The Dark of Knight

by Johns, Elizabeth

  “I agree, sir.”

  “I must say, if Hill is up to trickery, then he is a bloody cold one. He showed not a flicker of emotion or surprise at the changes I made at the eleventh hour.”

  “So far, then, there is no indication of your new plans having been intercepted?”

  “None at all. Things are better than I had hoped. Who would have expected them to leave the bridge unguarded? Was that oversight or sheer arrogance?” He shook his head.

  “I will be off to join the 2nd, in that case,” Felix remarked.

  Wellington gave a nod of agreement, and Felix urged his mount down the slope and across the bridge towards where Molina’s division and Hill’s were fighting, running messages to both when necessary.

  As the sun moved into the afternoon sky, Felix began to wonder if he had hurt Dion more badly than he had believed. It had been dark, and he had made contact with the fleshy part of the lieutenant’s arm. He would not have expected the injury to be life-threatening, only disabling… however, they could not risk letting down their guard.

  Looking up, he saw Everleigh approaching from the distance on his black gelding. Perhaps he had something of Dion to report. Almost anything seemed better than nothing at this point. He directed his mount towards Wellington to hear.

  “Any news?” Felix asked hopefully.

  “Nothing of our Spanish lieutenant, I am afraid,” Everleigh replied. “Unfortunately, our pursuit of the French through the town has met with an unforeseen obstacle.”

  Wellington looked sharply at Everleigh.

  “The baggage wagons have been abandoned, right in the middle of the road. There are hundreds of them. All the horses were taken and there is no way to move them.”

  Wellington cursed. “Then go around them!”

  “I do not think you understand, sir. It is as though the entire kingdom’s worth of goods was left in the way to obstruct our path.”

  “Send the cavalry in pursuit,” Wellington ordered. “They can go around.”

  “Yes, sir!” Everleigh saluted and rode away.

  “Unbelievable. We had well not lose a war to a baggage train, Knight,” the Commander said, disbelief evident in his tone. He urged Copenhagen forward to follow, and Felix did the same to his own mount. Passing through an expanse of woodland, they came upon a village and found several wounded. The regiment had been “engaged and taken fourteen guns,” General Picton reported.

  “Then the Brigade, in column, sustained enemy fire for some time before dashing forward, and driving the enemy from their position. We won ten guns left behind in the rush.” Continuing to report, he went on, “The entire French army broke up so precipitately that they left all their material of war on the field.”

  “Very good. Pursue them until dark,” Wellington answered.

  Picton turned his horse about and rode off to instruct his troops.

  “We might as well take a look,” Wellington said and followed, directing his own columns to pursue.

  Felix realized that he had lost sight of Hill and began to wonder if they had imagined the plot all along. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a white horse galloping in their direction and he turned about. Immediately, he drew his pistol and cocked it, shouting for the commander to get out of the way.

  As the horse drew closer, the rider became clearly visible. Recognizing Lady Catalina, looking disheveled and… beaten?… he lowered his gun.

  “Am I too late?” she gasped, pulling Luna to an abrupt halt.

  “Too late for what? Nothing has happened except for a French retreat.”

  “Dion is trying to kill Hill.”

  *

  Major Knight looked more surprised by her appearance than at the news, from the way he was looking at her.

  “I do not have time to explain,” she said, exasperated. “Where is Colonel Hill?”

  “He was just here. I was looking for him, in fact. I have had my eye on him.”

  “So he is still alive?” she asked hopefully.

  “He was, half an hour past. Everleigh arrived just now to report and that is when I lost sight of Hill.”

  “We must find him quickly! Dion and Maria are seeking revenge,” she said as they urged their horses forward. “They wish him dead.”

  “He is not involved with them? You are certain?”

  “Yes. I did finally wring the truth from Maria. She was not at all pleased to see me. I cannot say if Dion told her we were alive or not, but from her response I suspect she perhaps thought I would return to Villa Blanca. Either way, she gave herself away this morning. She could not hide her displeasure and confessed all.”

  “It makes no sense. What do they have against Hill? He is not the man to ruffle feathers in the normal way of things.”

  “Ciudad Roderigo,” she answered. The name was sufficient explanation. Everyone understood when they heard it. It had been a dark day for the allies. The English soldiers had snapped, despite their victory, upon seeing so many of their own dead. They had gone on a rampage of raping, pillaging and looting for hours before they were brought under control. Why they took it out on their Spanish comrades no one ever understood.

  “But Hill? I cannot believe it of him,” Major Knight said, disbelief evident on his face.

  “I believe he is blamed for not controlling his men. ’Twas one of his divisions which lost control.”

  She could see the connections forming in his mind by the expressions that crossed his features.

  “So, this plan was to make it appear that he was committing treason,” he said slowly as he seemed to make sense of what she had said.

  “A traitor dies without honor, the lowest of the low. He suffers complete public humiliation. Anything good they may have done in their life is wiped away by that act of betrayal.”

  “That certainly explains why the dispatches were changed, but whatever may be the outcome now that his plan has been foiled?” Knight asked, thinking aloud.

  “I fear that Dion will try to find a way to publicly humiliate him—and then kill him. Dion has already lost his place and now his honor is at stake. He will attempt to rectify that before his own death. He knows there can be no possibility of living.”

  “He will be desperate,” Major Knight said, his eyes roving around them as they approached the rear of Hill’s advancing soldiers.

  “A martyr for his cause. What are we looking for?” she asked, scanning the mass of red coats.

  “I wish I knew. The French have abandoned their wagons just beyond the town, and the equipage is apparently proving a very effective method of delay.”

  “I can see that,” Catalina remarked, pointing as she looked upon the chaos, visible in the distance. There were hundreds of wagons piled high with goods, which many of the soldiers had decided to loot, the temptation great. “It is Ciudad Rodrigo all over again,” she whispered to herself. They set spur to their horses and pulled up nearer the mêlée to search the crowds for any sign of either Dion or Hill. “This is madness! How will we ever find him? If ever there were a perfect opportunity, this is it!”

  “You look to the left, and I will look to the right, but stay away from the men,” he answered calmly, his face taking on a look she had never seen. Certainly, she would not wish to face him in battle, she decided, riding in the direction he indicated.

  Catalina tried Major Knight’s methodical approach. She began in the center moving left, and tried to look at each face. Frankly, it was disgusting and she muttered a prayer that they might keep to looting. Dozens of soldiers were digging through the baggage wagons and shouting their finds to their comrades. Some were already drinking heavily from the jugs of wine and spirits found, and although there were a few trying to restore order, they were very ineffective.

  Apparently, the looters considered the bottles of wine theirs too—if the raucous songs they sang, which made her ears burn, were any indication.

  A loud shout rang out and a crowd began to form around a brawl? What was happening? She moved
closer to look.

  “Muerte!” Catalina exclaimed. “Major Knight!” she cried, trying to get his attention.

  He must have seen what was happening at the same time, for he looked at her and inclined his head to indicate he was going to go behind the disturbance.

  Dion was holding a knife under Colonel Hill’s throat with a pistol in his other hand; at the same time he began shouting.

  “You English disgust me! You are not fit to be on this earth! I am not surprised to find this… this bastardo again as your leader!” He said the last word in a mocking tone as he looked around at the sea of red coats. “He allows you to loot, and rape innocents, all in the name of victory. You will rot in hell for this day’s work!”

  Mouths open, the crowd of soldiers and spectators stood gaping at the scene, many of them too stunned or too intoxicated to do anything but jeer.

  Catalina slowly moved her way through the rabble, afraid to dismount for fear of her own safety and of losing her beloved horse.

  She drew closer, and could see the possessed look in Dion’s eyes. Transferring the reins to her weak hand, she took the dagger from the sheath inside her coat. Never before had she killed a man, but she would do it if she had to. She must have courage, because she understood where Maria and Dion’s hatred came from. Killing Colonel Hill would solve nothing; it would not bring back Maria’s innocence or her sister’s life. Colonel Hill himself had not done the deed.

  Dion was still shouting. Catalina saw Major Knight trying to sneak up from behind the crazed lieutenant, but she could not tell if the Englishman would reach him in time or even have a clear shot. Dion was intent on humiliation; viciously, he began to cut away at Colonel Hill’s uniform, mocking him as he did so.

  Catalina waited, expecting the crowd to do something, but they stood like statues. She tried to maneuver Luna into a better position. No matter how many times one practiced something, one could never replicate the fear and trembling that happened when it mattered most. As he cut away handfuls of Hill’s uniform from his body, Dion began to scream.

  “Come on, you miserable cowards! Who wants a turn?”

  Catalina took aim for her target as Dion sliced away another piece of fabric from his arm, cutting deep enough to make Hill bleed. She could wait no longer.

  “For Maria! For Leonora!”

  When Dion raised his knife high, as though to make the final kill, she threw her dagger. At the same instant she saw the flash of a pistol.

  Afraid to look, she closed her eyes. Shouts of approbation echoed in her ears from the mob. Through the drumming of blood in her ears, she heard a rush of footsteps towards the scene, and put her face in her hands. She swallowed deeply, barely able to contain her bile at the realization of what she had done.

  Suddenly, strong arms pulled her down from her horse and wrapped themselves around her as she began to sob, her whole body shuddering with the emotion. His scent mixed with sweat and leather a comfort despite her body’s violent reaction.

  “Hush now, it is over. I have you,” Major Knight whispered into her ear.

  If only she could stop. She felt no control as she trembled and shook like a leaf in the wind.

  “Dion is dead. You have saved Colonel Hill.”

  That news only made her weep louder.

  “Catalina. Look at me.” He took her face in both his hands and kissed her gently.

  At last, she opened her eyes to stare into the dark depths of his.

  “That’s my brave girl. I have you.”

  She nodded absently, finding only a brief solace in his arms.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Felix knew the best thing to do was remove Catalina from the scene. She was suffering from shock, and already several soldiers were beginning to defile Dion’s body. Wellington had arrived, and Felix expected he would have everyone in line in short order. He did not doubt a great deal had been plundered, but hopefully the indiscipline would end with that.

  Somehow, he managed to help Catalina onto his mount, and then lead their horses away from the scene towards where the Spanish contingent and her father were reported to be. He wished he could take her back to Villa Blanca and to safety, but it was not his place to make that determination. He also had his duty to the army. Even though it would seem they had soundly routed the French that day, he had not heard of an abdication.

  Catalina clung to him as they left the town and went north on the road to Pamplona. It would be dark soon, and he expected to come upon the camp at any moment. Catalina still had not spoken a word, but her violent shaking had stopped. He hoped she had found some comfort in his arms. While she had clearly been trained to use weapons, he did not think she had ever used them to kill—and to kill someone she knew, at that. Somehow, there was a difference when shooting across a battlefield at a faceless person. It would take some time for her to accept that she had acted from necessity, or else an innocent man would have died.

  They reached the edge of the camp, where the tents were being erected for the night. It would take hours before all the survivors arrived. They had not moved too far beyond Vitoria because the looting was still going on.

  An army post battle was a difficult thing to explain to any not involved. Many individuals busied themselves with the wounded and many more assisted in cleaning up the carnage. Those who had survived did their best to drown out the memories of the day in some form or fashion. Some slept, some drank, and some had more unfortunate tendencies. Felix was conflicted about the outcome of the brush with Dion. Anyone who had lived to witness what occurred at Rodrigo, and likewise at Badajoz, could not explain away or justify what had happened. It was unconscionable and unfathomable, especially to one who had never experienced war. Toy soldiers and history books could not begin to scratch the surface of the reality.

  Felix had stopped to ask for General Mendoza’s division when he saw the man himself.

  “Mi querida!” he cried when he saw his daughter limp in Felix’s arms. He himself had not been able to ask her what had happened before she had arrived at the front. He had assumed she had fought with Maria, but she had not spoken of it, only of Maria’s confession.

  Upon seeing her father, she released Felix and slid down into her father’s arms.

  He crushed her to his chest and kissed all over her face, weeping openly. Felix dismounted and watched uncomfortably.

  “What happened, Catalina?”

  “I killed Dion,” she answered with surprising calm. Felix was glad she had been able to compose herself.

  General Mendoza looked at Felix for confirmation and he gave a slight nod.

  “Come! Let us go inside, where you may explain everything.”

  Following behind with the horses, Felix handed them over to a soldier to be rubbed down and tended to. When the little group reached the tent, they found the general’s trunks were just being unloaded.

  They sat down on hastily unfolded chairs and Mendoza’s man brought them wine. Felix paid little attention to anything but Catalina’s face. She bore the signs of shock, recounting her horrific day as though detached from it like a mere spectator. As he suspected, Maria had attacked Catalina once she realized her mistress intended to warn Colonel Hill of the plot. By befriending the Englishman, Catalina, Dion and Maria had decided, was a traitor.

  “It was hateful, Papa. She thought to brawl with me like some tavern wench. Fortunately, one of the camp followers came to my aid and between us we subdued her. Then, summoned by her screeching, one of the cooks came upon us and trussed her like a goose! He has her under guard until such time as you decide what to do with her.”

  Catalina went on to give her father an abridged account of the looting, and how they had found Dion with a pistol and a knife at Colonel Hill’s throat.

  Felix could see by the look in Mendoza’s eyes that he also felt torn with regard to Dion’s motive. Anyone with a conscience would feel for those whose loved ones had been raped and killed that day.

  “What happened next?”
Mendoza demanded. “Did Dion manage to kill Colonel Hill?”

  Now came the point where Catalina had to tell her father she had killed Dion. She looked up at Felix with pleading eyes.

  “No, Colonel Hill is safe,” he interposed calmly. “He suffered some cuts with the knife, but I think he will recover. I fired my pistol and your daughter threw her knife. We were able to take Dion down before he killed the Colonel.”

  Mendoza nodded absently while he pulled his daughter into a hug.

  Felix knew then it was time for him to go. His throat filled with emotion from all the things he wasn’t able to say. He wanted to beg leave to take Catalina away from all of this and to find the beauty in life again. She would have many dark days ahead—he knew from experience. He could help her forget, but it was not his place to comfort her, and despite their shared attraction—and kisses—there had been no declarations. They had been working together. Partners. He loathed the word at the moment.

  He rose to leave, planning to escape quietly. He had taken only one step when her soft voice stopped him.

  “Please wait.”

  Felix could not resist her plea.

  “May we have a few moments, Papa?” she asked.

  General Mendoza nodded. “I will see if the doctor is available to look at you.”

  “I do not need the doctor, Papa. I have no injury to compare with those who fought today. Leave him to those in need.”

  “Very well. I will wait outside.”

  When the opening of the tent fell behind the general, Felix watched Catalina walk towards him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and took a deep breath.

  “Will I see you again? It is hard to believe that, just like that…” She snapped her fingers. “It is over.”

  “I do not know what charge Wellington will have for me now,” he answered honestly, not hiding the twinge of regret in his voice.

  “Despite the outcome, I have enjoyed these days more than any I can remember. Thank you for protecting me and respecting me.”

  Felix almost laughed. He would not tell her how he had had to pretend she was Eugenia in order to do so. Without another word, she stood on tiptoe and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. Not one of romance, but one of goodbye.