The Last Legionnaire

by Paul Fraser Collard

  Jack guffawed at her turn of phrase. ‘So I’m not good enough for your bed?’

  ‘No. Never was and never will be.’

  ‘Harsh.’

  ‘But true.’

  ‘So you like men with a bit more gravitas?’ He caught her eye. ‘Do you like the Devil, then?’

  Mary laughed the idea away. ‘Of course not. He wouldn’t have the likes of me.’

  Jack heard a trace of nervousness behind the laugh. ‘It happens.’

  ‘Not to folk like me.’

  ‘I’ve seen it.’ Jack thought back to his previous adventure with Ballard. There had been a woman then. Her name was Sarah and she came from a background not wholly dissimilar to Mary’s. She had married well and had taken the rewards it had brought her.

  ‘Fairy tales don’t count, Jack. They ain’t real.’

  ‘It wasn’t a fairy tale.’ He reflected on how Sarah’s life had played out. It was not something he would recommend. ‘But I’m sure you’re right. It’s not for the likes of you.’

  Mary opened her mouth to reply. Whatever she was about to say was lost as a sound like thunder echoed along the horizon.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ she asked in the silence that followed.

  The sound came again before he could reply. This time it lasted for longer, rolling out and growing louder before stopping abruptly. Jack was already moving, calling for Palmer as he went.

  The bodyguard, who had been staying in the same house as Jack, came out quickly, blinking in the bright sunshine.

  ‘You hear that?’ Jack snapped the question as the noise returned, louder than before.

  Palmer nodded. He said nothing.

  ‘Get the mule ready.’ Jack gave the order before turning back to Mary. ‘Find Billy. We need to get moving.’

  Mary looked from one man to the other. ‘Will one of you kindly tell me what the devil that is?’ she demanded, hands on hips.

  Palmer ignored her and went off to find the mule. Mary grabbed Jack’s arm, making him face her.

  ‘What is it?’ she repeated.

  ‘Guns. Artillery, anyway,’ Jack replied. ‘Someone has just started a battle.’

  They had left quickly. The locals had not seen them off. Jack got the sense they were relieved at their departure. They might have saved one of their girls from being ravaged, but they were still strangers. Their presence was tolerated, but they were a reminder of a day the villagers would spend years trying to forget.

  ‘What do you make of it?’

  Ballard walked at Jack’s side. His legs were shorter than Jack’s, so he was forced to move them quickly to keep pace.

  ‘It’s no skirmish.’ Jack cocked an ear. The noise of the guns was constant now, intensifying the closer they got. He felt a part of himself awakening at the sound.

  ‘Then we must move quickly.’

  ‘We are.’ Jack heard the anxiety in Ballard’s voice. He did not recall seeing his commander this tense.

  ‘Well, we must keep up the pace. We shall not stop, not for anything.’

  ‘Then save your breath for marching.’ Jack’s reply was waspish. It earned him a scowl.

  ‘Do not forget why we are here.’ Ballard ignored Jack’s advice. ‘I have not forgotten your actions.’

  ‘You think I did the wrong thing?’ Jack scoffed at his master’s words.

  ‘You disobeyed me.’

  ‘I saved that girl.’

  Ballard did not reply immediately. When he did, his voice was like ice. ‘We have a duty to find this boy. I vowed to his father that we would keep him safe. I intend to keep my word.’

  ‘We might not even find him. A battle is a bloody big place. We have a whole army to search through.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Ballard’s reply was immediate. ‘I know his regiment. It will be a simple enough task to find them.’

  ‘And then what?’ Jack felt his breath catch in his chest. They were walking briskly, and the advice to save their breath had not been solely for Ballard’s benefit.

  ‘Then you keep him safe. When the opportunity arises, you take him away.’

  ‘What, we ask him to come with us?’ Jack mocked his commander. ‘Swan in there and pluck him out of their bloody line? You think they’ll just let him go?’

  ‘Of course not, but I am sure a man of your talents will be able to find a way. Until then, you will keep him safe. You and Palmer know how to fight. Use that knowledge to protect the boy.’

  Jack bit off a sharp retort. He was tweaking the tail of the Devil, and he would do well to mind his tongue. Ballard was not a man to cross. ‘Let’s find him first. Then we can decide what to do next.’ He tried to mollify his commander.

  ‘You will do more than that.’ Ballard snapped his reply. ‘I brought you here for this, and this alone. When you find him, you will protect him in any way you can, no matter what it takes.’

  Jack understood the tone. There was no need to reply, so he saved his breath for what was to come.

  The French army was on the move. The enemy had finally been forced into action. Now Napoleon had the chance to test the mettle of his troops on the field of battle. His II Corps, commanded by Général de Division MacMahon, was marching to take up position to make an attack.

  Ballard’s small party was caught up in the rush. They had left the hamlet behind and marched towards the sound of the guns. Within an hour they were back in the midst of the French army as it manoeuvred towards the Austrian force. The road was clogged with men, horses and wagons. Progress was slow, and the column they followed was frequently forced to stand idle in the sun as the road ahead became blocked.

  ‘This is chaos.’ Ballard made his verdict on the continued delays clear.

  Jack looked around. To his mind, the column was as ordered as it could be. The French army was reacting well and moving at a decent pace. ‘It’s not so bad. Don’t panic.’

  ‘Panic indeed.’ Ballard glared at him, his face flushed. ‘Ah, Jack, quickly now, stop that fellow.’ The major had spotted a rider trying to force a passage through the column.

  Jack did as he was told. It was easy enough to wait for the rider to get close. Then it was a simple matter of grabbing his bridle and tugging him to a halt.

  ‘Monsieur!’ Ballard stepped up to the man’s stirrup before he could snap at Jack to release his bridle. ‘Major Ballard, British Intelligence, attached to General MacMahon.’ He shouted the fleeting introduction.

  The French officer looked anything but impressed. ‘What do you want? Be quick now, I have an urgent dispatch for Général de Castagny.’ His English was good.

  ‘Where is General MacMahon’s headquarters?’

  The Frenchman scowled. ‘A mile ahead, perhaps less. They spent the night bivouacked around Turbigo. Now please let go of my bridle.’

  ‘What has happened?’ Ballard clearly did not care for the Frenchman’s supercilious attitude.

  ‘The Austrians happened, monsieur. They hold the high ground around Magenta.’

  ‘You did not expect them to be so far north, did you?’

  ‘Perhaps not, but now we have them and we can bring them to battle.’

  ‘What of their numbers?’

  ‘Forty thousand, perhaps more.’ The French officer’s horse tossed its head, forcing Jack to wrestle with it to maintain his hold. ‘Monsieur, I must get on.’

  ‘One last question. What are your orders?’

  ‘To attack the enemy, as quickly as we can.’

  Ballard stood back, then gestured for Jack to let the man’s bridle go. He had learned enough. The second major engagement of the campaign had begun.

  The man’s arm was gone. All that was left was a bloody stump liberally swathed in bandages now soaked with gore. Yet he still found the strength to wave at Mary as the cart he was on went past, his face creasing into a smile as he spotted her blue cotton dress amidst the sea of uniforms.

  They had been walking for hours, and it was now early afternoon. They had crossed the R
iver Ticino on a pontoon bridge at Turbigo before passing through another village called Robecchetto as they tried to catch up with MacMahon’s II Corps. The number of casualties coming back the other way had increased with every mile. The French were well organised, and so far all the wounded they had seen were being taken away from the front line in ambulances and wagons standing ready for just that purpose.

  ‘Poor bastards.’ Jack stood back to let the next cart pass. Six men were on board. All were wounded, their faces bearing the strain of being maimed in the opening salvos of the battle.

  ‘They’re the lucky ones.’ Palmer stood grim-faced at his side.

  ‘Come along.’ It was Ballard who geed them up. ‘We must get going.’

  Palmer caught Jack’s eye and shrugged. He moved away, quick to obey. Jack took one last look at the cart full of wounded soldiers making slow progress against the tide of fresh troops marching the other way, then he followed the others.

  They made their way into a small town that a few quick questions allowed them to identify as Cuggiono. The column they had attached themselves to pressed on, the men marching quicker now. The noise of the artillery fire had increased, the sound pounding out without pause, the air shaking with every salvo. Jack could smell the battlefield in the whiff of powder smoke drifting on the breeze, and in the tang of blood as each wagon ground its way past.

  They passed silent houses, their windows shuttered and doors barred. Any inhabitants were hiding away deep inside, those foolish enough not to have fled at the sound of the first guns now at least wise enough to stay out of sight. Tricolours hung from empty balconies, forlorn and abandoned. The hasty celebrations that had marked the arrival of the French army had been quickly forgotten as the locals realised they were on the front line of a battle.

  Orders came faster now. Riders rushed past the slow-moving column, their faces flushed and excited as they galloped between senior officers, passing commands and information, their horses snorting and whinnying as they were ridden hard.

  Ballard pulled out a little black leather notebook and scribbled a quick series of notes with a pencil. They were now on the eastern flank of the Ticino river, at the western edge of the Lombard plain, a great plateau that stretched for miles until it reached a far line of hills. The ground closest to the river was poor, and Jack saw that the flooded fields would be a nightmare for the infantry. The plateau itself was largely unbroken open ground, save for a scattering of dense patches of fruit trees. The fields to either side of the road were planted to crops, and he could see the lead battalion of the column flattening a field of wheat as they manoeuvred.

  ‘Where are the enemy?’ Ballard came close to Jack’s side and bellowed the question in his ear. Orders were being shouted back and forth as the troops in front of them deployed off the road, marching to the right to clear the way for the men in the battalion behind.

  ‘Over there!’ Jack waved an arm to point ahead. He was trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The French battalions were forming up in line at right angles to the road. A large number of French artillery pieces were already there, massed in a single enormous battery facing south. They were firing fast, the gunners sweating around their heavy cannon.

  ‘I see.’ Ballard was making quick sketches in his little book. ‘Once we are re-formed, will we sweep forward?’

  ‘No.’ Jack shook his head. He understood the French formation better than his commander. ‘The Frogs are going on the defensive.’

  Ballard’s face creased into a scowl. ‘How so?’

  ‘If they were going to attack, they would be staying in column.’ Jack looked up and down the French line. ‘This is a defensive formation,’

  ‘Which means what precisely?’

  ‘Which means they reckon the bloody Austrians are coming this way. The French are preparing for defeat.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Ballard’s disbelief was obvious.

  ‘Yes. They are preparing to cover a retreat.’

  As if to emphasise the notion, the French guns fired another salvo.

  ‘There is still fighting ahead.’ Ballard jabbed a finger.

  ‘And it looks like the Frenchies are taking a pounding.’ Palmer made the announcement as he came to stand at their side.

  Jack looked where Palmer was indicating. A stream of fresh casualties was swarming back along the road. Some were in ambulances, whilst others came alone or walking in pairs. There were many more than they had seen already, the fighting getting heavier and more destructive. Most were making for a first aid post set up on the edge of the town. The post flew a black flag, to let both sides know that it was a place of refuge and not a target.

  ‘Keep the boy away.’ Ballard snapped the order at Mary. Billy had led the mule forward with his mother, and now the lad was staring at the sad procession of broken bodies.

  ‘I ain’t bothered,’ Billy protested. ‘I’ve seen worse.’

  ‘Come on, never mind the lad, we need to get off the road.’ Jack spied another battalion of French infantrymen advancing behind them.

  ‘Good idea.’ Ballard scanned around. ‘Head towards the aid station. I shall endeavour to find the commander of this battalion. With luck he can tell me where our man might be. Palmer, stay with me. Jack, take the others.’ He gave his orders quickly. It was time to try to make sense of the confusion, and find their target.

  ‘I have news.’ Ballard made the announcement as he bustled over to where his small party waited for his return, not far from the first aid post. ‘No one quite knows where anyone is.’ He shook his head as he came to stand in front of Jack. ‘You would think a damned general would know where his own men might be.’

  ‘It’s a battle. This is what they are like.’ Jack snorted at Ballard’s crass comment. He nodded to a grim-faced Palmer, who trailed dutifully in his master’s wake.

  ‘Well, it should be more organised. I am certain Wellington knew better.’

  ‘I’m sure he didn’t.’

  Ballard glared at Jack, but Palmer laughed, earning a sharp look of his own.

  ‘That’s enough.’ Ballard pulled out his notebook and flicked through to the last page. ‘Now listen carefully. The enemy are about two miles ahead. MacMahon’s corps was advancing on two fronts, but it appears the divisions have become separated. His right division under Général de la Motte-Rouge is at a place called Boffalora, a couple of miles to the south of here. They had nearly reached the town’s bridge when MacMahon ordered them to hold their ground. We are with his reserve column. They have been ordered to consolidate here with the bulk of his artillery.’

  Jack nodded. It made sense of what he could see around him. The general had ordered his reserve column to join his artillery so as to provide a solid defensive position to anchor the attack should his two main divisions be forced to pull back. That still begged the obvious question.

  ‘So the first division is at Boffalora. The reserves are here. Where is the second division?’

  ‘The second division under Espinasse was advancing out on the left. MacMahon lost contact with them a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘So where’s our man?’ Jack opted not to pass comment on the skill of a general who somehow managed to lose a whole division.

  ‘We know that he serves in the French Foreign Legion. They form a part of Espinasse’s division.’

  ‘And no one knows where they are.’ Jack absorbed the news.

  ‘No.’ Ballard spotted something in Jack’s reaction that led him to purse his lips, but he did not let it stop him continuing with his news. ‘There are reports that the second division’s lead regiment was also advancing on Boffalora shortly before the first division got there. Others say they are held up at a place called Marcallo, a mile or so to the left of our advance.’ He looked up. ‘That must be over there to the east.’

  ‘What is your good friend the general doing to find his men?’ Jack tried to make sense of the conflicting reports. It was clear that the truth of the matter was that no on
e knew where the second division had gone.

  ‘He has patrols scouring the area. However, the Austrians are now counter-attacking all along the line, and MacMahon is worried that his men will be pushed back. If the Austrians can force their way into the gap between his two divisions, there will be no one to stop them crushing the whole French flank.’

  ‘So it’s a bloody mess?’

  ‘The situation is rather fluid, yes.’

  ‘And what do we do?’

  Ballard’s eyes narrowed at the question. ‘There is only one thing to do, Jack. We go and get our man.’

  ‘We?’

  Ballard gave one of his rare smiles. It was not reassuring. ‘You and Palmer are the best men for this job. As much as I may wish it were otherwise, I know I would only slow you down. We will stay here. I want you to head east. Find this village called Marcallo. It is as good a place for you to start as any.’

  Jack glanced at Palmer. The big man’s face was impassive. ‘So be it.’ He looked back at Ballard. ‘So what’s this bugger’s name then?’

  ‘His name is not important.’ Ballard scowled at the question.

  Jack was not deterred by his commander’s expression. ‘Of course it is. How else are we to find him?’

  ‘I don’t know his name.’ Ballard gave the admission through gritted teeth. ‘At least, what name he is using currently.’

  ‘You don’t know?’ Jack could not help the smile creeping on his face. ‘You don’t know?’ he repeated the question with relish.

  ‘No, Jack, I do not.’

  ‘So what does he look like then? We need something to go on, or are we supposed to interrogate every man we find to see if he is someone’s son and heir?’

  Ballard did his best to ignore the barb. He dug in a pocket and pulled out a miniature portrait, which he handed to Jack.

  ‘This is the image I was given of the boy.’

  Jack looked at the portrait. The face of a boy stared back at him. He could not have been more than ten or eleven years old. He had a shock of blond hair, and bright blue eyes.

  ‘Blow me, are we looking for a nipper?’