“Are you certain you do not need some more to drink?”
He nodded with his eyes closed. “Yes, get this over with, please.”
She stepped forward with her needle and thread. Beckerman pulled away the fleece with which he had been applying pressure. She could see very far down to where a vessel was throbbing at the bottom of the gaping hole. “I do not know a great deal, but I do believe you were very lucky.”
“Tell me that in a few weeks when I am still alive,” he drawled.
Very well; he did not appreciate knowing how close he had been to severing an artery. Without another word, she placed a deep stitch, pulling the muscle together, and tied the knot quickly before she could no longer see what she was doing. She trimmed the thread and Beckerman was waiting with the fleece to put pressure on the wound again. After a few more deep stitches, the skin closed and she was able to place some superficial ones on top.
“Not too tight, my lady,” the batman advised. “Any deep infection needs to leak out.”
She had never sewn a deep laceration before and had no idea what was best. “If you do not think there is any danger of its re-opening, I will do as you say.”
“The deep stitches matter the most.”
“You know a great deal. Perhaps you should consider being a surgeon,” she remarked as she placed the last stitch. Major Knight was lying so still she might have thought him asleep except for the rigid posture he had maintained to withstand the pain.
Beckerman held up his other hand to show his disfigured fingers. “I used to help a surgeon, but I cannot make certain movements anymore.”
“I am most grateful for your assistance,” she said, smiling up at him.
He gave her an embarrassed nod and then began to clean up the disorder she had made before bandaging the wound.
She stepped away, her hand rubbing her sore back. She had not even realized she had been standing. Major Knight had opened his eyes and was watching her closely.
When the batman withdrew to take the soiled linens and dirty water away, she stepped forward when Knight held his hand out to her.
“Thank you,” he said. “I wish I had been able to manage this less violently.”
“I had not thought him even capable of such duplicity. I do not understand how he could do this to us.”
Major Knight reached up his hand and smoothed out the creases between her brow, causing her to smile.
“I do not like to see you frown.”
“I do not like to see you hurt.” She placed her own hand on his brow. He was perspiring from the exertion. She would have passed out at the first stitch. “What do you think will happen?”
“I would not want to be Dion now. He will be wishing I had killed him when they finish with him. But they will try to keep this quiet so it does not cause unrest amongst the soldiers or the allies.”
She twisted her lips in another frown. She was too tired to think of what would happen on the morrow.
He smoothed out her frown again. “Go back to bed. I will see you in the morning—and thank you for sewing me up.”
Chapter Six
Felix’s leg throbbed like the devil throughout the night, and despite the copious amounts of spirits they had given him to dull the pain, he did not sleep well. For one, he had never expected Dion to show himself so quickly. Perhaps the man had felt he had no choice, given Felix’s new friendliness with Lady Catalina, Wellington’s arrival and the army’s march north. Wellington had known something was afoot and thus had felt considerable urgency to discover it before it was too late. On the other hand, there would be decisions to be made about Dion’s injury and Felix’s own. They would be unable to travel normally, so would they be left behind or some sort of story fabricated?
The curtain opened and Beckerman looked in. “Good morning, sir. Glad to see you awake. How is your leg this morning?”
“I have not tried to move it yet, but it throbs like the very devil.”
Beckerman gave a swift nod as if that were no more than he had expected. “I’ll change the bandage, and then we had best see if you can put the weight on it.”
Felix had not taken a good look at the wound last night. He had found from experience it was best not to until the surgeon had finished.
Beckerman unwound the bandage, and the simple movement of bending his knee caused Felix’s muscles to contract with a shock of pain.
“Smarts good, dunnit? Not too much drainin’. I’d say the lady did a fair job of it.”
Felix looked down and the laceration looked paltry compared to the sensations beneath it.
“It looks rather tidy,” Felix agreed.
“Cut right through the muscle, it did. A hair more and ye would not be here this mornin’, sir.”
Felix did not need to be reminded. He had become rusty in his convalescence and Dion had surprised him. Felix had certainly underestimated the lieutenant’s abilities.
Beckerman finished cleaning the incision and freshly bandaging it. Then he helped Felix to dress.
“There will be no riding for you today, sir,” Beckerman said as he began packing up what remained in that part of the tent.
“Have any decisions been made about our captive?”
Beckerman made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “Not a word from him yet. He is pretending to be injured and concussed in the head.”
Felix gave a nod as if it were no more than he expected. To be fair, he reflected, Dion probably was concussed, but there was no telling this gruff German that.
“Do we travel with the camp or does the commander have other plans for us?”
“The last I was told, they were to put you and the traitor at the back of the baggage train with some excuses about eating a bad piece of fish.”
Involuntarily, Felix cringed. That had happened more often then he would like to recall. It was a plausible excuse.
“Ja.” Beckerman nodded sympathetically. “Maybe eight or so hours in a carriage with you will get him to talking.”
“If I do not lose my mind first,” Felix muttered.
The batman had finished with all but the cot Felix was sitting on. Now, the moment of truth, he mused. Beckerman came and helped Felix to his feet, holding him up under the bad leg. A rush of pressure went straight to the wound and it felt as though a colony of ants had decided to sting him all in one place.
“Easy now, the blood left your head. Do you think you can walk?” Beckerman asked. “The carriage is not far from here.”
“I will get there. This is not my first meeting with an injury.”
The sergeant helped him to the front of the tent and then Felix hobbled the last few steps on his own. Anyone watching might think him ill, but hopefully would not guess the true nature of what had happened to him. He clutched one hand to his stomach in added effect.
Dion was already in the carriage, hands and feet bound. He was looking away from the door. It was going to be a very long day, Felix sighed to himself, his injury notwithstanding. He climbed in gingerly and pulled his leg up on the squab. He leaned his head back and caught his breath.
Dion turned his head and glared, followed by a look of satisfaction.
Colonel Hill put his head inside the door.
“Good morning, sir,” Felix said.
“Beckerman reported you were doing well, but I wanted to see for myself. I regret having to punish you with him all day, but our choices are limited. Is there anything I can get you before we roll on?”
“Perhaps some food to settle my stomach?” He gave a wry smile.
“I will see to it. I will visit you when we stop again.”
Felix just wanted to get the day over with. The sooner they began moving, the better. Curving mountain passes with a queasy stomach might torture Dion more than anything else Felix had up his sleeve to extract secrets.
Outside, female voices were chattering. The two men were to travel with the wagons at the rearguard which contained the camp followers.
&n
bsp; The door opened again and Lady Catalina’s face appeared, smiling at him. Goodness, was everyone going to check how they did before the carriage could leave?
“Put the basket there,” she directed her maid, and then began to climb into the carriage.
No, please, no. Please do not let happen what I think is happening.
It was happening. Lady Catalina climbed into the carriage, looking entirely too cheerful and well rested. It would be as bad as being locked up for hours with Eugenia in a merry mood, except he could not lash out at this lady he barely knew as he could a younger sister.
She paused before sitting down and wrinkled her face as she surveyed the interior of the conveyance.
“Maria, I think you will have to ride up on the box. It is rather crowded in here.” The maid cast a look of displeasure at Lady Catalina, but Felix was certain she missed the insolence.
“Yes, it is crowded, rather,” Felix remarked. “You would probably be more comfortable on your mount.”
“Very likely,” she said agreeably, “but someone must play nursemaid. Dion cannot feed himself, after all.” She looked back and forth between the two squabs, as if assessing where to sit. Felix did not move his leg down. She chose the corner opposite Dion. Thank the heavens.
At last, the carriage lurched forward. Lady Catalina removed her bonnet and began to make herself comfortable.
“I do not suppose you have the food in that basket I was promised?”
“Oh. yes. Sergeant Beckerman packed this for you. Apparently, rations are slim at the moment,” she remarked as she looked with distaste into the basket before handing it to Felix.
There was a small loaf of bread, a few biscuits, and apples they had found growing on trees along the way. It was better than nothing.
“I have already broken my fast and Dion may eat if he decides to speak.”
The lieutenant growled at her.
“In a foul mood this morning, I see, Dion. It makes you look even more guilty when you refuse to explain yourself.”
“I have nothing to say to you.” He nearly spat on her.
“Who said anything about me?” She waved her hand through the air, assuming the role of the silly society lady more than she had the first night Felix had met her. “But Papa, he treated you like a son.”
Did the woman intend to drive them both to Bedlam with her incessant chatter? He leaned back and closed his eyes. If she could wrangle the truth from Dion, he would not have to employ more violent methods later. At least he had the good grace to wait until after they had been on the road a few minutes, but Lady Catalina was determined. Did the lieutenant realize what she was doing? Probably he did, but Felix was happy to let her wear away Dion’s will. He himself was not feeling quite the thing this morning.
She rambled on and on about what his family would think of his betrayal, from his mother to his poor grandmother. Her father had been prepared to make great things of him in the army and make a heroic name for him, but now, he would be remembered as the lowest scum of the earth. Traitors were lower than the worst criminal, she declared. Even criminals had honor of sorts, but he had none.
She must have rambled on for two hours, Felix conjectured. He was impressed with her tenacity, despite himself. Hopefully, they would be stopping for a break soon, because there was not enough air in the small vehicle. Dion looked stoic at the moment, as if he had resigned himself to this female form of torture. Felix wondered when last the prisoner had eaten. Lady Catalina must have read his mind, for she pulled out some delicious looking pastries and began to eat them in the most unladylike fashion. Felix, who thought himself immune to anything, could barely keep from squirming as she made noises of pleasure and licked her fingers.
“You think you are clever, but you are nothing but a micosa mimada trying to make herself feel as though she has purpose. You are nothing to me,” Dion snarled.
“I am glad our mutual distaste for each other is settled, then. We can move on to more memorable activities.” She reached into her reticule and pulled out a small satchel of tools and slowly unrolled it. Felix was impressed in spite of wishes to the contrary. He had assumed the señorita’s role to be little more than eyes and ears, which was what a great deal of spying amounted to. Nevertheless, there were more unpleasant tasks required, on occasion, to extract information, and she appeared ready and willing to do whatever she deemed necessary. Felix knew that she had a personal vendetta to settle with Dion, so he remained quiet in his part of the carriage and watched.
*
Hopefully, no one could tell she was hoodwinking them. She had never done anything remotely resembling torture except, perhaps, to brush the knots out of her cat’s fur. However, she remembered being a child and having to fetch her own branch from a tree, with which to be punished. It had been very effective.
Slowly and carefully, she took each instrument out and examined them, one by one. Dion was trying not to look. No doubt he was wondering if she had the courage to do anything or not. He had only seen one side of her.
Besides making him nervous, she had to remind herself why this would be necessary if he would not talk.
“Dion,” she began, as though they were about to share a cup of tea, “if you would tell me why you were listening outside the commander’s tent, I might be inclined to be more lenient.”
He jeered at her. “Why does anyone listen?”
She clicked her tongue. “Shall I be more specific? Clearly I must be. Why were you listening where you were not supposed to be?”
“Do you think your father has not already asked me these questions? Why would I say anything to you if I would not to him?”
She took a pair of tweezers and reached over and plucked a hair from the back of his hand. He did not flinch. Perhaps she should pull harder next time.
“My father is more understanding than I am. You see, I believe there is far more to this. I think you are working for someone else. If you would be so kind as to give his name, we can stop this now.”
He glared at her and said nothing, so she plucked a few more hairs out. “Being a torturer is not so hard,” she remarked, feeling rather pleased with herself. “I should be quite good at it by the time we reach Vitoria.” Her gaze strayed towards Major Knight; he was watching her with a great deal of amusement.
“It seems our Lieutenant Dion has become forgetful, Major Knight. Should we suggest some names?”
He proffered a lazy shrug. “It could not hurt to refresh his memory.”
“I agree.” She turned back to Dion. “One hair for one name? I think that is very reasonable of me. Gonzales?” she asked, watching him closely. “No?” She plucked another hair. The back of his hand was quite pink already. “De Castro? Garcia? Perez?” She continued on with every name she could think possible from their regiment. Then she surveyed her handiwork. “I suppose we should make the hands equal,” she murmured, beginning on the other hand. “Your nails are quite shapely. It would be a shame to have to pull them off,” she remarked offhandedly.
“Let us move on to another regiment. Molina? Silva? Santos? Borges? Castro?” Pluck, pluck, pluck, pluck, pluck. The hands were now equally bereft of hair and she had exhausted the list of likely people from the Spanish and Portuguese officers. “Hmm. Perhaps he is French, Major Knight? Dion can be either, did you know?” She looked at Knight as though this were a commonplace matter.
“I am not surprised,” he responded in a bored voice.
“The Basque country we come from borders with France. Perhaps his sympathies are with Napoleon and he believes in killing innocents because of titles and wealth. He believes in taking what is not his.”
“The possibility is looking more likely every moment,” the major agreed.
“What should we do with traitors, Major Knight?” she asked in an innocent voice.
“Draw and quarter them in front of the regiment?”
“That is too kind for a traitor, I think. Perhaps I can ask Papa to let me decide. I think
solitary confinement with a mischief of hungry rats would be slower and more painful.”
“We could fashion a pile, such as the Romans used. I hear it takes three days to die,” Knight suggested.
“Is your reason for betraying your country worth it? If you are doing it for money, that might be understandable.”
“You have no idea of what you speak,” Dion growled.
“I am waiting to be enlightened,” she retorted. “I think it must be the fingernails next, unless you have other ideas, Major Knight?”
The carriage was slowing to a halt, and she hoped they were stopping for a rest. She had talked nonstop for what felt like several hours and she was losing her nerve, truth be told.
“Do you think we will have time for coffee? I do so love a cup of coffee with a splash of cream and a hint of sugar. It feels heavenly on a dry throat, do you not think?” She knew coffee was Dion’s favorite drink.
Beckerman opened the door and helped her to alight. She made a big show of stretching her arms and legs. Major Knight was also making an effort to get down from the carriage. She had not asked him how he was because she did not think he would appreciate Dion knowing how much he had injured him.
Beckerman then climbed in behind them and closed the door. “I will guard the traitor while you refresh yourselves,” he said grimly.
Catalina held on to Major Knight and he gave a good performance of walking without much of a limp. They had stopped at a clearing overlooking a valley with a copse of trees for shade.
Once they were out of hearing of the carriage, the major spoke. “Do you intend to do this the entire way?”
“I think I will ride for the next leg of the journey. He can ponder on what I will do to him next.” She shrugged. “It may take several days, but eventually he will tell us something.”
“He did not flinch when you mentioned the Spanish and Portuguese officers. My guess is that he is planted by Bonaparte or he is doing it for money.”
“The usual reasons,” Catalina said, wrinkling her nose in disgust and waving her hand dismissively.
“My main objective for now is to discover who he is working with. I do not know how much he overheard before I caught him.”
The Dark of Knight Page 6