by Griff Hosker
“Ha ha! Soon the stable boy will die.”
I had had enough of fighting his way. I would fight my way. I balled my left hand into a fist and as I sliced down with my sword I punched him hard in the ribs. I heard them crack and he winced in pain. “So, the bastard conceived in a stable fights like a peasant.”
I did not say a word but my grin said it all. I sliced sideways at him and he parried but he had to cross his body with the sword and his arm struck his own broken ribs. He cried out again. Before I could attack again he lunged forwards and the tip of the sword came at my chest sinking into the jacket. I rolled backwards and he roared in triumph. “Die in the stable mud. It is a fitting end.”
I leapt to my feet and saw the shock on his face. “This cannot be. That blow should have killed you!”
I swung my sword at his head with all the force I could muster and he held his sabre up to parry. The parry merely slowed the blade down and it continued down to split his head from the crown to the jaw. He slumped dead at my feet. The stable sergeant raced up to me. “Sir you should be dead!”
I undid my jacket and revealed the money belt. The seal of the Macgregors had saved me. “If you would get my horse and my cloak then I will be away.”
“Yes sir and that was well done.” He gave a warning look to the two troopers.
“Troopers you should take the body of the colonel back to the regiment. As far as I am concerned this now absolves the 15th from any dishonour but if any of your fellows wish revenge I will not hide. They merely have to find me.”
“Yes sir and we do not wish you harm but I fear the general will not be happy. He and the colonel were friends.”
I shrugged, “I have my orders and I will obey them. What the general does is up to him. Farewell.”
I mounted my horse and gave a gold piece to the sergeant. “I trust that the version of events here this night will be a truthful one?”
“Yes sir and good luck but I fear we will not meet again.”
I donned my cloak and quickly galloped through the streets to the harbour. François was waiting at the gangplank. I dismounted and took out my orders. I saw a sentry and gave him the horse. “Please see that this is returned to the general.”
He looked at me suspiciously. “Where are your orders sir?”
I showed him the orders from the general and he read them by the torchlight on the quayside. “Very well Captain Macgregor.”
As I stepped on board I whispered to François as I handed him the orders from General Menou. “Here are my orders from the general; if you obey them, then you will not be in trouble.”
“It matters not!”
“We had better hurry there is blood on my hands.”
“I thought there might be.” He cupped his hands and yelled, “Cast off forrard, cast off aft. Hoist the mainsail.”
We had reached the sea when I saw, in the distance the horsemen gallop up to our empty berth. The troopers had been correct and now I was a wanted man. I was a man without a country.
Chapter 13
I went below decks and changed from the blue uniform of France into the civilian clothes from my chest. I was no longer a soldier. I was a Scotsman trying to get home. I cleaned my wounds. None of them were deep but the cut on my face would be a permanent reminder of the day I avenged the 17th and I would be proud of it. I went back on the deck.
“That is better. From the blood on your face and clothes I thought that you had been in an abattoir.”
“You should see the other fellow.”
“I have read the orders thank you. It absolves me of any recrimination but how do I land you in Sicily and avoid censure?”
“You suffered a storm and closed with the shore. I, foolishly, leapt into the sea and drowned.” I spread my hands. “Can you trust your crew to silence?”
“Of course. But this means I cannot land you in a port. It must be a beach.”
“That is satisfactory. This is a new life and like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon I need time to become Robbie Macgregor and lose Captain Macgregor of the 17th.”
“As you wish.” He looked to the dark sky to the north. “I suspect this may be the last voyage we take together and I have to say that I will miss them. Life with you was never dull.”
I went to the stern and looked aft to the land of Egypt where my world had ended and all that I had known for so many years had ended. I felt salt in my eyes as I thought of those I would never see again, Jean, Tiny, Albert, Sergeant Delacroix and Manet. There was only Pierre left and, as he was living in France, I thought it highly unlikely that I would ever see him again. I really was being reborn and my only hope now was that Sir John would be in Sicily and that I would find him.
It took three days of hard sailing to reach Sicily. We sailed towards Messina at the north eastern end of the island and anchored off what looked like a secluded cove. François had found a suitable landing site and we just waited sunset so that I could land in the dark and begin my dangerous journey across this bandit infested land. We could see the lights of some small settlements nestling close to the sea. The hills and mountains seemed to rise like a wall ahead. It was totally different from the land we had left, Egypt. For me the short voyage had been beneficial. My wounds were all clean and showed no signs of infection. I had eaten well, for I knew not when I would eat again. I had two canteens: one with water and one with brandy. I had a leather haversack on my back with musket balls and powder and I had my two pistols. I was ready to leave France and join the rest of the world. I donned my dirty cloak and it seemed as though it cloaked me from the eyes of the world.
François shook my hand as I clambered down to the waiting boat. “Take care, Robbie. I do not think there are many of your friends left in this world.”
I laughed with a gaiety I did not feel, “Then I will have to find new ones. But I thank you and your crew for being true friends and I will never forget you. I hope that good luck continues to follow you for, I fear, that this war will be a long one.”
There were no more words and I descended into the small boat. The four sailors pulled hard towards the shore and we soon passed the breakers and pulled up on the soft sand. The Second Mate helped me ashore and grasped my hand, “The crew will never betray you captain. We know what you have done for France. Our good wishes go with you.”
Then they pushed off and I was left alone on the island of Sicily. I was now a deserter and I was sure that I would soon be branded a traitor. Now that I had landed on this island I felt at a loss. I had no idea how big the island was and all that I knew was that Sir John MacAlpin had family here. It was not much to go on. Then I thought of the alternative; go back to Egypt and face a court martial and probable death. Ahead was life and behind me only death. I suddenly burst out laughing. Would not Jean and Tiny exchange place with me in a moment if they could?
I looked up and, in the fading light, saw a sort of sheep or goat trail leading up the steep bank. It zig zagged back and forth, I clambered up the slope into the scrub. Sicily had a different smell to that of Egypt. Here I could smell lemons. It was tiring climbing the steep path and I realised that the campaign had taken much out of me. I strode upwards until I reached a road of sorts. It had cobbles and my experience told me that meant a Roman road. My first decision faced me: right or left? I chose right and I still do not know why but it was the right choice. I trudged along the cobbled road; my cavalry boots were not made for walking and it was not easy. I had transferred some coins to a purse on my belt. I did not want anyone to know of the treasure I held. Thanks to Jean I now had a full purse of money and that would be the least of my worries. We had both told each other where we kept our coins in case of death for we knew how the human vultures would strip bodies of money, hair and teeth once they were dead. I had recovered his before I buried him beneath the Egyptian sand. It was another reason why I had hidden the grave so well. Jean would sleep safely until the last trumpet sounded.
I smelled the village before I sa
w it. It was the smell of wood smoke and animals. I found a small hill overlooking the settlement and I hunkered down to wait for dawn. I would not be welcomed in the middle of the night. I was in no rush. For the first time in my life I was not dancing to anyone else’s tune. I was making my own decisions. I watched the village come to life; the farmer who rose before dawn to milk his cow; the young shepherd who took the sheepdog away to the hills. There was a routine which reminded me of the army. By the time the sun was beginning to warm the hills the villagers were all awake and cheerfully going about their business. I took a deep breath and stood. I hoped that my Italian would be adequate and that they would be peaceably inclined. I strode casually towards the houses.
It was the dogs who heard me and began a cacophony of barking. The men eyed me suspiciously and so I smiled and waved my right hand to show that I carried no weapon. A gaggle of men detached themselves from the women and moved menacingly towards me. I loosened my sword in its sheath although I was reluctant to fight. This was not the time to be the warrior. I stepped towards the centre of the village. I held my arms out to show my peaceful intentions. Four men surrounded me.
The man in front of me was the leader and he smiled wolfishly at me. He said, in Italian, to the men behind me. “Luca, Giovanni grab him when I give the word.”
I decided to act. I bent forwards slightly as though going down to bow. It took them by surprise. I grabbed my stiletto with my left and as I stood I rammed my right elbow into the face of the man behind me. I pressed the tip my blade into the neck of the man before me and drew my pistol to cover the other two. I hissed my words in Italian, “Now unless you want a bloodbath here let us talk before your men get hurt. I want to see all four of you in front of me with your palms uppermost.”
I could see from his angry eyes that their leader would have liked nothing better than to rip my throat out but he was helpless. I pushed forwards with the tip of my knife and a tendril of blood trickled down his neck. I lowered my voice, “My friend I have nothing to lose. I am a soldier and I could kill all four of you as easily as you could milk a goat so do not push me.”
“Do as he says!” I saw the fear in his eyes. He believed me.
They came to face me and I saw one man with a bleeding mouth giving me murderous looks. I slipped my knife back into my boot and drew my second pistol. “I just need information. Nothing more. You will answer my questions and I will be gone.”
“What is it you wish to know?”
“That’s better and poor Luca or Giovanni here would not have had to suffer broken teeth had you been peaceable and honourable men. What is the nearest town?”
“Roccalumera,” he pointed to the north.
“And this is?”
“Allume.”
“Good. And then the next town is Messina?”
“Yes the city of Messina.”
“You see how much better this is.” One of the men began to move. “Keep still please my hand may tire and I might just fire my pistol. It would make a terrible mess of your stomach and I would hate to kill one of you now that we are getting on so well.” He became still. “Good. Now who are the noble families around here?”
“In Messina the Capparone family rule and in Roccalumera it is the Alpinis.”
Suddenly I felt better. The Alpini sounded like an Italian version of MacAlpin. Could it be that I had landed so close to my relatives? Good and now I shall leave you.” I could almost see their murderous minds at work. I holstered one pistol and grabbed their leader. “But you shall come with me. If anyone follows us you will die and I have to tell you I have sharp ears.”
“I promise you no one will follow you.”
“I know for you will be with me. Your men will stay here.” I pushed him forwards. When we reached the end of the village I turned around to check that the men were still in the village. “Now walk.”
“Who are you?”
“I am a visitor who has landed close to your home and whom you chose to attack.”
“We did not know you were a soldier.”
“Then all the more reason you should have been hospitable.” As we climbed the road to the ridge I saw the next village. It was a bigger town with a wall and a small castle. It was less than half a mile away and we had walked more than two miles from Allume. “And now you may return home.” I watched as he began to trudge back. I had not made any friends; I knew that.
The city had no guards but I chose to walk along the road openly and to seek assistance. This might not be the home of the Knight of St. John but if there was a nobleman living here then I had a chance to discover where Sir John might reside. I used my smile and a polite greeting as I walked through the streets. I could see that the castle looked to be a grand residence of some description. I walked up to the main gate where two soldiers stood on guard. Although they had muskets and halberds they looked to be almost old to me. They still had the look of men who had been soldiers once and it would not do to underestimate them.
“Can you tell me, who is the lord of this castle?”
“Count Cesar Alpini.”
“Would you tell your master that Robert Macgregor seeks an audience?”
The older of the two appraised me. When he saw my sword he asked, “Could I see your sword sir?”
I nodded and held it to show him. He turned it over in his hand. Finally he handed it back, “If you would wait here with Carlo I will see if an audience is possible.”
After he had gone I asked Carlo about the family. “Can you tell me if there is a Sir John in the castle?”
He shook his head. “No sir, no Sir John.”
I felt disappointed. Perhaps this meant they were not related. “Is there a Giovanni in the family?”
His face lit up, “Yes, yes the old knight. He returned here some time ago.” Then his face fell. “He is no longer a young man and he is not well.”
“I met him in Malta. He is a true knight.”
Carlo wholeheartedly agrees, “Yes sir, it is like the old days when knights were real men of honour.”
Just then his companion returned. “You are granted an audience. Follow me.”
I was led through the narrow gate and up a twisting passage. I could see it abounded with murder holes. This had been a daunting castle in its past. When we entered the main hall I could see the attempts to modernise. The furniture was modern and looked comfortable. It appeared at odds with the Gothic elements of the defences.
Count Cesar was of an age with Jean. The difference was Count Cesar had allowed himself to become overweight and unfit. His red nose and cheeks showed his love of food and wine. He was, however, a genial host. He stood to greet me and shake my hand. “I granted an audience because I am intrigued. The Macgregor family from Scotland was supposed to be related to us. Are you from Scotland?”
“My family is but I was born in France.”
“And how did you chance upon us here? We are a small family and this is a remote place.”
“Call it luck or chance but I was seeking Sir John MacAlpin whom I met in Malta. I landed down the coast and this is only the second place that I tried.”
His jaw dropped, “Sir John? But he is my uncle. He is not well. Are you the young French officer he met on Malta then? The agent of Bonaparte?”
“I did meet him on the island and I have done work for General Bonaparte. Would it be possible to see Sir John?”
“Of course but I have to warn you be prepared for a shock. He has deteriorated since he returned to his home. I believe the loss of Malta was a mortal wound to him.”
He was right. The old man looked gaunt and drawn. I suspect if I had arrived a week later then it would have been too late. His eyes were closed as we approached and the count said, “Uncle we have a visitor for you.”
The old man’s eyes flickered open and it was as though he had been pricked by something hot for he sat bolt upright in bed and said, “Can it be? You escaped from Egypt? I had heard of the plague and the deaths and I worri
ed that you might have perished in that pestilential hell hole.”
“It was close sir and I am the only survivor of my regiment.”
He waved to a chair, “Sit, both of you. Now Robert, tell us both your story and do not omit anything for I believe that destiny has had a hand in your arrival. Nephew, send for something for us to drink.” The servant quickly brought a jug and glasses.
I told them everything from the plague and the battles to the massacre and finally my duel. The count shook his head in disbelief. “And yet you are so young.”
Sir John said, “He is a warrior and he continues to serve in the tradition of the family. You still have the seal.”
I patted my chest. “And it saved me in the duel. I would be dead had my opponent’s sword not struck the seal.”
“You see, Cesar, destiny. And what brings you here?”
“I need to get to Scotland. I am no longer welcome in France. Can you help?”
“I cannot but my nephew can. Is that not true Cesar?” His nephew nodded. I think he feared he would have to emulate some of the stories we had recounted. He struck me as a worshipper of Mammon and not Mars. “Leave me to talk with Robbie. You need to make discreet enquiries about a boat to England. He will need a room.”
Cesar cheerfully left the room. I was amazed in the change in the old man. He had suddenly appeared to become younger. After his nephew had left he said, “The money which keeps this ramshackle shell operating is mine but he has a good heart. He is not, however, a warrior. You are and I am so pleased that our paths crossed. The loss of Malta was inevitable but our meeting was the work of higher powers than Bonaparte that is certain.”
“I feel that somehow I have betrayed my comrades.”
“Because you are alive and they are dead?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Had you died with them would that have made their end more worthy?”
“Why no.”
“Then you must live your life for them. They will be forever young. You say that this Jean Bartiaux watched over you for your mother?”