a sudden knocking from the door on the street below. She heard her landlord answer. She paid him well – in cash and in kind – as her protector and he took his duties seriously.

  ‘Gentleman says he knows you but I haven’t seen him before.’

  Molly opened the door an inch or so and peered through the gap at the mirror strategically placed at the top of the stairs, affording her a view of anyone waiting below. To her surprise, she saw William. Well, she thought, he’d seemed too self-contained, somehow, to be calling on her but it took all sorts . . . And he was a good looking enough young man. She judged him to be still in his twenties, though he carried himself with an air that made him seem much older.

  ‘Send him up.’

  She had just time to run her fingers through her curls and arrange herself on the bed when William entered the room. He took one look at her and the bed and the shutters closed against the daylight and he hurried to disabuse her of any expectations she might have.

  ‘I’m not what you might call a customer, Molly. I’ve another little bit of business you might be interested in.’

  As he explained what he wanted her to do, she found her heart beating with the thrill of it. Another chance to serve her king, playing a part to fool some foreigners. And this time with real excitement, almost like a Drury Lane play. And another guinea for her trouble.

  As William explained the details of her role, she found herself admiring his broad chest, his well-shaped calf in his tight breeches.

  ‘It could be dangerous,’ he was saying. ‘Will you do it?’

  He had a lovely voice, too. She realised that he was waiting for her to say something and tried to concentrate on what he had been asking.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  ‘And you will give me a guinea?’

  ‘A guinea now and a guinea when it’s done.’

  Two guineas!

  Molly allowed her eyes to run over that chest again. Those calves. And his hands. They looked like strong hands.

  Molly knew the value of what she sold her customers. And she knew the importance of never allowing herself to give away what should be paid for.

  She patted the bed beside her.

  ‘Come and sit next to me while I think about it.’

  ‘I told you I’m not a customer, Molly.’

  ‘That’s unkind, William,’ she said, pouting.

  ‘I wouldn’t wa
nt there to be any misunderstanding.’

  ‘Then you can stand while I consider.’

  So he stood and she sat on the bed and looked up at him and thought, ‘This is ridiculous,’ and yet, in her line of business, what else could she do? And so, at last, she said, ‘I’ll do it,’ and William thanked her gravely and said she was a brave girl and left.

  She waited in silence until she heard the front door close behind him.

  Then, ‘Damn!’ she said.

  She lay back on the bed.

  ‘I’ll have sixpence out of you yet.’

  *

  Colonel Calzada Castanio was taking his regular morning walk from the fort to the new cathedral and back when he met Captain Witz. The men greeted each other warmly and expressed surprise that they should so fortuitously happen to meet.

  ‘I trust you are still enjoying your stay in our city,’ said the colonel.

  ‘Ach! In truth, I am enjoying it somewhat less than I was.’

  The colonel was concerned and asked his friend what was wrong.

  ‘I was robbed. My purse was taken.’

  The colonel was solicitous. How had it happened?

  Otto Witz was embarrassed. It was a stupid tale. He did not want to weary his friend with it.

  Gradually it came out. He had been walking late at night in an insalubrious part of the town. He had been accosted by a woman.

  ‘She asked me for money. I thought I would give her a few reals.’ He paused. ‘As an act of charity.’

  By God, thought the colonel, I could swear he’s blushing. Aloud, he said, ‘Yes, of course. A simple act of charity. It is to be commended.’

  ‘Anyway, this woman then embraced me.’

  By now, the blush was unmistakable.

  ‘Embraced you?’

  ‘I assumed she was expressing simple gratitude.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I pushed her away. I told her I wanted no gratitude.’

  The colonel nodded solemnly: ‘Any act of charity should be its own reward.’

  ‘And then, when I got home –’

  ‘Your purse was missing.’

  Captain Witz admitted that this was so.

  ‘I went back the next night – last night – and confronted her. She denied it. She said someone else must have stolen it. She made . . .’ He could hardly meet the colonel’s eye. ‘. . . certain allegations.’

  The colonel laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

  ‘Don’t you worry about it. Where was this?’

  ‘About a mile east of here. There was a tavern with some sort of winged figure painted over the door.’

  ‘The Angel. Yes, I know the place. And you say she was there last night and the night before.’

  ‘I think she’s there every night, my friend. But not until late. She arrives sometime after one in the morning. I have never seen her there earlier.’

  You sly dog, thought Castanio. You must have been practically camping there.

  ‘I’ll make sure the patrol picks her up tonight. Don’t worry, Captain. We’ll get your purse back for you. You must dine with me again on Wednesday and I shall have the pleasure of returning it.’

  They made their farewells and parted.

  James felt quite sorry for Otto Witz. He would never get his purse back.

  *

  That night, William introduced a new companion to Miguel and his other friends at The Angel.

  ‘Mr Burke hails from the United States. I met him at the dock where he had but newly come ashore.’

  James shook hands enthusiastically with everyone in reach.

  ‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,’ he said, in a passable American accent. ‘I’m hoping to learn how you guys run your herds on open country to see if there’s any lessons I can apply in the north.’

  As the gauchos realised that the stranger was a cattleman, they crowded round to offer advice. The talk ranged over cattle diseases, livestock prices, and the number of men you needed for each thousand head of cattle you were running. The Yankee listened carefully to their opinions but soon they were asking him questions about the history of the United States. Had any of his family fought in the War of Independence? (‘My father, sir, died that his country might be free.’) What provision did an independent country have to make against military attack by the colonial powers? (‘A militia is essential to the freedom of our country but we do not hold with standing armies and the tyranny that can carry in their wake.’) Could an independent country in the New World compete in international trade? (‘I am here, sir, as you see. I am confident that you will see citizens of an independent United States trading in every country of the world in my lifetime.’)

  By one in the morning, James was settled at a table with a clear view through the barred grating that served for a window. Soon after the clock struck the hour, he saw Molly take up her place opposite the tavern, displaying a shapely ankle to anyone passing in or out. Even at that hour there were enough drinkers coming and going for several to approach her but, as they had agreed, she demanded a price higher even than the men of Buenos Aires would pay. James noticed that some seemed to be giving the prospect serious consideration, even at Molly’s inflated rates, and he hoped that she would not be waiting there too long.

  In fact, barely ten minutes had passed when he heard the tramp of feet and a file of Spanish soldiers moved into view from the left. Their sergeant saw Molly almost immediately and started toward her. Burke didn’t hear what was said but he saw Molly raise her hand to strike the man and then the Sergeant had his arms about her and was holding her in a great bear hug with her feet kicking uselessly in mid-air.

  ‘We’ll have some fun with this one, lads,’ he called and threw her toward the patrol. As she fell, one of the soldiers grabbed at her dress, tearing it open. One of Molly’s ample breasts spilled out through the rip and her scream was almost lost in the laughter of the troops.

  The patrol had been there less than a minute and things were already getting out of hand. While the other drinkers were just beginning to be aware of some commotion outside, Burke was already heading for the door.

  As James stepped out into the street, he saw Molly, now back on her feet, being pushed from soldier to soldier with each pulling at her dress. Two of the men held her by her arms as the Sergeant stepped forward and seized her breasts in his hands. At once, James was on him. A wicked knife had appeared in his hand. The Sergeant went to draw his sword but, before he had it halfway from its scabbard, James’ knife had slashed open his arm and he released his grip on the hilt with a shout of dismay.

  Their Sergeant’s cry seemed to galvanise the patrol. They had no time to load their muskets but came onto James, swinging their guns like clubs. James ducked under the first wild blow and stabbed upward. As blood splattered a brilliant red on his white breeches, the man fell backward into those behind him and James slashed twice more in the confusion.

  Any military discipline the patrol might have possessed at the beginning of the night’s excitement had been lost by now. The Sergeant was still clutching his arm and leaned against a wall, moaning. His men were spreading to attack James from all sides.

  William, obeying the orders he had been given that afternoon, stood ready to join in if it seemed that Burke would be overwhelmed. For the moment, though, the speed and surprise of his attack had given James the advantage. He bent to grab the Sergeant’s fallen sword and now swung that before him with his right hand while he held the knife ready to stab with his left. The men in front of him fell back but one stumbled on the cobbles. Burke slashed at him as he tripped and he did not get up again.

  Two of the enemy had edged round James and now they rushed him from behind. Burke was listening for their boots on the road and as they were almost on him, he whirled about, the sabre carving a deadly arc that left one screaming as blood flowed from his chest.

  The other was luckier or more skilful and blocked James’ swing with his own sword. James made
to thrust the knife below the man’s guard but his opponent countered expertly. James had the advantage of two weapons but there were still two others in the fight. From the corner of his eye, James could see them holding back. In part, this was probably simple cowardice but it seemed as if they had some confidence that their comrade would finally end things on his own.

  The Spaniard smiled and his sword spun through the night air, striking at James’ blade and driving him back onto the defensive. James tried again to stab forward with the knife but the other blocked it with an almost casual sweep of his weapon. James feinted again with the knife but then twisted and lunged forward with his sword. His opponent swerved aside at the last moment and the blade cut through his sleeve but left him uninjured.

  James cursed the bad luck that had pitched him against a soldier who knew how to use a sword. Most infantrymen simply hacked at their opponents, relying on the weight of numbers to crush their enemies. But this man fought almost like a duellist, parrying, feinting, and lunging as James desperately tried to get through his guard. He was confident that he could win in time but time was what he didn’t have. His whole strategy relied on his hitting hard and fast to carry the fight. Already the last two unbloodied soldiers were edging forward, and at any moment they might rejoin the fray. Soon, too, their sergeant would regain enough of his wits to get his men into some sort of order. Then they would take Burke down.

  Even now, one of the two, rather than join in the swordplay, was raising his musket to fire. Before he could take aim, William, who had been watching for just such a move, threw his own knife, which sliced open the man’s neck before falling with a clatter on to the street.

  The death of another of his companions, far from intimidating James’ opponent, seemed to drive him to greater efforts. He rushed forward, his sword blurring. His enthusiasm, though, was his undoing. James stepped a little to the side, as if adjusting his position in the fencing hall, and thrust once below his opponent’s blade.

  For a moment, it seemed that the Spaniard was unhurt. He took one more step but his sword was already moving more slowly. With his next step, his arm fell to his side and the sword dropped from his grip as he pitched forward on his face, blood already pooling around him.