He had been bequeathed the Baker rifle two years before by a dying Englishman, an ex-officer of the Rifles, he presumed. There had been several of those over the years, more than from the other battalions of the Line; there had not been one cavalryman. He was, he thought, the sole survivor of the fifteen or so Englishmen he had joined up with - the fighting had been hard and too many of the old hands had been reckless, or perhaps had no great desire to survive to return to the horrors of civilian life.
Besides the rifle, he carried a cut down double-barrelled fowling piece loaded with heavy slugs, very effective at close range, and a bandoleer with as many pistols as he could lay his hands on at any given time. Pistols broke, he found, and it could be difficult to find the correct calibre of ball for them, so he threw them away as soon as they became an inconvenience - there were always more, the Egyptian officers carried them by the dozen it seemed. His personal armoury was completed by a short sword and a pair of long knives - he had used all three.
"We cannot win, Lukas, not if we are pushed back into the hills."
"Your children will know we fought. They may win. For us? All we can do is kill so many Egyptians that they will remember us too. We fight now because there is nothing else to do."
Luke peered at the gun emplacement down the hill, at the men scuttling about it, carrying the body away and sending messengers off. He must have been important! Well worthwhile!
They had been careless, shifting a made round for the gun out of their way and leaving it just visible by the edge of the stone wall of the redoubt. A carefully aimed shot into the rock just by the powder bag should open it in a shower of sparks...
He fired and was rewarded by an explosion and screams. No further detonation occurred - he had hoped there might be more powder close by - but he had done a little good.
They sat behind their wall and waited.
The siege guns fired and a trickle of stone fell and the crack nearest to them widened a fraction of an inch. The Egyptian gunners were well trained, placing the shots close to each other, concentrating their fire, weakening a single section of the wall. It would fall in time, an avalanche of stone forming a slope up which infantry could scramble. The Mamelukes would send the irregulars, the bashi-bazouks, into the assault - they would take massive casualties and still go on, greedy for loot and knowing that Paradise awaited the unfortunate.
The end was inevitable - every other fort had been taken, this one would be.
Luke had been present in three of the other defeats, had stayed almost to the last, picking off the leaders, scanning the trench below for the commanders and sometimes finding them. He would wait again until his own colonel told him to go, if he did; he would retreat if ordered, but he would not run.
"It is a fleet, Lukas, coming towards the bay, but they have different flags. I have not seen them before."
An hour and the new fleet was in easy sight and Luke could pick out the Union flag and the French Tricolour and a third which he did not recognise but suspected must be Russian. There was a Russian squadron off the coast, he knew. It did not matter, the three countries were neutral, had no quarrel with the Ottomans just at the moment.
The fleet hove to inside territorial waters and sent boats in.
Another hour and a messenger came running past, shouting to the men at the walls.
"The English Admiral has ordered the Egyptians to leave the Bay. He says they must not take any more slaves from the Greeks and must release all that they have. He has sent a message to us to tell us not to surrender."
The boy told Luke to report to the colonel, quickly.
"Lukas! Do you know of this Admiral Codrington?"
"I have heard that he has relatives in London who support our cause, Colonel. But I am sure he will have no orders to attack the Turks."
Luke suddenly realised what the Admiral was doing.
"He does have the order given to every naval ship, Colonel, to bring an end to slave-trading by taking every slave ship they discover. He is using one set of orders to circumvent the other, I suspect. As well, he has French and Russian ships with him - if he allows them to enter the bay first then he can tell London that they started any battle that takes place. Watch, sir!"
Line of battle ships carrying the French ensign hardened their sails and slowly tacked into the bay, sailing close to the shore and passing a Barbary pirate brig from Algiers. There had been hostilities between the French and the corsairs of Algiers over several years.
A gun fired and was instantly answered by broadsides from both sides. Luke could not tell who had shot first, but it was obvious that the French were loaded and run out, ready for action.
The English hoisted battle ensigns and followed into the bay, the Russians amongst them, guns firing.
In most naval battles it was practise for the liners to engage each other and for frigates and lesser ships to withdraw to be spectators who could pick up survivors. Codrington at Navarino had come to make an end and sank every Turk and Egyptian and Barbary vessel in reach of his guns.
By dusk the Egyptians were destroyed - every ship sunk, burnt, run aground or taken, and the besieging army in flight - they had depended on the gunpowder and stores in their fleet and could not fight another day without them.
The message went out as quickly as men could run the hills and every guerrilla band converged on the broken Moslem army and on the Egyptian settlers who had taken Greek lands. There was a bloodbath.
Luke played his part - his Christianity was not the sort that turned the other cheek.
It took two weeks.
Greece was free - or, at least, the Ottomans had gone for the while. It would take pressure and threats from the Western nations to keep them out, but the probability was that a reconquest would not be tolerated. There was an increasing feeling that the Moslem had no place in Europe and public opinion - that of the educated and wealthy political classes - was hardening in favour of war, if it became necessary.
Luke was summoned to his colonel's presence, found himself in the company of thirty or so other Englishmen.
"Gentlemen, I must first thank you for all that you have done. That said, I must tell you to go. Greece is now free, and must be seen to have been freed by Greeks if there is to be a future - so our politicians say. I have a list of your names, and in a few years I will make quite certain that you are not forgotten - but for now, you are an embarrassment. Had you died like your Lord Byron, then, of course, you would have been great heroes - but, most carelessly, you preferred to fight and have been successful."
There was grunt of wry amusement - when the guns fell silent then there was no place for soldiers.
"There is a ship waiting for you and you will be taken to Malta. Once there, the Committee from London will take you back to England and will, from all I understand, make a payment to you. It will, they say, be enough to buy a passage to America or another of the world's wild places, if that is what you want."
There was no protest - they had fought and had, if they would only admit to it, enjoyed the life they had grown into. Almost all had been soldiers in the long war, boys become men on campaign - they knew no other life. Now, in their thirties and forties, a few were ready to settle down. Most would seek adventure still and an early death, for who wanted to grow old?
Luke did not know what he was to do, but he was quite sure that his future did not include any religious vocation. He had no baggage to pack except for a razor newly bought - he had no wish to be bearded in England, still a clean-shaven land. He rested his guns across his shoulder, then bethought himself and carefully drew their charges and for the first time in four years walked outdoors without a loaded weapon.
The schooner brought them into Malta’s capital, Valetta - a silent, separate group of individuals. They had nothing in common except a past that was gone - they were not comrades, most of them would never see each other again other than accidentally in passing.
A day in the harbour and they were hustled ab
oard a London-bound Levanter, a fast ship with empty cabins - there were very few passengers on the run and they had been persuaded by the authorities to delay a day or two for another carrier. The British officials in Malta wanted the embarrassing mercenaries off their hands.
Less than two months after Navarino, saw Luke on the wharfside wrinkling his nose at the stink of the Thames. His pockets were empty and he did not know what to do.
"Mr Star?"
A voice called his name - he had heard some others before him, had taken little notice. He raised a hand.
"Here, sir."
He was ticked off on a list.
"Mr Star - the thanks of the Committee for your services, sir! Our information is that you have been four years on campaign, one of the very few to have survived so long."
"That is correct, sir."
"We have also been told that you were a much valued man, one who provided a fine example. The Committee has decided that you should be ranked as a captain, Mr Star, and are to be paid at nine shillings and five pence per diem, infantry rate, for your services."
"Thank you - I did not expect to be salaried, sir!"
"From all I have been told, you have earned it, sir. If you would sign, please... Thank you, Mr Star, the envelope contains notes and coins to the sum of six hundred and eighty seven pounds, eight shillings and tuppence."
Luke thought briefly, decided the money made a little difference. He must go home for a few weeks at least, but after he had done the civil he would be his own man, independent of the family.
He waved to a hackney.
"I wish to travel to Lancashire, jarvey - where should I go to find a fast coach?"
"Brummagem tonight, sir, then Liverpool by the Day Mail and whatever they tells thee when thou gets that far, sir. I'll take thee to the General Post Office, sir, but, if I may make so bold, sir, might I suggest 'e should buy a big bag, sir, the better to carry all of thy 'ardware, like."
He waved at the long guns and pistols.
"I am sorry, I did not think - I have been four years in Greece."
"Fighting they bloody Turks, sir? And a werry good thing too that thee should 'ave, so says I, sir. Time and more than time 'twas that some bugger put a stop to their wicked capers! Up thees gets now, sir."
The Southern, horseman's dialect was a little puzzling to Luke, but he could get the gist of it.
Bag was bought and Luke was directed to a pastry shop to take food with him for the long night's travel and then he was pushed inside the Night Mail to Birmingham, lucky to have purchased the last comfortable ticket. Eight more passengers sat up on the roof, shivering through the November rain.
An hour in Birmingham, quickly breakfasting in the posting inn at the Bull Ring and then thirteen tedious hours to Liverpool and the brusque offer of a hard bed in a garret room at the post house, everything better already taken. Lone gentlemen travelling with a single bag were worth only slight consideration.
"Post chaise for Freemans in the morning if you please, landlord."
The landlord turned back to him, frowning in dismay.
"Certainly, sir. Your name, if you please?"
"Mr Luke Star."
"I am sorry, sir, my mistake I am sure."
The landlord bowed then turned to the boots and jerked his head.
"Escort Mr Star to Room Number Two, Jack. Your bags, sir?"
"Lost 'em in Greece, landlord."
"Nightshirt and cap as well, Jack. Light the fire. Warn cook."
The landlord turned back to Luke, all smiles.
"Dinner in a private room, sir? In, let us say, one hour - time to freshen up, sir. I'll fetch up a glass of our softest sherry myself, sir."
A vast room with a huge four-poster, best Witney blankets and a thick quilt and feather pillows, coal fire built up and soon roaring up the chimney. Down to dinner.
"Chicken and roast sirloin and lamb, sir. A piece of cod. Potatoes and roast turnips and peas and cabbage, sir. Cook says she's sorry, sir, but the greedy buggers 'ave ate up all the sweets, sir, and so she's put up a apple and one of they banana things what comes from the Sugar Islands, sir."
Luke had eaten banana before - his father had had an interest in a firm of importers, he remembered.
Luke went to pay in the morning, was waved away.
"Star Spinners have an account, sir, paid quarterly, for when they needs to go to London or whatever, sir."
Luke sat behind four horses, fur rug tucked round his legs, basking in the comfort on a bitter day. He had tolerated the hardships of the past four years, had not really noticed them, but he could come to like being pampered again.
The family was in residence, as he had expected at this time of year.
The butler opened the front doors to him and bowed and stood to one side.
"Welcome home, Mr Luke. My lord is in his library, sir."
He led the way, opened the door and announced him.
"Mr Luke Star, my lord."
The butler made his way down to the kitchens, informed chef and housekeeper of the arrival then set the best glasses out on a silver tray together with the Madeira.
"Please to send a maid to my lady, Mrs Howard. Inform her that my lord's brother has survived his escapades in Greece."
The Housekeeper was new to the staff, had to be informed of the scandal of the religious brother who had run away to the wars; she trotted off to carry the message herself.
"Well, Luke - I did not know whether I would ever see you again."
"There are no post offices in Greece, brother, and little time to write a letter. I must apologise for deserting my place with the family, my lord, but the task was there and needed to be done."
"I heard from Lord St Helens, who has contact with some of the government offices, that you were well respected in Greece as a true fighting man. I did not expect to hear that of you, Luke!"
"It seems that I should have become a soldier, Thomas."
"You will not return to your chapel, Luke?"
"My hands are far too bloody for that, Thomas. And I must confess, I have very slight inclination. I do not know that I have it in me to stay in England, Thomas. The wild lands call to me. Africa or America, I would imagine."
"Trapping small beasts for fur? Shooting wild Indians? Hardly the life for a Star, I believe, Luke!"
Luke inspected his comfortable elder brother, carrying a small belly, he noticed, placidly considering his middle-age. Not for him, not yet!
"What is the news of the family, Thomas? I have heard nothing at all, as you may imagine."
"I am the father of three now, Luke, two boys and the last a girl, much to our delight! Your brother George is about to match me and he is fast becoming one of the biggest men on the weaving side - he will make a fortune to equal Papa, I doubt not. Bob? Well, Bob is a farmer by avocation - two sons and his wife has raised his hopes again, I believe. Sir Matthew has flourished in his shipyards and Mark is a well-respected judge. Mr Henry Star of New Orleans is a wealthy man, one gathers from his letters. Your sisters are both well; we miss poor Mary."
Thomas fidgeted a little, refilled their glasses.
"You knew that John was not in fact dead?"
"It seemed possible - what happened?"
"He returned from his watery grave and commenced a career of infamy in England that was brought to an end only a few weeks ago, Lord St Helens becoming involved. A decisive gentleman, when he must be, is Robert! The scapegrace scofflaw - I will not honour him as a brother - is now on his way as a free emigrant to the Antipodes, where he will remain. I say 'free' and, inasmuch that he is not a convict, so he is, but if he stirs out of Botany Bay or its immediate environs then he will discover a noose fashioned for his neck. I trust he will find the company congenial - he will be amongst his own sort!"
Luke wondered what had happened, but found he did not particularly care - it all seemed very parochial.
"And the remainder of the Andrews?"
"James - slow old James
, of all people - is making something of a name for himself at Westminster. He is as honest as the day is long of course, which in itself makes him stand out in that company! He will become a stalwart of the Whigs, a Grand Old Man, I suspect. Two boys of his own, and a devoted and kindly father, too, a good man. He will not make much of a mark in the history books, of course."
"That sort never does, Thomas - a successful politician rises on the bodies of his friends, having buried his enemies first. What of young Joseph? Has he recovered from his loss?"
Thomas told the tale, shaking his head.
"Too intelligent for his own good, Luke. Too much head and not enough bottom, as they say."
"May I stay at Freemans for a week or two, Thomas? I should pay my calls, I suspect."
"Your rooms are being readied now, I trust, Luke, and you will stay as long as you wish. You will certainly need to remain at your tailor's convenience, sir!"
"I lost all of my baggage at a very early stage in the conflict, Thomas - spent most of the four years dressed banditti style! I was able to lay my hands on the clothes I am wearing in Malta - indeed, they were forced upon me by a very flustered little man - some sort of government clerk, I believe. I was not respectable, it would seem!"
"You still are not, brother! But that can be dealt with - my man in Liverpool will soon put you right."
"And then, the future, Thomas..."
The private conversation ended as Lady Star came into the room, having allowed them ten minutes together first.
"Luke, I am so pleased to see you again, brother!"
They shook hands and she commented on how well he looked, how soldierly his bearing.
"You will not, I presume, return to the bosom of the chapel, sir?"
Luke smiled and shook his head. He would not.
"There are many other ways of earning a very respectable competence, sir, both in England and in our new colonies. Have you thought of perhaps forming a merchant house? Trade in the goods of the East is very profitable, I understand, and the life would have much of interest to offer."
A Parade Of Virtue (A Poor Man At The Gate Series Book 9) Page 4