Vidal's Honor

by Sherry Gloag

  “It is not your fault you have been here for five weeks. Due to rough weather at sea your escort’s arrival in Gibraltar has been delayed.”

  “Escort? Gibraltar? I don’t understand.”

  “Lord Vidal has volunteered to accompany you across Spain and through France. It’s too dangerous for one of our own to take you more than a few miles. The French have already destroyed several key links in our chain of communications during their search for you, so trust is low among our people.

  “I had to contact our agent in London, to arrange your safe transport home. Now we wait for this Lord’s arrival. We expected him days ago and now we have run out of time and it is too risky for us to keep you here any longer. You must go.”

  “Where? If they are searching this area how can I get away without creating more danger to your people?” Wildly her thoughts skittered through internal pictures of the visible hills, paths and scrubland that gave way to vast tracts of flat land, with villages scattered along the way.

  "Pillage and burn." Devlin’s words came back to her when she’d asked to join him when he returned to the Peninsular. "Ravages of battle, my dear," he’d said in a futile effort to persuade her to remain in England. "Honour among thieves is the least of our problems when an army is in retreat. Rules, as you understand them, no longer exist. To the French the only rule of survival is depravity. War-torn Spain is not a location for a gently bred woman

  "And you consider my place as your new bride to be back here in England," she’d shot back at him. "Sewing chair covers and acting the grand hostess at ridiculous tea-parties while you risk your life for our country on your own?" Of course, she’d not meant literally "on his own," but "away from her."

  It seemed she’d not only caused Dev more problems than she realised with her insistence to join him on his mission, but she’d put many other innocent people at risk.

  “You must go,” Phillipe said again, his bald statement jolting her back to her surroundings. “The longer you stay here the more you endanger the lives of the local guerrilleros.”

  “Of course.” Guilt overwhelmed her. She didn’t want to leave her new haven. Instead she straightened her spine, pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin and looked Phillipe in the eye. “I should never have stayed so long.” She’d promised Dev she’d follow Phillipe’s orders and wouldn’t break it now however much the prospect of leaving the illusive safety of the village frightened her.

  “I will never forget your friendship.”

  She wanted to say more, and choked on the words, so she simply raised her protector’s hand and brushed her lips over his knuckles. “Thank Sancia for me. Perhaps one day...”

  Phillipe stepped forward, engulfing her in a bear hug.

  “One day, my friend,” he agreed. “It has been an honour to include you in our family. Now two of my men are outside, ready to take you to a secluded shack where they will stay while you wait for your English Lord.”

  “Is it safe for them to do to that? I’m sure I will manage there on my own.” She wasn’t sure of any such thing, but the thought of endangering the lives of those who’d protected her so far made her feel ill.

  “You will call them Tom and Harry.” Phillipe ignored her concern for the men. “It is their duty to carry out my orders.”

  Honor hid a smile. At times Phillipe sounded as pompous as the most top- lofty English aristocrat. When he moved aside, she saw two men, huge men, just beyond the open doorway. Behind them fluffy white clouds dotted the wide expanse of deep blue sky.

  The men nodded, offered quick smiles, then stepped back in an obvious desire for her to hasten the inevitable.

  Once again she’d have to leave all she valued behind. With a sigh she reached for her jacket, and picked up her only pair of boots.

  “You must wear these.” Phillipe handed over the worn faded brown half-breeches he carried. “It will be easier for you to ride astride, and hopefully, as long as you keep your hair covered, any soldiers you encounter will take you for a youth travelling with a couple of your elders. Not only that, because Napoleon banned officers’ wives, women in general, and any dressed as men from accompanying their armies, the French troops rape and pillage wherever they stop. So understand that while these clothes will help in your disguise, they will not stop the French if they capture you.”

  Wordlessly, Honor took the garment and scurried behind the tattered curtain that separated her bed from the rest of the single-roomed mud hut she’d used for the last five weeks.

  A couple of minutes later she rejoined Phillipe, accepted his smile of approval, and headed for the door to join her escorts.

  “Don’t forget this.” Phillipe handed her a battered cap, which with a grimace, she rammed onto her head, before he passed over a cracked leather pouch.

  “Some provisions, enough to keep the three of you for two days, no more. Now, be gone.”

  Their mules were typical pack animals such as those she’d seen working in the fields and which the locals used to travel the narrow paths from one village to the next. Without ceremony Phillipe tossed her onto the third animal, slapped its rump, and before she had time to thank him for his friendship and support she found herself galloping out of the village without another word for her friend.

  Almost as soon as the village vanished from sight the leader gestured for her to slow down. “We do not want to draw attention to ourselves, so we must travel more leisurely.”

  It made sense to Honor, and afraid the bouncing up and down on the animal’s back for any length of time would turn her rear black and blue, she nodded and gave him her heartfelt thanks.

  Soon the trail narrowed and roughened. Wind-blown scrub battled to take over the narrow ribbon of space. Rocks and larger boulders scattered the surface of the track the higher they climbed. The wind howled in glee as it tore up the path behind them swathing them in its chill embrace, and robbing the pale afternoon sun of any chance of sharing its warmth. A steep rise was how she thought of the terrain, not sheer enough to be mountainous, nor similar to the hills round Dev’s home.

  Snow on the mountains, beyond the wide expanse of plains, glistened bright as diamonds, first a pale gold, then fading to silver, and finally slipping to rose. From the position of the sun Honor understood they were travelling towards Salamanca once more. Dread threatened to overcome her determination to face her future without complaint. She didn’t want to see the two flat-topped hills flanking the village of Arapiles or the open land spread out beyond the village. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, Honor stared at the changing colours of the peaks. Still rose-tipped, their bases hidden beneath a deep cover of darkness.

  Just thinking about returning to those expansive plains— it would be gruesome. Perhaps if they crossed the land under the cover of night she’d manage to cope.

  After a brief stop to eat one strip of dried meat and drink water from their containers, the men set off again, one riding ahead, the other bringing up the rear. The narrow tracks made conversation impossible, so she focussed on the back of the man in front and kept her fears at bay, and wondered how much further they would travel before stopping for the night. Or did the men intend to use the cover of darkness to ride as far as possible and then rest up during the day?

  The view across the plains where rice and esparto used to grow, before Napoleon marched against Portugal and Spain, was now charred from fires set by the French. She wondered where the enemy soldiers acquired their ropes from now, since they’d destroyed the main ingredient for making rope.

  And the shack Phillipe mentioned. What kind of place would it be? Big enough to accommodate three people, two of them as huge as her two guides and protectors?

  She gave herself up to the rhythm of her mule, letting the hours slip by, and nearly bumped into her leader when he stopped.

  “We must leave the path,” he spoke in a low tone.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Men approach, and at this time in the evening it is
not likely to be anyone local. So we must take shelter.”

  Honor peered round the man and stared up the path ahead. “I can’t see anything.”

  “I hear them,” the man named Tom said. “Move quickly.” And without another word he took hold of her mule’s reins and led her away from the track to an outcrop of tumbled rocks, on each side of which stone-pine trees struggled to survive, adding a little more security to the sparse haven. When she looked back the second man was nowhere in sight.

  Fear, sharp and visceral, shot through her. Were Phillipe’s men about to betray his trust?

  “Do not be alarmed. We separate so if one is discovered the other of us can still guide you to safety.”

  Shame nudged her fear aside. Had the man read her mind, or intuitively understood her feelings? Whichever, she nodded, and dismounted without a word, led her mount off the track, and persuaded it to lie down.

  It wasn’t long before she made out the sound of voices in the distance. She slid to the ground and leaned her back against the rocks as instructed and watched Tom scale the outcrop to observe the band of travellers.

  Raucous shouts carried on the breeze. Surely, Honor thought, it meant the newcomers were locals. Then she heard a cry of pain followed by silence, and shivered. The male laughter grew closer and a babble of French, too fast for Honor to understand completely, but she picked up enough to recognise one man ordered the others to leave the woman where she fell.

  The ribald replies were too rapid and full of oaths for her to comprehend. She pressed further against the rocks, too fearful to even breathe. It seemed an age before the band of men drew level, then passed on by without stopping.

  Tom waited several minutes before he slid down from the rock and urged his weary mule to its feet.

  “It’s not safe to remain here. They may yet come back for the woman.”

  “Why would they do that, they said she was no use to them anymore. I thought you said Napoleon had banned women from travelling with the army?”

  “Those men are probably renegades.”

  His words brought to mind one of Dev’s warnings. "There’s little about army life that can be described as safe, and deserters are often the most dangerous of all for discovery will certainly be the end of life for them."

  In an attempt to contain the shudder of fear that ripped through her, she wrapped her arms round her body.

  “Can we risk her seeing us if she is alive?” Honor wanted to offer the woman some help, but knew the danger might be too high.

  “We have no option,” Tom stated as Harry rejoined them.

  “Did you watch them?” Tom began urging the mules to their feet.

  “I did,” Harry confirmed. “They carried right on down the track and I doubt they will return.”

  “And the woman? Could you see anything from your position?”

  “Exhaustion, is my guess. They did not touch her until she fell.”

  Hence the scream of pain, Honor thought.

  “Do we go on?” she asked.

  After a long silence, Harry nodded. “We have no choice.”

  “And if the woman mentions she saw us? What then?”

  “Why not take her with us,” Honor ventured.

  “To do so is madness,” Tom complained.

  “Maybe, but think. If she is with us, she is safe and unable to reveal our presence to anyone else. Also,” Honor paused, huffed out a breath, then continued, “I was going to say, two women with two men would balance the party, but of course I am travelling as a young man. What will happen to her if we leave her where she dropped?”

  Tom and Harry didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

  She understood.

  The woman, if she remained where she lay, would be taken by the next group of men that came by or die of exposure during the night. Either way her prospects were grim.

  Taking her arm, Harry helped Honor to mount her mule. “Come, we cannot afford to delay any further.”

  Without a word spoken, Honor knew her guides had reached a decision about the unseen woman. When they dismounted beside the forlorn heap in the middle of the path, it didn’t surprise Honor when the men asked her to join them beside the stranger.

  “You must talk to her,” Tom insisted. “She will not trust us.” All three of them understood the peril of Honor talking to a stranger. Her voice, though naturally deep, would not fool those out to find her. While living in the village she’d been ordered to remain in her hut and speak only to those sent to her by Phillipe.

  She dismounted and approached the woman who had her hands over her head. Did she think they were returning members of the men who’d just abandoned her?

  As if unaware of the altercation, Honor she dropped to her haunches and spoke in a low soothing tone.

  “Are you not well? Can I help you?”

  The woman stiffened at her approach then looked up at the sound of another female voice.

  “An accident, I fell.” She said struggling to sit up. “I have travelled a long way and my food ran out two days ago.”

  No doubt a partial truth, Honor thought. “Then will you allow us to take you up with us?”

  When Tom and Harry moved to stand beside her, the woman cringed but kept her fisted hands at her side.

  “Where are you bound?” Harry asked, his tone devoid of threat.

  “I don’t remember.” She struggled to her feet. “I lost my mule.”

  In other words, those men had stolen it. Tom’s glance silenced any comment Honor intended.

  “I will set you up in front of my sister. Come now, get up,” he commanded.

  The woman cast a puzzled look at Honor, then Tom, and back again.

  “Gracias.” She allowed Tom to take her arm and guide her to Honor’s mule.

  “Do not let her fall off,” he told Honor.

  Honor shuffled back to make room for the woman.

  “What is your name?” she asked when the two of them were settled and ready to move off once more. This time Harry was in the lead, while Tom fell in behind them.

  “Consuela.”

  Their progress was slower than before, and soon Consuela’s body slumped against Honor’s. Unwilling to create any more delay, Honor took the extra weight and hoped Consuela slept.

  Chapter Four

  Enemy patrols and foul weather had extended Vidal’s voyage from London to Gibraltar by several days, and now, standing in front of the local guide, his frustration at further delays threatened to rob the last tenuous hold on his temper.

  The man introduced himself only as Juan. “We move under the cover of darkness.“ Seconds before a group of French soldiers rounded the corner, he grabbed Vidal by the arm and dragged him into the shadows. “Already they are looking for you. This is not good. We go tonight. Come now.”

  Maintaining his grip, Juan pulled Vidal along the narrow street, stopped at a door and without knocking, pushed it open and hauled Vidal in behind him.

  The room was small, dark and stark, and sounds from somewhere within the house told him they were not alone. Someone set a mug of warm liquid on the table in front of him, and Vidal drank gratefully. He didn’t care about the unidentifiable taste. It lessened the chill in his soul at the prospect of what lay ahead. Not the physical challenge. He accepted it would be difficult and almost welcomed it.

  It was the thought of seeing Honor again, knowing they’d be in close company for many days, even weeks, and keeping his feelings in check. No other woman had threatened his emotional control the way Honor had managed to, and when she’d chosen Devlin as her husband, Vidal made himself scarce, only coming home to stand as his friend’s groomsman before returning to the Peninsula.

  “We swim.”

  “What?” The sound of Juan’s voice disrupted his thoughts.

  “It is dangerous for the Spanish and French patrol the waters, but it is the only way. If we survive…”

  “And our chances?” Why had Lord Liverpool sent him out here if the odds were so badly
stacked against them?

  “Slim.” Juan held his gaze.

  Was the man challenging his ability to withstand a little hardship? Vidal nodded.

  “So be it. Slim is better than none.”

  * * * *

  It had been touch and go. Thankfully Vidal dived seconds before an oar from one of the boats just missed his skull. A shout from another boat started a concerted hunt for them further out to sea until someone decided it had been a dolphin and not a man. Minutes later the vessels returned to shore and he and Juan swam along the coastline before making for the Spanish beach, where they’d been met by three men.

  “We must go. Joseph Bonaparte’s army is badly controlled and mismanaged, but they are also afraid of Wellington’s intention to take Madrid which makes them edgy. They’re everywhere. Trust no one.”

  Instead of concern, Juan had grinned at the speaker and laughed. “I see you are full of optimism, as always.” He clapped the man on the back. “I bring you the English lord. You must take him to Phillipe without delay. Already they have been informed he is here.” Juan thumbed towards the water.

  A string of Spanish oaths filled the air and the three men urged Vidal and Juan away from the shore.

  “Tomorrow I will guide you.” The man walking beside him addressed Vidal in broken English. “You will call me ‘Dick’.” A shout of laughter went up, but no one explained the joke.

  * * * *

  In the end Juan guided him inland.

  “Does it always rain so hard?” The paths had turned to rivers of mud. “I thought you said it wasn’t far to our destination?” Vidal didn’t bother to swipe at the water trickling down his neck anymore.

  “No, if we used the direct route it is not, but we have to take these less travelled trails to evade renegades, French soldiers, and Spanish partisans. Also villagers are afraid of strangers, for they fear the French deserters almost as much as they dread their army.”

  Instead of the predicted day and a half, it took nearly three days to reach the village Juan mentioned.