The Last Legionnaire

by Paul Fraser Collard

  ‘I shall tell you more, indeed I shall. But this is not the time. Tell me what you know of the northernmost Italian provinces.’

  The request took Jack off guard. It was typical of Ballard to assume that everyone else’s mind could perform the same mental somersaults as his own.

  ‘A little.’ The habit of not admitting a lack of knowledge was buried deep. His mother had taught him to read and write passably well, but he had not enjoyed more than a rudimentary education. Much of what he had learned had come from his first regiment, whose colonel had allowed his brighter soldiers a few hours a week in the regimental library. His career as a charlatan officer had made him adept at dodging questions about matters that he did not know a thing about, although in truth, very few of his fellow officers had asked him much at all, their education, more often than not, as patchy and as scant as his own.

  ‘Shall we sit?’ Ballard gestured at the club chair Jack had recently vacated before taking another for himself. ‘Our friend Napoleon has sparked something of a crisis in the region.’ He raised an eyebrow as he looked at Jack. ‘You have heard of Napoleon III, Emperor of France?’

  ‘Of course,’ Jack replied as he sat. In truth, he knew little, but he assumed Ballard would be unable to resist giving a lecture, so he doubted that his lack of knowledge would matter.

  ‘Good man, you are not totally hopeless then. So our friend Napoleon – I suppose we must call him a friend after the Crimea – has created something of a situation. Reports coming from Paris indicate that he and his new best friend, Vittorio Emanuele III of Sardinia, are cooking up trouble for the poor Habsburgs. If what we have discovered is correct, Vittorio and Napoleon have hatched a plan to turf the Austrians out of Lombardy and Venice. Once their aim is achieved, that kingdom will be added to that of Sardinia, in return for Vittorio ceding the French-speaking areas of Savoy and Nice back to Napoleon. I don’t know how much you know of this area, but it is made up of a messy hotchpotch of tiny states with more petty jealousies than a girls’ boarding dormitory. They have this damnable notion of unifying together. “Italy for the Italians”, they say. ‘Italy’ means nothing, of course, just a geographical term if you ask me, but they believe in it, the stupid fools. One only has to look at the uprisings back in ’48 to see how touchy half of Europe is about such things.’ Ballard scowled as he saw Jack struggling to keep up. ‘Are you quite well, Jack? You look like you are sucking on a lemon.’

  Jack shifted in his seat. ‘Perhaps you could go a little slower?’

  ‘My dear Jack, we have much to do and I cannot waste time. The chase is on.’

  ‘What chase?’

  Ballard preened as Jack snapped at the lure. ‘Now is not the time for your questions. So, you are familiar with the area of which I speak?’

  ‘No.’

  Ballard rocked back in his chair and clapped his hands before giving his odd bark of a laugh. ‘You are priceless, Jack, absolutely priceless. The kingdom of Sardinia is to be found in an area south of the Alps, in the passes of Savoy and the plains of Piedmont, in what some would call the north of Italy.’

  Jack felt the burn of embarrassment on his cheeks, but he did his best to ignore it. He could not help but be intrigued, and Ballard was a good lecturer, even if he did go a little too fast.

  ‘Vittorio Emanuele has risen up against the Austrians before.’ Ballard kindly overlooked Jack’s blushes and carried on. ‘The last time was in ’48, when half of Europe smelled the miasma of revolution. A fellow called Graf Johann Radetzky, Austria’s viceroy in Milan, crushed the revolt rather brutally. There were two battles, one at Custozza and one at Novara. The poor Sardinians took a beating, but that didn’t stop them from helping us in the Crimea.’ Ballard paused and frowned. ‘I almost forgot. You were there, were you not? Perhaps you saw them?’ He raised an eyebrow in Jack’s direction.

  ‘No.’ Jack saw the flash of annoyance in Ballard’s eyes. The major had discovered much of Jack’s past, but not all. Jack had never revealed anything about his time in the Crimea, something that vexed the intelligence officer immensely.

  Ballard’s brow furrowed deeper. ‘I still don’t know your whole story, do I, you damned rogue, and I see that you plan to keep it that way.’ He sniffed as Jack stayed silent. ‘One day you will tell me everything.’

  ‘One day you will learn to keep your beak out of business that doesn’t concern you.’

  ‘I doubt that!’ Ballard laughed off the belligerent reply. ‘If I ever become that dull, you have permission to shoot me.’

  ‘Very well.’ Jack kept his reply cool.

  ‘Ha! I do not doubt that you would.’ Ballard shook his head slowly. ‘I missed you, Jack; I never realised until this moment quite how much.’

  ‘I didn’t miss you.’ Jack fought the urge to smile.

  ‘You are not a very convincing liar. I am astonished that you could last so long as an impostor.’ Ballard’s eyes twinkled. ‘So, back to the matter in hand. Vittorio helped us in the Crimea and that earned him a seat at the peace conference that followed. That in turn gave him the opportunity to put this whole Italian problem on the table. Not even Palmerston could ignore something slapped right in front of his damn face, though I expect the old fellow was too distracted by being awarded the Order of the Garter to mind for long.’

  Ballard offered his tight-lipped smile as he spotted Jack hanging on his every word. ‘Now, as I said, Napoleon and Vittorio have been plotting, and our sources tell us that their preparations for war are well under way. The Sardinian army, such as it is, has mobilised and is now massing on the border with Lombardy. Vittorio has called up all his reservists and the French are manufacturing like mad. Napoleon is just like his bloody uncle in that he thinks the artillery can win battles all by themselves. The man’s factories cannot make cannon fast enough.’

  ‘He’s wrong. It’s the infantry who win battles.’ Jack could not hold back the comment.

  ‘I agree.’ Ballard nodded, encouraging Jack’s involvement. ‘Although if I recall correctly, the cavalry nearly managed the whole affair in Persia.’

  ‘Perhaps. But the Persians didn’t hang around long enough to make it a proper fight.’

  ‘You sound disappointed.’

  ‘No. It’s what happened.’ Jack had ridden with the cavalry that day. ‘If their line had stood their ground, the outcome could have been very different.’

  ‘You are correct, I am sure.’ Ballard ceded the point to Jack. ‘It will be interesting to see how these Sardinians stand.’

  Jack heard the first clue as to what Ballard was planning. ‘You will be there?’

  Ballard waved the comment away. ‘Everything in its time, Jack, everything in its time. The French and Sardinians are not standing alone. Even the bloody revolutionaries are getting involved. Have you heard of a chap called Garibaldi?’ He gave Jack no time to reply. ‘The man is a bloody pain in the backside. He wants to create a state of Italy, can you believe. He has about as much chance of that as I do of becoming prime minster, but for the moment his interests are aligned with those of Vittorio, and so he has turned his own private army over to strengthen the allied force.

  ‘Of course, if we know this, then so do the Austrians. The emperor has reinforced his forces in the region, and some sixty-five thousand men have been recalled from furlough. The Habsburgs have huge resources to call on. The empire has thrived in the years since the Congress of Vienna back in ’15. It now consists of Upper and Lower Austria, Salzburg, Tyrol, Carinthia, Carniola, Littoral, Bohemia, Moravia Silesia, Galicia and Lodomeria, Hungary, Croatia, Slavonia, Dalmatia, Transylvania, the voivodeship of Serbia and the banat of Temeswar, and of course Lombardy and Venetia.’ Ballard took a sharp intake of breath as he finished reeling off the long list of duchies and kingdoms that formed a part of the enormous territory.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Jack asked the question. ‘We fought alongside the French and the Sardinians in the Crimea. Will we do so again now?’

  �
��No, at least I don’t think so. Things with the French are a little frosty after that Orsini affair. I have no idea why Napoleon is so shocked that someone would try to assassinate him, but he is certain that we had our finger in that particular pie. Even though Palmerston tried to appease him by introducing a Bill to make it a felony to plot here to murder someone abroad, Napoleon still won’t trust us. Of course, that Bill is what got Palmerston kicked out of office, and even though it is looking quite possible that he will return as prime minister after all this messing about with the election, I would think we would keep out of this one and leave it to the French. But that does not mean there is not a role for us to play, albeit a minor one.’

  Jack was starting to understand the situation. ‘Go on.’

  Ballard sat back in his chair, his fingers lifting to toy with his moustache. ‘Have you heard of the practice of sending observers to a foreign war?’

  ‘I have.’ Jack nodded.

  ‘That is to be our role.’ Ballard smacked his hand on to his knee and sat forward quickly. ‘What say you to that?’

  ‘We’re just going to watch?’

  ‘You have it exactly.’

  Jack thought he saw something hidden in Ballard’s expression, as if he were not telling the whole story. But the idea of going to Italy as an observer made sense, and it gave Jack a reason for being there. He might not be political, but he knew war. The notion of observing intrigued him. It would be a relief to stay on the sidelines as three armies slugged it out. There would be no fighting, no sucking up the courage to lead men into battle and no bowel-wrenching fear.

  ‘You want me to come with you?’ Jack kept his voice level, as if the notion neither interested nor pleased him.

  ‘I do. Palmer will be with me, but I like to be prepared, and I have a fancy that somewhere along the line you will be useful to me. The woman and her boy can come with us too. We shall not strictly be on campaign, so I think we can allow ourselves a little comfort. I imagine she will be able to take care of us rather nicely.’

  Jack tried not to guffaw. Ballard was the shrewdest man he had ever met, but in some ways he was most definitely an innocent. ‘I am sure Mary will be more than capable. Her lad, too.’

  ‘Very good! We shall be a merry little party indeed.’ Ballard’s eyes narrowed as he thought on his plans. ‘You can keep your name. No one but I knows the truth about that, and it will be too complicated to change it now.’

  ‘That is very good of you.’

  ‘Capital.’ Ballard missed the dollop of sarcasm. ‘I shall sort out the paperwork this afternoon. We do not have long.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘We must be on our way. The Austrian foreign minister, Graf – they are all some sort of bloody graf – Ferdinand von Buol-Schauenstein, just issued an ultimatum to Vittorio demanding Sardinia’s immediate, unilateral disarmament.’

  ‘Surely they won’t agree.’

  ‘We will make a statesman of you yet. No, Vittorio will not agree, not with Napoleon whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He is certain to refuse.’

  ‘Which means?’

  ‘Which means, my dear Jack, that Europe is about to go to war.’ Ballard ran a single finger across his moustache, then smiled. ‘And that means that so are we.’

  Paris, May 1859

  Jack eased off his boots then tossed them to the ground, a sigh of pleasure escaping his lips even as their pungent aroma caught his nose. It had been a long day, and he was tired. The small walled courtyard behind the house where they were lodging was a wonderful haven tucked away from the bustle of the city. He could smell the lavender that rambled near the rear wall, its scent a delicate balm against his own stink. He sat at a small metal table, his feet resting on gravel, relishing the peace and the shade. It felt good to sit in the cool, and his breathing slowed as the frustration of the day began to leave him.

  ‘What the devil is wrong with you?’ Mary had seen him arrive, and now she bustled out into the courtyard, her face creased into a scowl as she saw him sitting at ease.

  Jack spotted that she had a mug in her hand. ‘If that tea is for me, then I shall marry you this instant.’

  Mary snorted. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ She held out the battered tin mug. ‘You can have it, I suppose.’

  Jack took it gratefully. He had failed to win Mary over. She still treated him with icy disdain. Not that he blamed her. He had ruined her world, her current employment little reward for everything she had lost. He had not forgotten Shaw. But the choice he had faced had been simple. Accept Ballard’s offer and give both him and Mary a place, or spurn it and spend days, or weeks, hunting for revenge. There was only one thing he could do, and so Shaw was left in peace, for the moment at least.

  ‘Thank you.’ He cradled the hot mug in both hands. His right was still bandaged, but the splint had been removed from his broken finger. It was crooked and hurt like the devil if he caught it at the wrong angle, but it served as a reminder of a debt left unpaid.

  ‘You can bring the mug back in when you go for a wash.’ The ever-present scowl on Mary’s face deepened a fraction as her nose wrinkled at the smell coming from Jack’s bootless feet.

  ‘It’s been a hard day. I think I’ll rest here a while.’

  ‘A hard day! I think you have forgotten what a hard day’s work is really like.’

  Jack did not rise to the bait. He took a first tentative sip of the steaming liquid, closing his eyes as the taste of it filled his mouth. When he opened them again, he caught Mary staring at him. She looked away quickly when she saw him notice her scrutiny.

  ‘Did you get everything on the list I gave you?’ The question was snapped at him.

  ‘Some of it.’

  ‘Some? You’ve been gone hours, yet you didn’t get everything?’

  ‘It was hard.’

  ‘Hard! What is hard about spending Mr Ballard’s money on a few necessities?’

  Jack was too tired to argue. ‘It’s not London.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Mary’s sarcasm was biting. ‘Well I’m right glad you told me. I thought I was still in bloody Whitechapel.’

  Jack laid his head back. Most of the courtyard was in shade, but he felt a single beam of sunlight wander pleasantly across his face. He could also feel Mary’s eyes boring into him.

  ‘So are you just going to sit there?’

  ‘Only if I’m left in peace.’

  ‘There’s work to be done. You know how Mr Ballard likes everything ready when he returns.’

  Jack kept his eyes closed even as he mocked her. ‘Mr Ballard,’ he imbued the honorific with a liberal dose of scorn, ‘can go take a running jump. I’ve done enough for one day.’

  ‘And what have you done exactly?’ She did not give him a chance to reply. ‘Wandered around gawping when you should have been grafting, that’s what.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ Jack rocked forward, opening his eyes so he could glare at Mary. ‘This bloody city is full of lunatics. All they do is shout and wave their bloody arms.’

  ‘Is that why you didn’t get half the things you was told to? Because someone raised their voice and waved their arms at you?’

  Jack could not help but smile as Mary gesticulated in a parody of his description. He could still see the girl he had once loved underneath the scowl. ‘I got what I could.’

  ‘And it ain’t enough. I can’t feed me and my boy on what you brought, let alone Mr Ballard and his man.’

  ‘Then you go and get something. None of the buggers speak English. You have to shout and point, and even then you still don’t get what you bloody want.’ Jack let some of his frustration show. ‘It wasn’t this hard in India.’

  ‘I got plenty to do already, thank you very much.’ She placed her hands on her hips and stared at Jack. ‘You’ve got to go back out.’

  ‘No I don’t.’

  ‘We need more meat. There’s a boochery or whatever they call it just down the road.’

  ‘I went there. T
he man is a maniac.’

  ‘I don’t care. I can’t feed us all on three slices of ham.’

  Jack did not answer. He closed his eyes and wondered where he might find some peace. He heard the sound of a door slamming, and then footsteps. It appeared that peace would prove to be elusive that afternoon.

  ‘Good day to you both.’

  Jack did not bother to open his eyes as Ballard came into the courtyard. He heard the major’s boots on the gravel, his short, quick steps as identifiable as his voice.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir.’ Mary’s voice welcomed her master.

  ‘My dear Mary, what a day. I say, is that tea I spy?’

  ‘Let me fetch you a cup, sir. Just brewed, it is.’

  ‘That would be magnificent.’

  Jack grimaced at the interaction between the two, the formality grating. He opened his eyes to see Ballard standing with his hand on the back of the chair where Jack’s feet were currently resting.

  ‘Move your feet, there’s a good fellow.’

  He slowly eased himself into a more upright position.

  ‘You look exhausted, Jack. Has Mary been working you hard?’

  Jack scowled, an expression that deepened as he heard Mary’s loud and derisive snort from somewhere indoors.

  ‘I have news.’ Ballard sat down quickly.

  Jack sat straighter. The major was full of beans, which usually meant he had something of note to tell. ‘Go on.’

  Ballard offered a half-smile at Jack’s interest. ‘A moment, if you will. I have dust in my throat.’

  ‘Have mine.’ Jack pushed his tea towards the major.

  Ballard’s smile widened. ‘I wouldn’t dream of coming between you and your tea. We can wait a moment, I am sure Mary will not be long.’ He made a show of settling into his chair.

  Jack bit his tongue, then drank his tea. He knew Ballard would keep him waiting simply because he could, so it was best not to show that it bothered him.

  ‘Napoleon has left the city.’ The major finally broke the silence just as Mary approached with a tray. In contrast to Jack’s battered tin mug, Ballard’s tea had been served in a fine bone-china cup with a matching saucer. ‘Thank you, my dear.’ He nodded his thanks to Mary before turning back to look Jack in the eye. ‘Everyone who is anyone is on their way to Piedmont.’