Billy grabbed hold of the tether. Together they hauled the mule’s head around, ignoring the loud braying that announced the animal’s protest to the world.
‘Come on!’ urged Jack, pulling hard. Finally the reluctant animal started to move. They emerged from the stable to see Palmer standing in front of three dishevelled French officers, roused from sleep by the noises coming from behind their lodging.
‘Mais qu’est ce que tu fais, bordel?’ The shortest of the three Frenchmen strode towards Palmer, gesticulating wildly.
Palmer ignored him. Instead he looked over his shoulder at Jack and Billy, who were dragging the mule and its load towards the side passage of the house.
‘You boys ready?’
It was getting brighter, the approach of dawn lightening the sky. Jack saw Palmer’s face crease into a smile as he posed the question.
‘Hit him, Mr Palmer!’ Billy sang out before Jack could reply.
Palmer’s smile broadened at the high-pitched command. He turned on his heel to see the Frenchman close behind him, his mouth spewing out a tirade of protest at being ignored.
‘Oh shut your mewling,’ bellowed Palmer, his deep voice cutting the Frenchman off. He gave him no time to gather his thoughts. His fist moved fast, hitting the officer full in the mouth.
‘Shit.’ Jack muttered the word under his breath before turning back to the mule and pulling hard on the lead rope, forcing the animal to pick up the pace.
‘Hit him, Mr Palmer! Hit him!’ Billy bounced against Jack’s side, his eyes riveted on Ballard’s bodyguard.
The Frenchman sat on his backside, his hand raised to his mouth. Blood seeped through his fingers to drip down the front of his white shirt. His companions glanced at each other, and the first went for Palmer, his fists flailing towards the taller man’s head. Palmer saw him coming and had time to laugh before he ducked away, dodging under the blows before coming up punching. His fists pounded the Frenchman’s gut, one after the other, a series of half a dozen blows coming so fast the French officer could do nothing but absorb them before his feet gave way beneath him. He fell back, hitting the ground hard before curling into a ball around his battered stomach.
‘Get on now, Jack.’ Palmer snapped the command, his breathing unaltered.
Jack did not need to be told twice. He was forcing the pace and had managed to get the mule into something that resembled a trot. He glanced back just in time to see Palmer turn to face the remaining Frenchman, his fists lifting into a fighting stance.
The last Frenchman was less keen to fight. His head whipped around as he searched for a weapon.
‘Come on now, monsewer.’ Palmer took a step towards him. ‘Let’s get it over with, shall we?’
The Frenchman made a desperate grab for a shovel left propped against the wall of the outhouse.
‘Aye, we can do it that way if you like.’ Palmer took another pace forward.
Jack reached the side of the house, losing sight of Palmer as he and Billy made for the main road to the front of the officers’ lodging.
‘Wait!’ Billy screeched in protest, desperate to witness the fight about to take place.
‘Shut up.’ Jack had no intention of waiting. He had the mule moving and he knew that if they stopped, they would have the devil’s own job getting it going again.
As they emerged from the passage, he pulled the animal’s head around, aiming it in the direction of their own lodging.
‘Come on, you bastard.’ The animal fought against their control, and Jack’s boots skidded on the ground as he wrestled the beast after him. He just about had them going in the right direction when Palmer jogged out of the passageway, his head turning quickly from side to side before he spotted them.
He ran over to them, his face bearing the slightest hint of a flush.
‘Did you get him, Mr Palmer, did you knock him down?’ Billy dropped the lead rope as he ran towards Palmer.
‘Come on, lad, no time for that now.’ Palmer lowered a heavy arm around the boy and pushed him forward.
He trotted alongside the mule and flashed Jack a smile before slapping the animal hard on the flank. The mule responded by immediately charging forward. Jack stumbled and nearly lost his footing at the rapid increase in pace. Palmer laughed at the sight before easing himself into a run to keep up with the beast.
The two men, one boy and a single mule pounded through the quiet streets in the last of the night. They had all they needed.
Novara, June 1859
The tricolours were bright in the late afternoon sunshine as the tired French column marched into Novara. To the dusty and footsore soldiers it appeared that every inhabitant of the town had turned out to wave a flag in greeting. The huge crowd welcomed them with enthusiasm, their cheers and shouts accompanying the orchestra set up in the town square, which was blasting out ‘Partant pour la Syrie’, Napoleon’s favoured choice of national anthem.
Jack grimaced as he forced away a plump middle-aged woman who had grabbed his cheeks before trying to kiss him full on the lips. She laughed, her mouth opening wide to cheer even as she stumbled backwards.
Ballard’s little party marched in between two regiments of chasseurs, their single mule led by Billy, who had declared himself the animal’s owner. They were all suffering from the heat and the dust, the long days of marching made all the more miserable by constant delays that left them exposed to the relentless sun for hour upon hour.
‘Go away.’ Jack used his palm to push away a young boy trying to hug his legs. He turned to Ballard. ‘This is madness.’
The major marched at Jack’s right. With Palmer on his other side, he was being spared much of the crowd’s attention. ‘It is a good madness, Jack. Do not be such a sourpuss.’
Jack only managed to growl in reply. The crowd’s cheers doubled as they spotted a body of cavalry arriving behind the chasseurs. Jack did not think he had ever seen so many people in one place. A crowd dozens deep lined the streets. Every window was open, and townsfolk leaned out to wave their tricolours and halloo the troops marching below. The grander houses sported balconies, on which hordes of better-dressed citizens gathered, their cheers and waves no less enthusiastic than those coming from the dirtiest rascals cavorting in the gutters. The women tossed down rose petals, showering the heads of the crowd and the soldiers alike, their daughters blowing kisses to the more handsome in the ranks, their laughter unaffected by the ribald suggestions shouted back their way.
Another stout matron stepped forward. She collided with Jack, pressing against his arm before succeeding in planting a wet kiss on his cheek. She tried to reach Ballard, but Jack fended her away. He watched her carefully as she pirouetted to one side, a small tricolour brandished over her head like a trophy.
The column’s pace had slowed to barely a crawl. The French soldiers were enjoying their role in the spectacle, and to a man they played to the crowd. Many raised their kepis on the barrels of their rifles, holding them high over the heads of the marching column. The locals thronged around them, the men grabbing hands whilst the women kissed any they could reach.
‘Do try to enjoy yourself, Jack.’ Ballard was forced to lean close so that his words could be heard over the tumult. ‘I fancy it is not often a soldier is greeted thus.’
Jack was tempted to forcibly switch places with his commander and see how the major liked the attention. The idea died as the column came to a complete halt.
‘For God’s—’ His curse was cut off as yet another woman came at him. He lifted a hand to push her away, but she was too quick and slipped into his arms before he could fend her off. She nuzzled against him, her face and hair pressing against his neck, her lithe body writhing against his hip. He slipped his arm around her waist and held her close. She smelled of soap and rose water, and with his hand circled around her hip, he could tell that she was slim. Encouraged, he risked a glance at her face. She was pretty, with dark brown eyes that sparkled as she cheered loudly in his ear. She laughed as she saw hi
m looking at her, her head thrown back to reveal a long, slender neck.
‘Now you like it better, I fancy,’ Ballard shouted gleefully as he saw Jack entwined with his attractive admirer.
Jack said nothing. It had been a long time since he had held a girl. The crowd was now pressing forward to engulf the stationary column. His companion reached down to take hold of his hands. She pulled him from Ballard’s side and he could do nothing but go with her.
The gap was immediately filled with more well-wishers. Jack could not help laughing as an older woman swept in and grabbed Ballard’s cheeks before planting a series of loud kisses across them. The girl laughed with him, then pressed her own face forward, kissing him lingeringly on the lips. Her eyes were open, and she laughed as she pulled away, her cheeks tinted pink at what she saw reflected in his gaze.
She backed away, pulling Jack after her, easing him through the crowd. He went with her, the life in her eyes captivating him. She leaned forward to kiss him again before twisting away to haul him into the depths of the throng.
Jack turned to glance at his companions. Ballard and Palmer were both surrounded, and a stout matron was smothering Billy. Mary was at the boy’s side. Someone had planted a flower in her hair, and she was laughing as a man kissed her hand.
Jack lost sight of them as his companion tugged him after her. They were in the thick of the crowd now. Men and women clapped him on the back, or tried to kiss his face, and he was buffeted from side to side as his partner cavorted in from of him. Eventually she found a space large enough to dance in. Those around them whooped with delight as they saw what she intended, many starting to clap and sing in encouragement.
Jack gave up any notion of fighting free and let himself be led into the dance. He would do what Ballard had suggested and try to enjoy himself.
‘Wipe that smirk off your face, if you please, Jack,’ Ballard snapped the moment Jack approached the small fire that would warm their camp that night.
He did his best to obey, hiding his face from his commander. Night was falling. Ballard and the others had not gone far. The column had taken several hours to clear Novara, and they would be spending the night in a field only half a mile from the town.
‘Did you not enjoy the celebrations?’ Jack could not resist the jibe.
‘No, I did not.’ Ballard was waspish. ‘It was a trial, and one made all the harder by your absence.’
‘You told me to enjoy it.’
‘I did not mean by yourself. I did not bring you all this way to abandon me.’
‘I did not abandon you.’ Jack sat down on the ground opposite Ballard, their meagre fire between them. Palmer was off to one side, busying himself with a jug of beer that had been given to him by the good citizens of Novara. He seemed content to leave Jack and Ballard to their conversation, but Jack was sure that he would have at least one ear on what was said. Mary and Billy were curled up together under a blanket a few yards away, exhausted by the day.
‘So whilst you were cavorting with that local girl—’
‘I wasn’t cavorting with her,’ Jack interrupted his commander. His time with the girl had been rather enjoyable, but it had come to an end rather abruptly when her father had arrived to reclaim her. There had not been time for anything untoward to occur, but for the first time in a long while, he had been tempted by a woman. He shook the notion away. That was a complication he did not need. He had spent the next few hours trying to get back to his party. It had been a tiresome experience, but he had no intention of admitting that to Ballard.
‘Did you hear what I just said?’
Jack focused his attention back on the major, who was staring at him across the fire. The flames lit his face with an orange glow that flickered across his features and cast his eyes into shadow.
‘I’m sorry.’ He offered a rueful half-smile. ‘Do you mind repeating it for me?’
Ballard shook his head slowly. ‘I give you news of the greatest import, yet your mind dwells on some skinny girl who dared to give you a kiss.’
‘She wasn’t all that skinny.’ He might only have danced with her, but he had been left in no doubt as to what curves had been hidden under her thin summer dress. ‘So what news?’
Ballard’s lips pursed. ‘I am of half a mind not to tell you.’
‘I apologise, sir.’ Jack tried to sound contrite. ‘I’m all ears, I promise.’
‘Very well.’ Ballard needed no further urging. ‘The Sardinians have won the first battle of the campaign.’
Jack laughed, thinking that he was being mocked. He caught a glimpse of Ballard’s face in the firelight and it was enough to stop the laughter. ‘You’re serious?’
‘I am always serious, Jack, I would have thought you had learned that much by now.’ Ballard’s finger lifted to toy with his moustache. ‘Vittorio Emanuele may not need Napoleon’s assistance after all. If what I hear is correct, the Austrians have been repulsed by a Sardinian attack. There are even tales of Vittorio himself fighting in the front line.’
Jack gave a single grunt in response. ‘So it was a big battle, then?’
‘So they claim. But the Sardinians would claim a dancing master wrestling with a stray dog to be a pitched battle, so we should not believe all I have been told. Whatever the facts, it is clear that the Austrians are dithering. I confess I cannot think why. They should be pressing home the advantage of their numbers whilst the allied army is still disjointed. If they let the French and the Sardinians combine, they will have made their task twice as difficult.’
Jack was listening carefully now. He understood Ballard’s point. Together, the French and Sardinian armies would be more than a match for the Austrian force. If the Austrians had any nous, they would throw everything they had at the Sardinians before the French arrived. He shook his head as he considered their folly. ‘They are making Napoleon’s task too easy. Once the armies are joined together, he can go on the offensive.’
Ballard offered one of his rare smiles. ‘He is thinking bigger.’
Jack scowled. As ever, Ballard was withholding some of the information he had discovered. ‘Go on.’
‘Orders to march have already been given. The French are being bold. Napoleon has decided upon a flank march directly across the face of the enemy.’ Ballard looked across to check that he had Jack’s full attention. ‘Come closer so I can explain.’
Jack did as he was bid and shuffled around the fire so that he sat next to his commander.
‘We are here.’ Ballard used a finger to draw a circle in the dusty soil. ‘The enemy are spread across their lines of communication, but the bulk of their force is here.’ He drew a second circle to the right and slightly above the first. ‘The Sardinians are above us over here.’ A third circle was drawn above the first and to the left of the one that denoted the Austrian force. ‘If I understand correctly, the French are going to change the direction of their march and swing up and around to join the Sardinians in their current position.’ He drew a line to join the two allied circles.
Jack frowned. He saw the plan immediately. It was as bold as Ballard had claimed. The French army would march northwards, directly across the front of the enemy forces. It would allow the two allied armies to combine whilst changing the direction of their attack. But it was full of risk. If the Austrians knew what was happening, all they had to do was advance and strike the French in the flank.
‘It’s a hell of a risk. That march will take days, if not a full week.’ Jack had seen the danger to the French’s army’s open right flank. Moving an army was a slow business. The Austrians would have men keeping them in touch with both allied forces. They could not fail to see what was developing right in front of them. They would have plenty of time to organise their attack.
Ballard was slowly shaking his head. ‘There is ninety-six kilometres of railway line running from Voghera to Vercelli.’ He drew two small circles between the two allied armies. ‘A march that would have taken four to five days can now be done in just o
ne.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘The world has changed, Jack. This is the modern age.’ He slapped one hand into the palm of the other. ‘We must grasp the potential that all these wonderful advances have presented to us.’
Jack heard the change in Ballard’s tone. He was clearly impressed by the thinking of the French commanders. ‘Their flank is still open.’
‘By the time the dullards in the Austrian high command see the opportunity, it will be past.’ Ballard leaned forward. ‘This is modern war. Napoleon has grasped that fact; the Austrians have not. The Sardinians will launch a diversionary attack in the north, which should keep the enemy guessing for long enough for the French to move.’ He shook his head before looking Jack firmly in the eye. ‘The Austrians’ timidity invites such a move, and I am pleased to say that we shall have the opportunity to see just how this hand plays out. I have found us a place.’
Jack held Ballard’s gaze. ‘Where?’
‘With General MacMahon. He commands II Corps.’
‘A corps commander, is that all? I would have supposed you would want to be with Napoleon himself.’
‘I thought you would prefer to be closer to the action.’
Jack saw a flicker of unease in Ballard’s eyes. It was hard to read his expression, especially in the firelight, but he had an inkling that the major was holding something back. ‘You’re not telling me everything.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Ballard scowled.
‘I know you.’ Jack had spotted the way Ballard’s eyes narrowed as he absorbed the accusation. ‘We are not just here to observe. You would never have accepted a place with a mere corps commander unless you had reasons for doing so.’
‘It was all I could get.’
Jack snorted. ‘You’re a terrible liar.’
‘You would know.’ Ballard looked away and stared into the flames.
The silence stretched thin. Jack let it build, certain that it would defeat Ballard more surely than any argument he could concoct. He did not have to wait long to be proven correct.
The Last Legionnaire Page 14