Elspeth had been determined to make sure her parents were not separated, but as she watched the army begin its long march north, the regimental colors snapping in the breeze as the troops walked by, she was ready to cancel her trip to England and go with them. She felt the same restlessness that came over her whenever the army marched, a restlessness and longing that made her wish she were a soldier and not the daughter of one, whose place was always in the rear. Today it was worse, of course, because she wouldn’t even be riding with the other women.
“Good day, Miss Gordon.” The Light Horse troops were passing and Charlie had pulled his horse over to greet her. “I hear that you will be remaining in Pero Negro. We will miss your company.”
“Oh, and I will miss the army, Lord Holme. My ship doesn’t sail from Lisbon until April.”
“Give my best to James and Maddie when you see them.”
“And mine to Lieutenant Aston, my lord. I wish you both a safe return,” she added.
“Thank you, Miss Gordon. It is always good to know a pretty woman cares,” said Charlie with a grin. “I will tell Val.”
He had taken his shako off in greeting and the sun shone down on his bright curls, turning them as gold as his epaulets, and not for the first time Elspeth thought what a handsome man he was.
* * * *
Later, after the army had passed and she walked back to the village, she found herself singing:
“You should see my light horseman
On a cold winter’s day
With his red and rosy cheeks
and his curly blond hair….”
It was a song she had recently learned and they had sung it a few times this winter, her mother and she. She had never thought of Charlie in connection with it before, but it was a wonderfully apt verse, she realized with a fleeting smile. Except it was not a happy song, but a lament for the lady’s light horseman who “in the war had been slain.” Elspeth shivered as a picture of Charlie leading a cavalry charge came to her mind. Sing a happier song, she told herself and hummed a few of the children’s songs they had sung by the fire that last night after dinner. But it was hard to get the plaintive tune out of her head and over the next few days the music kept coming back to haunt her.
* * * *
The first weeks Massena was on the move, it was clear from the way he was traveling that his initial intention had been to find a place where he could feed his starving army and make an attempt on Lisbon. Val and his fellow exploring officers sometimes found themselves in the middle of the rear-guard attack as Wellington sent troops to push Massena toward Spain. Finally the French gave up and went into a full retreat and Wellington felt confident enough to send his empty troop ships back to England. There would be no leaving Portugal now, by the back or front door!
* * * *
One evening in late March Val returned to camp and walked restlessly to Will Tallman’s fire.
“May I join you all, Will?”
“Sit down, Lieutenant, sit down and have a drink,” said Private Murphy in a voice slurred with rum.
Val sat and drank down the offered ration in a few swallows, which made Will lean forward and take a closer look, for Val was usually an abstemious man.
“You look fair worn out, Lieutenant,” he remarked. “Is it as bad up ahead as it has been here the last few days?”
“Worse, Will,” said Val, holding out his cup to Murphy for another drink.
“More grave pits, sir?” asked Private Doolittle.
Val wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Oh, always those. We haven’t got away from them yet, Private. Can you spare another dram?”
“Haven’t you had enough, sir?” Will asked quietly.
“There isn’t enough rum in the whole bloody army to make me forget what I have seen today, Will,” Val said slowly, as though by pronouncing his words carefully he could prove he had nowhere near drunk enough.
Will waved away Private Doolittle’s offer of rum. “Go on to your beds, lads,” he said. “It’s getting late.”
The men stumbled off and when Will turned back, he saw Val sitting there, his head in his hands.
“What is it, sir?”
“What is it? It is this damned war, Will. I’m already sick of it and I’ve seen nothing at all. You expect to see casualties, of course,” he continued in a voice that was now calm, as though he were instructing a group of raw recruits. “We all know war means fighting, and fighting means dead and wounded men. There are enough of them out there, Will,” he said in an ironic aside, “with a sortie from Napier here and a rally from Massena there. But they don’t tell you about the smells….”
“The pits have been something awful, sir, what with new bodies piled on top of old.”
“I know the French were starving, Will,” Val continued, his tone changing again to an agonized whisper. “But to hang up a mother and child and burn them alive, hoping that they would reveal some small cache of food…my God, I wouldn’t have thought even a Frog capable of that.”
“It has been that kind of war, Lieutenant,” Will replied softly. “With the civilians suffering as much as the soldiers.”
“I am sorry for ruining your evening, Will.” Val stood up and swayed a little as the ground seemed to dissolve and form again under him.
“I would have seen it tomorrow or the next day, sir.”
“I’ll leave you, then, Will. Good night.” But Val just stood there, swaying as though he were caught in a heavy wind.
“Why don’t you stay here tonight, sir.”
“Couldn’t do that, Will,” he mumbled.
“Of course you can, Lieutenant.” Will took Val’s arm and led him into his tent. “Just lie down on my bedroll, sir.”
“Not big enough to share,” protested Val.
“I’ll use my extra blanket, sir.” Will guided Val down and then went back to the fire. He had lied. He had no extra blanket. But he could sleep sitting or standing after twenty years in the army and the lieutenant didn’t need to be alone tonight.
* * * *
Val awoke late with a thundering head and a sour stomach. Someone was shaking him and it felt like an earthquake.
“Get up, sir. We’re out of here in half an hour.”
He sat up and Will thrust a cup of coffee into his hand. “Here, sir, this should help.”
It did, somewhat, and he was finally able to stand up.
“You’d better get back to your own tent, sir. Can you make it?”
Val nodded. “Thank you, Will. I wasn’t good company, I know, but I was glad not to be alone last night.”
“It was nothing, sir.”
“You are a good friend, Will. You make sure you take care when we finally catch up to the Frogs.”
“Don’t you worry. I am an old soldier and I know how to stay alive. I’d better, or Mags will kill me,” he added with a laugh.
Val walked back to his tent very slowly and carefully, not wanting to jar his head. He didn’t even notice Major Gordon approaching him until the major reached him and said good morning.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Ye look like hell, laddie,” the major said bluntly.
“I’ve been in hell, Major,” Val replied, “so it is not surprising I look like an inhabitant.”
The words were ironic, but the major heard the agony underneath them. “Aye, laddie, ‘tis worse than anything I’ve ever seen and I have been to my own share of hells.”
“I hope we can push them into Spain quickly, then, Major, for I want nothing so much as to be away from all this.”
“Don’t worry, Lieutenant. We have turned them and now the bloody croakers at home will see just what Old Hooky can do.”
“How are your wife and daughter doing, Major?”
“Oh, Peggy is an old trooper, ye know. As is Elspeth, but I am glad she is not here to see this.”
“She didn’t follow you, sir?”
“She is committed to return home for Lady Madeline’s come-out.�
�
“Ah, yes, I remember. So she is in Lisbon?”
“She wouldn’t go that far. No, she is waiting in Pero Negro. I’ll be back to escort her to Lisbon in a few weeks. But for now, I’m enjoying chasing Massena over the mountains.”
As Val packed his knapsack and rolled up his bedding, he pictured Elspeth riding by the mass graves or seeing what he had yesterday. Thank God for Lady Madeline. He couldn’t bear the thought of Elspeth in this place. She was strong, he knew, but even the most seasoned men had been horrified. It was a good thing she was out of it.
* * * *
Val had been sent to the guerrilleros encampment, and by the time he returned, Massena, after a brutal march through the mountains, had turned east again.
“It looks like he intends to face us at the Coa,” said Captain Grant, after Val gave him his report.
“Can we break through?”
“I certainly hope so, since Sanchez can keep him busy all the way to Salamanca. Thank God for that old fox,” he added with a grin. “And how was Jack Belden?”
“I didn’t see him this time, sir. Evidently he was visiting his lady.”
“She is a lovely woman, Maria Elena. Have you met her?”
“Never had the pleasure, sir.”
“Widow of a local mayor. I wonder if he means to marry her and bring her home,” mused Grant.
Val wondered about that as he washed and dressed for dinner. An Englishman of respectable background to marry a local alcalde’s widow? It didn’t seem very likely. On the other hand, he had heard Jack speak of her very fondly.
When he spied the other officers in Major Gordon’s tent, he was happy to see that Charlie made up one of the party. But it wasn’t until the major proposed a toast to the next day’s engagement that he realized that his brother was to be part of the attack at Sabugal.
“Here’s to the Light Horsemen!” said the major. “May they ride right over Reynier and his Second Corps.”
“Hear, hear.”
Val only lifted his glass and gave his brother a worried glance, when Charlie answered with a bright smile.
“Will you walk with me a little, Val?” he said after dinner.
“Of course.”
They were both silent and then both spoke at once:
“So, tomorrow is your first engagement….”
“Tomorrow will be my first time in the field, Val….”
Charlie laughed and then, turning serious, said, “I am a bit anxious, Val. Not at all about my men,” he added. “They are excellent troops,” he said warmly.
“Because of you, Charlie. You don’t have to be anxious about them. It’s your commanding officer you have to worry about!”
Charlie punched him in the arm. “Hush, Val, someone might overhear you.”
“Oh, everyone knows Erskine is a fool. Especially Wellington. I wish Crauford was not on leave,” he added.
“I must confess, so do I,” said Charlie with a sigh. He hesitated and then said, “Val, I want you to promise me something.”
“Anything, Charlie.”
“If anything should happen to me—
“Nothing will happen to you, Charlie,” Val said fiercely.
“Of course not…but on the off-chance that it should, I want you to bring this home to Father for me.” Charlie pulled at his finger and held out his battered gold signet.
“Put it back on, Charlie. I can’t take it.”
“Just hold it for me, then, Val. Until I come back,” his brother said gently. “It has been handed down for the past three hundred years and I would hate to have a…hate to have it slip off in the battle. Please.”
There was a three-quarter moon and Val could see the same look on his brother’s face as had been there so many years ago when he had come to find him. He stopped and faced him.
“Charlie…I don’t know that I have ever said…it is just…I am very glad you came to find me…. It is good to have a brother….” Val’s voice broke and he stood there, trying to regain control.
“I am so glad I found one, Valentine,” replied Charlie with one of his warm smiles. He held out the ring and Val took it. “Promise you will take it to Father yourself.”
“I promise, but only because I know I will not have to. You will come galloping back the hero tomorrow, Charlie, having chased the French halfway into Spain!”
They were quiet for a few minutes as they walked on, and then Charlie broke the silence.
“Have you ever determined who was sending information to Massena, Val?”
“No, and once he was on the move, it didn’t matter. But we have finally pinpointed the traitor at home.”
“You know that James—
“James is out of it, thank God,” Val told him. “And he is probably charming all his sister’s friends. Perhaps he will use this opportunity to find himself a wife.”
“Yes, indeed,” Charlie replied blandly.
* * * *
The next morning, one of the persistent fogs that seemed to characterize spring in Portugal was swirling in and the jingling of bits and spurs that marked the cavalry’s departure was muted. Val could barely make out his brother’s troops and almost missed them until Charlie was almost on top of him.
“Take care of yourself, Charlie,” he said as he walked a little way beside him.
“I will, Val,” said Charlie, reaching down and grasping his brother’s outstretched hand. It was only a quick handclasp, for Charlie’s horse, full of energy and taking little dancing sidesteps, pulled them apart.
Chapter 25
Val’s orders were to ride across the Coa at a point south of Sabugal and determine if Massena’s troops had crossed. As he made his way downstream, he could hear the French calling out to one another and when he crossed a few miles below Reynier’s troops the fog was still heavy. But there was silence on the other side, which meant that Massena intended this as an attempt to hold the line and prevent Wellington from crossing the river.
By the time he recrossed the river, Val could hear the sound of muskets and knew the engagement had begun. He found Captain Grant and Wellington watching from the top of a nearby hill.
“So they mean to make a stand?”
“It would seem so, my lord.”
Wellington offered Val his field glass. Without it, he could see only swirling mist and flashes of red and blue, but when he held it to his eye, he could make out the cavalry very clearly.
“The cavalry seems to be very active, my lord.”
“You mean that Erskine is sending them every which way, don’t you, Lieutenant? Between him and the damned fog I am surprised we are holding them.”
But holding them they were. Even Val, through all the confusion of smoke and fog, could tell the French losses were higher than the British. When one of Wellington’s aides climbed the hill an hour later, it was confirmed: The French were in full retreat.
“We almost wiped out Reynier’s Second Corps, my lord,” announced the aide.
“Yes, I could see that, and we would have done it completely if it hadn’t been for that bloody Ers—the bloody fog.”
The aide gave Val an amused glance.
“Come, Captain Grant, let us get back to camp and prepare our dispatches,” said the duke.
Val watched Wellington down the hill. He was dressed, as usual, in a plain blue jacket and looked quite unprepossessing, in contrast to the French officers Val had spied through the glass. But he had done it! He had accomplished what no one thought he could do: He had driven the French out of Portugal! With a sudden spurt of energy, Val scrambled down the hill, eager to congratulate Charlie on his troops’ part in the victory.
* * * *
When he reached the camp, the dirty and exhausted troops were straggling in. At first it seemed they were all foot soldiers, but after a few light horsemen went by, Val stopped a young lieutenant who was cradling his arm in front of him.
“The Sixth Light troops, where are they?”
The young of
ficer only gestured toward the rear. Val couldn’t wait for everyone to file by, so he started off, slowly at first, and then faster, as he made his way through more and more riders with no sign of Charlie. As he drew closer to the river, the fog was beginning to burn off, and as it lifted, the sun glinted on a gold epaulet here, a sword hilt there as it shone down on the scattered dead and wounded.
Val froze. Surely he had missed his brother, he told himself, as he watched the surgeons and their assistants begin their search through the wounded. He should just make his way back to camp and there he would find Charlie and give him back his ring and have a stiff drink. Suddenly returning the Faringdon crest seemed critical. Charlie must have it back.
As he stood there, unable to move forward or turn back, he heard a groan and saw one of the men from Charlie’s company pulling himself up on one elbow. “Water,” the man whispered, looking pleadingly at Val. Val’s canteen was only half-full, but he knelt down next to the wounded man and held it to his lips.
The man’s thigh had been sliced open to the bone by a French saber and Val winced as he looked at it.
“Looks bad, don’t it?” said the soldier, grinning at the look on Val’s face. “But if the bloody sawbones gets here soon enough and sews it up, I’ll keep it. Better a saber cut than a musket ball any day, is what I say.”
“I am looking for my brother, Lord Holme.”
The man looked at Val thoughtfully. “Your brother, eh? A good man and a good soldier,” he added sadly.
“He is,” Val agreed. “Now, where did you see him last?”
“He and two of his men were inside the French lines the last time I saw him. Down close by the river.”
Val left his canteen and made his way to the river. “Oh, God, Charlie, where are you?” he muttered as he walked the muddy riverbank, stepping over the dead and wounded as best he could.
He found Charlie’s bay first, standing head down, his rear leg hamstrung. Val gently stroked his neck and looked around. Then he saw his brother twenty yards away, lying on his back as though he were napping by the river. The sun gilded his hair and the buttons on his tunic glittered. The buttons that were clean of blood, that is. Val knelt beside him and gently closed his eyes with the palm of one hand. “You shouldn’t be looking directly at the sun, Charlie,” he whispered. There was a froth of blood around his brother’s mouth and Val pulled a linen square out of his pocket and carefully wiped Charlie’s lip clean. When he looked down, he saw the wound: a saber thrust had pierced his brother’s lung. “Please God, you died quickly, Charlie,” he said, smoothing his brother’s hair back from his brow. He picked up Charlie’s hand and sat down on the bloodstained grass.
Red, Red Rose Page 24