The Dark of Knight

by Johns, Elizabeth

  He squeezed her hand. “The truth will out. We are already suspicious and I promise you I will fight for his innocence.” Without thinking, he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips.

  “Thank you, Felix,” she said as a tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed back a lock of his hair and he was nearly undone. He rose to his feet and turned to leave before he could betray himself and his country further.

  He climbed down the ladder and began the walk to the camp, hoping and praying that he would find nothing on Mendoza that would implicate him beyond belief. However, he vowed he would take care of Lady Catalina regardless of the outcome.

  It was going to be a sweltering day. Already there were no clouds in the sky, and he was perspiring by the time he reached the edge of the encampment.

  He searched through his haversack then changed into the old uniform coat again so as to blend in, and made his way towards where the Spanish battalions were situated. Thankfully, he was less known after his time in prison, but he could not be too careful. Mendoza himself would know Felix.

  Unexpectedly, companies of soldiers were engaged in drills and the artillery wagons were being loaded with cannon and shot. There was always a certain hum of anticipation in the camp immediately before a battle. It was busy, yet almost eerily quiet.

  He crept around the periphery with care, looking for the perfect spot for surveillance. Mendoza’s tent was well surrounded and precisely where Lady Catalina had said it would be. There was no convenient perch on which to station himself as he and Lady Catalina had had to view the British tents. He needed it more today—and he needed a great deal more luck, as Owens had aptly termed it. There was neither darkness nor natural cover with which to shield himself, not that that had been successful.

  He wished he had asked Lady Catalina more about her father’s habits, but it had been difficult enough to reveal that his task for the day was to investigate Mendoza. Skirting the outer edge of the tents, he watched the Spaniards drill for a while, hoping to discover the man himself there reviewing his troops. After watching for half an hour, Felix could not see Mendoza anywhere, so he slipped along the lines to the man’s tent, determined on the course of being a messenger if anyone inquired.

  He turned from his hiding spot to look straight into the face of General Mendoza.

  “Knight?” he asked softly. “Is that you?”

  Felix held back a curse. Luck seemed to have abandoned him of late.

  “Is something amiss with Catalina?”

  Felix hesitated. He did not want to lie to the man.

  Mendoza sensed his hesitation. “Come with me and tell me everything.”

  “I cannot risk being seen. If anyone else recognizes me, Wellington will have my head.”

  “Yes, I understand. Keep your head down and follow me.”

  Mendoza escorted Felix to his tent. Felix felt guilty for taking advantage in this way, but at least he would not be sneaking about to achieve admission. There was nothing unusual about a British soldier visiting the Spanish battalions, so long as he maintained his disguise. He walked a little differently and made himself as nondescript as possible.

  Mendoza held back the flap to his tent and ushered Felix inside. The scent of roses was so strong, that Felix felt a desperation for this man and his daughter to be innocent.

  The general indicated for Felix to sit down and joined him in another chair. “Tell me,” he insisted.

  Felix did not know how much to disclose. Was it wise to let him know Dion lived? He felt as though he were playing with fire and one way or the other someone would be hurt.

  “Your daughter is resting this morning. She took a blow to the head last evening, but seems to have nothing more than a headache today.”

  Mendoza leaned back and closed his eyes as if praying.

  Felix could not believe a guilty man would allow his daughter to continue spying in such circumstances. She would know his secrets. Nonetheless, they must be thorough.

  “How did this happen?” he asked after a moment, the question Felix had dreaded.

  “Dion,” Felix answered, having already decided to judge this man innocent, yet hoping he had not made a fatal decision for his country.

  *

  Gentlemen were so easy to dupe. As soon as Major Knight left, Catalina jumped out of bed and hurried down the steps after him. She had not undressed the night before, and the only thing necessary was to re-pin her hair. She had awakened and done that before any of the men stirred. Her head was pounding and the earth spinning, but this was urgent, and her future depended on it. There would be time for self-indulgence later. She crossed herself, praying it would be so.

  Following along behind, she trailed Major Knight to the edge of the camp. She watched him change his coat again, shamelessly admiring the breadth of his physique.

  Then she continued to watch as he skirted the Spanish camp. He stopped to watch the troops drill; perhaps he was looking for her father there. It was a wise move, but she took her chance and went to her father’s tent. His hat was where he would keep something he was intentionally keeping private, but she feared Dion would place something accusatory in a more obvious place.

  Her blood boiled when she thought of that canalla ingratiating himself with her papa for the last two years! What a way to repay his generosity! Some people could never be satisfied, and some people hated the aristocracy and thought it was their right to steal from them, like the English fable of Robin Hood she had heard told around the campfires. Of course, never did she want anyone to be poor and starving, and she believed it was their Christian duty to help those in need, but stealing was not right either.

  Luckily, no one was about her father’s tent, and if he was in there, then she would be pleased to see him. In all likelihood he was at the drill, reviewing his troops. He took great pride in the Spanish army being equal to any other, and would want to ensure they were ready. It was why she could not believe him guilty of anything more than trusting Dion.

  Thankfully, when she lifted the flap and slipped beneath it, no one else was inside. Hastily, she went for her father’s most private hiding places. She had not lied about the hat, and she would dearly love to check it, but Dion would be hard-pressed to have access to that as well, unless he had hidden something before he was caught.

  She was surprised her father had left his tent unguarded, with Dion on the loose; although, of course, Papa thought his lieutenant dead. Catalina saw little point in keeping Major Knight’s and her own survival a secret any longer. Dion knew and therefore whomever he worked for knew—if he was working for someone else.

  There was nothing unusual in her father’s trunks. Most of his private papers were kept at Villa Blanca. He did not think it necessary to carry much with him. Catalina kept the copy of his will in her belongings instead.

  There were lists of all his troops, divided into battalions and regiments, along with their home addresses. There were other lists of supplies and other such information, but nothing out of the ordinary. She frowned. She wanted to prove beyond doubt that he was innocent, but she did not know what she could do.

  She went to her father’s bed and knelt to search beneath the bedding, then lifted his pillow. There was a miniature of herself and one of her mother. How different things had been when her mother had been alive! But now was not the time for sad reminiscence. She had to find the condemning evidence before Major Knight did. She believed he wished them well, but he had a duty to his country. She would feel the same were their positions reversed… and yet she knew in her heart that her papa was not capable of treason.

  She put everything back where she had found it then stood and looked around the tent. If she were Dion, where would she conceal something?

  Major Knight had mentioned dispatches on Colonel Hill’s desk, and she thought back to that night she had first met the major. It seemed so long ago.

  The knock on the head must have affected her more than she thought. She had to finish searching and b
e away from there before someone returned. She was not ready to explain herself to Papa, after all.

  She found her father’s traveling desk beneath his cot and slid it out. There were only paper, pens and ink underneath the wooden lid, but she knew there was another hidden panel below this one. She found the catch and released it, careful not to disturb anything. Papa was very particular and would know if anything was out of place.

  There were several papers in someone else’s hand. Quickly she scanned them, debating whether they would incriminate him in any way. It looked as though they were the plans for the battle on the morrow. But had not one of them told her the Spanish contingent would be the last to know? Her memories were muddled somewhat, but something told her that these should not be here. Would her father know if he was being duped? Was he being framed?

  Footsteps crunched ominously on the ground outside and she made a quick decision. Shakily stuffing the papers inside her shirt, she wriggled beneath the cot, taking the little desk with her. Her hope was then to slide under the edge of the tent, but it was too well staked down.

  She uttered unladylike words to herself and fruitlessly wished that it was dark. It was a myth that spies only operated in the dark of night.

  A pair of polished black riding boots entered the tent, followed by another pair. Catalina gulped and scooted back as far as she could to make herself as one with the edge of the tent. She heard her father’s voice, speaking to… Major Knight? Had he compromised his position to speak with him? What was happening?

  She ordered the blood pounding in her ears to be quiet so that she could listen. This was not at all what she had expected him to be doing today.

  Major Knight must have been seen by her father and been asked about her. The major was doing a fair job of prevaricating without fully lying.

  They sat down, and Catalina maneuvered her head to try to see what was going forward. Would her father reach for his desk?

  Her papa’s boots were so very close to her face. She wished she could present herself and give him a hug. She closed her eyes, trying to listen while endeavouring to ignore the persistent pounding in her head.

  Her father dropped his hat on the ground, and Major Knight bent to pick it up. Was the man blessed by the gods? Catalina held her breath when she saw him coolly reach inside and check the pocket before handing it back to her father, all the while keeping his eyes from his task. Did her father even realize what was happening? His voice indicated he was distracted.

  “How did this happen?”

  Major Knight hesitated and then answered, “Dion.”

  Catalina could not believe her ears. What made him admit such a thing? She was quite certain his commander and comrades would not approve. Had something occurred to convince him of her father’s innocence, or had he done this for her? What a silly, wistful notion!

  The very idea that he would do such a thing, she chastised herself, but hope began to blossom within.

  “You are certain he is alive?” her father asked.

  “I saw him myself.”

  Her father said some words she had never heard pass from his lips before. “Thank you for telling me this. If he harmed Catalina, then there is no telling what he might do. Do you have any idea who he is passing information to?”

  “We have some ideas, but no hard evidence.”

  “I must return to my men,” her father said, sounding weary. “Please give Catalina my love. I am depending on you to take care of her,” her father said, standing up again. They shook hands as though something significant passed between them. Catalina felt tears welling up in her eyes. Her papa respected this man.

  “I will go before you and warn you if anyone is about. If you hear nothing, assume it is clear for you to leave.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Catalina saw her father leave the tent and his footsteps grew quiet as he walked away, making no warning sound.

  She relaxed, ready to escape, when Major Knight’s face appeared in front of her. “You may come out now, you little termagant.”

  She almost jumped out of her skin. “How did you know I was there?” she asked, crawling from her hiding-place.

  “I did not until you poked your head out to see what was happening.” He held out his hand to help her to her feet.

  “Did you find anything in his hat?”

  “I did not,” he admitted, sounding irritated.

  “We must go.”

  “You must go,” he corrected.

  “There is nothing here,” she told him hastily.

  He eyed her suspiciously and pulled her to his hard body. The papers beneath her shirt crackled with loud accusation.

  “Hand them over willingly or I will retrieve them myself.” His expression said he meant it.

  She glared at him, annoyed with herself as well. “Once we reach safety,” she amended. “We must get out of here while it is safe to do so.”

  He did not reply, but instead took both her hands and led her from the tent, thence traversing the encampment until they were well away from the sea of white canvas and safely hidden among a stand of berberis bushes.

  He looked at her expectantly and she grudgingly pulled the papers from her shirt. “These were in his desk. Papa would never have kept something important there.” She closed her eyes as he read the documents.

  “These are the ones I saw on Hill’s desk last night. I must give them to Wellington.” She felt his hand under her chin and she opened her eyes to stare into his dark gaze. “Do you trust me?”

  “I want to,” she whispered.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Felix hated the disappointment he saw in Catalina’s face, but he could not risk the allied forces losing this battle because of one man. They walked on together until they reached the British side of the encampment.

  “Go,” she choked out, knowing it needed to be done.

  “Will you return to the farm?”

  “I came to do what I needed to. I will go back.”

  “Be careful. Dion is still out there.”

  She gave a nod as she barreled herself into his arms. He embraced her back knowing what she must be suffering, and the strange mixture of emotions that accompanied goodbyes before war.

  He pulled himself away and prayed Dion would not follow her in the open daylight. He continued to hide his face as he made his way to Wilmington’s tent, knowing that Hill would likely be there.

  He passed a few other soldiers who grunted their acknowledgment to what they thought was their equal in rank. Good. He had not been recognized.

  Stopping at the edge of the command tent, he debated how to find Wellington alone.

  “You are becoming sloppy, Knight,” a voice said behind him. He turned with his hand on his sword, then let out a rush of air when he saw Everleigh standing there.

  “What is the matter? Can I help?” Everleigh asked.

  “I found something I need to go to Wellington, but it is risky to stroll openly into the tent at the moment.”

  “Is it something I can pass on for you?”

  “It depends on who is in there.”

  Everleigh gave an understanding nod. “I will go in and see.” He looked around. “Wait for me beneath the tree up there. He pointed to where he and Lady Catalina had surveyed the camp the day before. “I will signal to you if it is safe to come back.”

  Everleigh went inside and Felix made his way back up to their perch, half wondering if Catalina would be there watching even now.

  Alas, she was not. He suspected her pain was great and had only come this morning in order to vindicate her father.

  Felix waited some time – long enough to read the dispatches in total. He wanted to be completely familiar with them before he turned them over. That suspicion was nagging at him again when he read them. It was a very plausible attack on the French if Everleigh and Owens found them positioned along the Zadorra. It allowed for Jourdan and Bonaparte’s armies to be completely surrounded and thoroughly routed as lo
ng as everyone held their positions. It was risky splitting the force up, but could finally be the final nail in Bonaparte’s coffin after his losses in Russia.

  Everleigh arrived with Wellington. “I assume this is something good, Knight.”

  Felix handed him the dispatches. “I believe these are the ones I saw on Hill’s desk last evening.”

  Wellington was surveying them critically. “And where were they found today?”

  “Lady Catalina found them in her father’s desk.”

  Wellington looked up sharply at that pronouncement.

  “She did not obey orders to stay abed. I found her in his tent.”

  “And you trust this is all she found?”

  “I do. However, she believes Dion planted them.”

  “And what do you think?” he asked.

  “I am inclined to agree. I was in the tent with Mendoza himself. He had no indications of hiding anything. In fact, he left me in there alone.”

  Wellington seemed to nod to himself, if that was possible. “And were you able to search his hat?”

  “Unbelievably, I was. He dropped it on the floor, giving me a perfect opportunity. He was very distracted upon learning of his daughter’s injury.”

  “I had not yet had a chance to tell him.”

  “I must confess, sir, that I told him Dion was responsible when he asked how she was hurt.”

  Wellington looked at him long and hard. It was difficult not to squirm under the scrutiny.

  “I am inclined to agree with you about Dion’s guilt, though I am not certain how wise it was to divulge to a suspect.” He went back to reading the dispatches, leaving Felix to wonder if that was the only reprimand he would receive. Felix felt much better having confessed his sin.

  When Wellington finished, he tucked the papers beneath his crossed arms and looked off over the camp. “These are very cleverly done. I can only detect one mistake, which would leave the Spanish column vulnerable for slaughter. I do believe it absolves Mendoza and that these were, in fact, planted. However, does that prove Hill guilty?”