The Last Legionnaire

by Paul Fraser Collard

  ‘I suppose I should tell you.’ Ballard glanced across at Palmer, who returned his stare as calmly as ever. ‘You are correct, Jack.’ He looked at Jack as he made his confession. ‘There is something else we are here to do.’

  ‘You devious bastard, I knew it.’ Jack could not hold back the comment. He considered the interplay between Ballard and his bodyguard . ‘Palmer knows this already, I take it?’

  Ballard nodded.

  ‘You couldn’t trust me?’

  ‘It is not a matter of trust, Jack. I would trust you with my life, I think you know that.’

  ‘But not with this, whatever it is.’

  ‘There was no value in you knowing.’

  ‘So what has changed?’ Jack searched Ballard’s face for the truth. He did not know if he would ever find it.

  ‘We are close now. You will need to know what you are looking for.’ Ballard paused, then offered a tight-lipped smile. ‘Who you are looking for.’

  Jack heard the confession being made. ‘I see. So we came all this way to find someone?’

  Ballard nodded. ‘A young man whose father is keen for him to return home.’

  ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘The young man in question fancies himself as something of an adventurer. He ran away from home to join the French forces. Now he is here, but his father wants him back.’

  Jack absorbed the facts. ‘This lad’s father, he must someone important if he is willing to bankroll us.’

  ‘He is a man of means, yes. I cannot reveal his identity to you, but I shall say that I trust his judgement completely.’

  ‘And here you are. Ready to do his bidding.’ Jack’s first instinct was to mock.

  ‘Do you not approve?’ Ballard’s eyes narrowed at the comment, yet he answered pleasantly enough.

  Jack considered the question. ‘No, I don’t think I do. But I doubt either you or this rich old bastard, whoever he is, would think to ask my opinion.’ He laughed at his own pomposity, then looked across to see Palmer’s reaction, but the older man’s face was carved from granite and gave nothing away.

  He thought on Ballard’s announcement. ‘It’s all rather convenient,’ he was thinking and talking at the same time, ‘you being in the right place and all. I take it that this man we are after is in MacMahon’s division?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A coincidence?’

  ‘Please, Jack.’ Ballard pouted at the very idea. ‘Do you really think I would rely on chance?’

  ‘So this has all been arranged?’

  ‘Of course. Nothing happens by chance, do you see that now? It is all part of a design.’ He stared at Jack. ‘My design.’

  ‘I see.’ Jack tried not to let Ballard detect how impressed he was. He should have known that the major would have had everything planned down to the last detail.

  ‘So what are we to do,’ he asked the only question that seemed relevant, ‘when we find this young miscreant?’

  ‘It is very simple.’ Ballard appeared to try to find another smile. He failed, and his expression looked much closer to a grimace than anything warmer. ‘When we find him, we have only one course of action.’ He looked Jack straight in the eye. ‘We kidnap him.’

  The day was the hottest yet. The line of march was littered with fallen treasures, the French soldiers abandoning the souvenirs they had brought with them from Novara. Jack scanned the debris. He saw nothing of value, at least not in military terms. The French army might have dumped anything that weighed them down, but they were not discarding any of their equipment. Their discipline was holding, even as they attempted to steal a march on their enemy.

  The train ride from Voghera to Vercelli had taken Ballard’s small party the best part of a whole day and half a night. It had been slower than anticipated, but they had still travelled the ninety-six miles in less time than even the fastest forced march. There had been no sign of the Austrians, even when they left Vercelli far behind and set out again on foot, their single mule still their only form of transport.

  They had been on the road since dawn, marching in the dust of the troops ahead, and stopping only for an hour when the sun was at its height. Now the afternoon was drawing to a close and the cooler air of evening was providing a welcome respite.

  The march had given Jack time to think on Ballard’s mission. He examined his feelings to see if he liked the sound of this boy they had come so far to find. The lad had thrown off the shackles of his old life and found himself a new one, one that his family clearly did not approve of. In that way, this young rebel was very much like Jack himself. But Jack had embarked on his first charade out of desperation, his future bleak and without much in the way of hope. This boy’s life was different. It would have been one of privilege and ease, a thousand options his for the taking. He had spurned such advantage, and to Jack’s mind that made him just another callow fool with more money than sense.

  ‘You look like you need a good shit.’

  Jack grunted as Palmer aimed the barb. They were walking side by side at the head of their little column. The regiment in front had fallen out of the line of march, but Ballard had ordered his party to continue, the French soldiers’ rest allowing the small group to march on without breathing in the persistent cloud of dust kicked up by their boots. It was not hard to agree with the decision, and the long, dreary trudge had been dramatically improved by their being able to breathe without choking.

  ‘What do you reckon about this mission of ours?’

  Palmer did not answer. His gaze was fixed on the scenery. The countryside they were passing through was lush and green, the rolling fields stretching away as far as the eye could see.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Jack broke the silence. He wanted Palmer’s opinion.

  ‘Do I mind what exactly?’

  ‘Coming all this way for some little shit who has about as much sense as a dead sparrow?’

  Palmer grunted at Jack’s choice of words. ‘No.’

  ‘Truly? So you agree that it’s worth this effort just to bring this posh boy home?’

  Palmer’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘Mr Ballard thinks it is. That’s good enough for me.’

  ‘That’s it?’ Jack shook his head at the dull answer. ‘Ballard says do it so that’s enough?’ He looked over his shoulder. Ballard was walking behind Billy and the mule. He was deep in conversation with Mary and would not overhear them.

  ‘Aye. It’s enough for me.’ Palmer returned his gaze to the fields on either side of the lane they were tramping along. It was narrower than the main road they had followed for much of the day, its course meandering down the side of a hill towards a thin copse of trees.

  ‘What a loyal fellow you are.’ Jack tried to get a rise out of Palmer. He had never had such blind faith, not even when he was a raw recruit finding his way in the Queen’s army. Such independent spirit had cost him, but he could not deny that part of his character. ‘His hold over you must be pretty damned strong to have secured such devotion.’

  Palmer glared at Jack for a moment before looking away, his expression guarded. ‘You ask too many questions.’ He made a play of glancing around them. ‘Now I’ve got one for you.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Where the fuck are we?’

  Jack copied Palmer in scanning their surroundings. He saw no one and nothing, save for mile upon mile of empty countryside. They had been marching in the midst of an entire army, yet it appeared they had managed to get lost.

  ‘Shit.’ He ambled to a halt.

  ‘Shit indeed,’ Palmer agreed. ‘We must’ve taken a wrong turn when we left those Frenchies.’

  ‘We’ll have to go back. We cannot have gone that far.’ Jack turned and waited for Ballard to catch up.

  ‘What is it?’ Ballard called as he came closer.

  ‘We took a wrong turn,’ Jack answered.

  ‘And how did we do that?’ Ballard was clearly not impressed.

  ‘It was Palmer’s fault. He hasn’t stopped t
alking since we left those French chasseurs. He didn’t see the turn.’ Jack tried to make light of the situation.

  Ballard gave a derisive snort. ‘There appears to be a hamlet ahead. Perhaps we will be able to find someone there who can do a better job of guiding us. You two walk ahead and see what is what. I’ll follow with the others.’

  Jack nodded in acknowledgement of the order. He could just about make out the top of the buildings Ballard had spotted. The hamlet was half hidden behind the copse of cypress trees they had been walking towards. On its far side, the ground sloped down sharply so that only a handful of red-tiled rooftops were visible. As far as he could make out, there could be no more than a couple of dozen dwellings at most.

  As the two of them started to walk again, he felt an odd sensation, as though a cold hand had just brushed against the hairs on the back of his neck. It was late afternoon and all was quiet, the only sound, other than their boots and the hooves of the mule, the birdsong coming from the trees. Yet as they moved into the group of trees that straddled the lane, he began to feel uneasy.

  The air grew cooler as the two men walked through the copse. Jack could smell the trees now they were underneath their canopy, the damp odour of a wood in summer. The feeling of unease was growing. He held out an arm and stopped Palmer in his tracks, then closed his eyes as he strained his hearing.

  ‘What is it?’

  Jack lifted a single finger to hush Palmer. He listened for a moment more, then opened his eyes once again. ‘It’s too quiet.’

  Palmer said nothing, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with the observation. But he stood still and allowed Jack to listen.

  The rest of the party came into the shadow of the trees.

  ‘What is it now?’ Ballard was close enough to snap the question.

  Jack gave up his attempt to hear something. ‘We need to get off the road.’

  Ballard scowled. ‘Why would we do that? I do not hear anything.’

  ‘Then listen.’

  ‘Come now, Jack. This is not the time. It’s been a long day—’

  ‘Be quiet, all of you. He’s listening.’ It was Mary who came to Jack’s aid. ‘He knows what he’s about. You carry on, Jack.’

  Jack caught her eye, but it was not the time to dwell on her support, even if it was the nicest thing she had said to him in weeks.

  ‘Well, do you hear something or not?’ Ballard fired off the question after a moment’s pause, his voice tetchy. ‘We can hardly stand here all day.’

  ‘Hush.’ This time Jack was sure there had been something. He raised a finger to silence any more questions, holding his breath as he tried to focus on the sound. It did not take long for him to know what he heard.

  ‘Off the road. Now.’ He hissed the command, then walked quickly to take the mule’s lead rein out of Billy’s hand. The animal brayed loudly in protest as he hauled it off the lane and deeper into the trees. ‘Keep this bloody thing quiet,’ he snapped as he handed the reins back to Billy, who was looking up at him with wide, excited eyes.

  ‘What is it, Jack?’ The boy was eager to know what had spooked him.

  ‘Hush. Stay here. Look after your ma.’ He turned to make sure the others had obeyed. ‘Sir, stay here. I’ll go ahead.’ He looked at Palmer. ‘You had better stay too.’

  ‘Can’t I come with you, Jack?’ Billy made his plea quickly.

  ‘No.’ Ballard was quick to take charge. ‘Jack, I’ll follow you. Palmer will stay here.’ He glanced sharply at Billy. ‘As will you, William.’ He looked back at Jack. ‘What did you hear?’

  Jack offered a thin smile. ‘Horses, lots of them. And I wager they don’t belong to the Frogs.’

  Jack lay on the ground. It was damp, the undergrowth at the edge of the copse spongy beneath his chest. He had moved quickly through the last of the trees before going down on his belly to worm his way into the dense tangle of foliage at the copse’s edge. He had chosen his spot with care, giving himself a clear view out of the trees whilst still being half hidden from view.

  The ground sloped away sharply. The lane they had been following meandered downhill in a series of gentle curves towards the small hamlet that Ballard had spotted. It was not much of a place. The buildings that lined the lane were simple peasant houses interspersed with barns and outhouses. Most were made of stone, with small windows and wooden shutters, and none was of a size or grandeur to imply that anyone other than local farm workers lived there.

  Jack eased himself into position, then pulled his field glasses from their leather case. The brass was cool in his hands as he readied them for use. He knew he owed Billy a coin or two for having the sense, and the deft fingers, to steal them for him.

  The hamlet was quiet. He pressed the glasses to his eyes and panned slowly across the buildings. He saw no one. The silence pressed around him. Even the birds had gone quiet, the only sound the noise of branches and foliage moving in the gentle breeze wafting across the higher ground.

  He focused on one of the larger houses near the centre of the village. He frowned. The shutters were closed, something that he found odd. It was late in the afternoon, the time for men to be returning from work in the fields, and for their womenfolk to be greeting them with food and drink. Instead he saw nothing and no one.

  The sound he had heard earlier returned. It was louder, and this time he had no doubt what it was. He swung the glasses towards the far edge of the village. He saw what he expected to find almost immediately.

  The Austrian cavalrymen were in no hurry. They entered the village at a gentle trot, their sabres sheathed. Clearly they were not expecting trouble, even this far from their own lines. Jack supposed they were a lightly armed patrol, the kind sent out far from the main body of the army to discover the location of the enemy forces. They were dressed as hussars, their uniform not dissimilar from that of the 15th Hussars that Major Ballard wore. But where Ballard’s was dark blue, the Austrians’ tunics were sky blue, with a green-faced shako with matching plume.

  He kept his eyes on the cavalrymen as they rode into the village. They were close enough now for him to be able to pick out their voices and hear their laughter. They slowed their pace to a walk before coming to a full halt. He could make out the individual words as their leader gave the order to dismount. He did not understand what was said, but it was clear they intended to stay a while.

  The Austrian commander’s voice was not the only thing he heard. He lowered his field glasses, then eased on to one side so that he could look behind him. It sounded like a whole company of skirmishers was coming towards him, the noise of boots thrashing through the undergrowth loud enough to drown out the orders being shouted by the Austrians.

  ‘For God’s sake, keep it down!’ he hissed.

  Ballard emerged from the last of the trees. ‘What can you see?’

  Jack winced at his commander’s loud voice. ‘Get down before they see you.’

  ‘Who will see me?’ Ballard finally matched Jack’s hushed tone. He crouched low, then scurried forward before dropping to the ground at his side.

  ‘Austrian light cavalry. Probably just a patrol meant to establish where the French outposts are.’ Jack gave the description in clipped, quiet tones.

  ‘May I?’ Ballard held out his hand.

  Jack handed over his field glasses, then waited as Ballard made his own study of the enemy troops.

  ‘Fine work, Jack.’ Ballard finished his inspection quickly, then handed the glasses back. ‘I knew I was right to bring you, even if it is your fault we are here in the first place.’ The major’s brow furrowed as he came to a decision. ‘Well, we are lost, so perhaps they are too. Whichever it may be, I think our decision is clear. We will go back the way we came. There is no sense getting involved with these fellows.’

  Jack nodded. He was in full agreement. Their party were ostensibly neutrals, but he did not want to explain the niceties of their presence to a group of Austrian cavalrymen.

  Then the first scream shattered the
quiet.

  The sound undulated, overly loud in the still afternoon air. It was a dreadful noise, a banshee wail of horror that had no place being there.

  Jack froze. The scream echoed through the buildings, rising in pitch before being shut off abruptly.

  The quiet pressed back over them. It was as if the sound had never been, the scream a product of their imagination. He scanned the hamlet with his field glasses, searching for the source of the unholy noise. He saw nothing.

  The Austrians had dismounted. He saw several of them walking easily down the hamlet’s single lane. Some carried carbines, the shorter version of an infantryman’s rifle. As he watched, a pair of them approached the door to one of the houses. They did not stop to knock, but simply battered it open with a combination of carbine stocks and boots. The door burst back on its hinges and they plunged inside, their carbines held ready to counter anyone who stood against them.

  ‘The bastards.’ He hissed the oath under his breath, then pulled the field glasses from his face. He had seen enough.

  Another scream came. It was as dreadful as the first, but shorter, the sound cut off before it reached its crescendo. He looked up and saw Ballard watching him closely.

  ‘What is happening?’ The major spoke softly.

  Jack was saved from giving a reply by the sound of a commotion. He raised the glasses to his face in time to see a young girl burst out of a house and tear down the lane as if the very hounds of hell were on her tail. She was the first local he had seen, and he tracked her instinctively, his breath catching in his throat as he recognised her fear.

  The girl ran hard, her skirts bunched in one hand. He caught the bright flash of a pale ankle as she tried to escape the two men who ran after her, their shouts of anger loud. She never stood a chance. She was running as fast as she could, but her pursuers were quicker. They caught her as she turned to run down the lane that led to the copse where Jack and Ballard lay watching.

  One of the Austrian cavalrymen slapped the girl hard, the sound of the impact like a distant gunshot. Still she tried to get away. Jack saw her writhe back and forth in an attempt to free herself from their clutches. She was slapped again for her trouble, whilst the other man danced around her before darting forward to tear away her skirt.