“Aye aye sir.” Courtenay junior crept back to the path and hurried back to where the rest of the men were waiting. He told the Marines Lieutenant what was expected of him and his men, and Habib nodded and started to lead the men off the path in a direction that would circle around behind the attackers.
Lieutenant Price looked at Courtenay and saw a young man who did not appear to be at all nervous, and perfectly at ease. “How many of the enemy are there Mr Courtenay?”
“About thirty, roughly.”
“We are outnumbered then.”
“Yes Mr Price, but remember what my father would say. We have something they do not. The element of surprise!”
“Very well. Wish us luck.” He turned and found most of his men were already following the guide. His sergeant was waiting patiently. “Come along then Mr Price sir. Won’t do to keep the lads waiting now.” He winked at Courtenay, who turned to his own men and silently signalled them to follow him.
They reached the last bend in the path where he had turned off before, and Edward ushered his men off the track, then a noise coming from around the bend alerted him to the fact someone was coming. He slipped into the undergrowth and just as he did so, a man wandered along, looking for something. It took Edward a few seconds to realise he was clearly one of the attackers and he was looking for a spot to relieve himself. He turned his back on where Edward was hiding just for a moment, and Courtenay junior did not hesitate. He had the safety of the others to consider so he stepped out of hiding, sword in hand. As he did so, the men sensed there was someone behind him, and turned suddenly, a knife appearing in his hand, but he was too late. With no hesitation at all, Edward Courtenay’s sword blade slashed across the man’s throat. Blood fountained down his gaudy dirty shirt and over his filthy trousers and he dropped to his knees, gurgling, before falling forward onto his face, dead. There was a rustle behind him and Edward turned to see the last of his men looking to see where he was.
“Bloody ‘ell Mr Courtenay sir, are you all right?”
“Fine, Smith, fine. Just help me get this bugger out of sight, there’s a good lad.”
“Right you are sir.” They lifted the man and dumped him in the undergrowth, Courtenay scuffed the dry earth to hide the bloodstains just in case, then they hurried over the path and to where Courtenay senior and the others were waiting.
“Is all in order Edward?” asked Courtenay, noticing that his son was cleaning blood off his blade. He could still remember going with Edward to the shop where the sword had been made for him, when he had gained a Midshipman’s berth. “Trouble?”
Edward Courtenay grinned. “One of the attackers was going to relieve himself. I had to get rid of the man. He has been hidden.”
“Well done Edward.” Courtenay noticed that Trafford had nodded quietly and reached out to touch Edward’s sleeve. “Now then, I would imagine we have but a short time to get ready, so if you would be so kind as to direct your lads as to what they are to do Mr Courtenay?”
“Aye aye sir.” He spoke quietly to his men and they all prepared their muskets, keeping as quiet as possible, not that silence was at a premium owing to the noise of the musketry in front of them. “Be ready lads, because when the bullocks fire it will be our turn. Remember, two volleys and then we go in with cold steel.”
“Aye aye Mr Courtenay sir.” said one of the older men, a Petty Officer. “We’ll give the buggers a shock, eh? Won’t be expecting to see us jolly Jacks!”
Even though they were waiting for it, when the volley fire from the Marines erupted across the area in front of them, the others were still taken by surprise. It took the attackers by surprise as well because when the volley slammed amongst them, some of the balls ricocheting off boulders they were hiding behind, a number of them jumped to their feet and looked around to see where the fire had come from. At that range, firing with a musket was not accurate, but nonetheless two of the men did not get up and slumped down onto the ground, blood spreading around them. Edward Courtenay immediately issued instructions to his men. “Now lads! Take aim! Fire!” The muskets blazed away, and another man went down as the survivors jumped for cover. It was too late for more of them because the Marines had reloaded and they poured in another volley that spun two more of them round. The seamen fired another volley and immediately there was the blast of a whistle from the Marines’ position, and as Giles Courtenay watched, the line of red-coated men stepped out of cover, their muskets levelled with their death-dealing bayonets in place, and started advancing on the attackers. There was a cheer from the mine entrance, and then Courtenay drew his sword, stepped in front of his son and his men from the Justify and yelled “Let’s get e’m lads!’
With a roar and curses coming from their mouths, the brig’s men followed their Admiral out into the open and ran the short distance to where the attackers were now milling around in total confusion. They thought all they had to do was to face the soldiers defending the mine. Now they had been surprised from two different directions, and on one, grim-faced men in red coats with black leather Shakos were charging now, bayonets first, with another party coming from another direction screaming terrible curses.
Leading the charge from the Marines, Lieutenant Ernest Price was the first to clash with the attackers. And the first to die. He crossed swords with a bearded man who was taller and far heavier than he was, and was pushed off his feet by him. Before his sergeant could get there, the man slashed down with his sword and sliced the Marines officer’s stomach apart. Blood went everywhere as the young determined officer screamed in agony and then went limp. His attacker did not live much longer, because a Corporal stood in front of him and holding the man’s eyes with his own, lunged his bayonet through the man’s stomach, withdrew it, and as the man collapsed to his knees, rammed it through his throat. He kicked the man off the blade and turned to his next victim.
Giles Courtenay, with Trafford at his shoulder, stormed into the affray, and immediately the attacker who seemed to in charge judging by the effort he was making to organise his men turned to meet him. He was a well-built man, perhaps in his thirties, with a small pointed beard and a moustache. He had an insolent manner about him, and immediately, Courtenay judged him to be Spanish. He levelled his sword and took up the typical duelling pose, causing Courtenay to smile. Now was not the time for gentlemanly duelling. Trafford had already brushed past him and was assaulting a man with his cutlass, driving him back and back. Edward Courtenay was crossing swords with a man larger than him, but matching him blade for blade. Edward had been well trained in swordplay and he took his time, watching the man’s every move until in moving backwards, he lost his footing for just a moment. Edward’s sword flicked out and caught the man on his side, bringing forth blood. That angered the man, faced as he was by someone he judged to be no more than a boy, and he attacked with vigour, only for every move to be countered. Then Edward himself slipped and fell, and the man gleefully moved in for what he thought was the kill.
Trafford slashed the man he was fighting across his chest, then backwards across his throat and did not even watch him fall as he turned to see what his Admiral and Edward were doing. He saw Courtenay senior was locking swords with someone who looked every inch a Don, then looked on aghast as he saw Edward fall and the man attacking him move in for the kill. He even paused with his sword point held high for the final thrust and that was his undoing because that gave Trafford the time to draw and throw his knife with deadly accuracy. It took the man in his back, and as he arched with the pain and surprise of it, and turned to look over his shoulder, Edward scrambled to his knees and thrust upwards with his sword, using all his strength to thrust it into the man’s body hard. The man cried out, and fell forward, impaling himself still further on the keen blade so that it exited his back.
Edward Courtenay pushed the man away from him, and with difficulty pulled the sword free, and shakily regaining his feet, waved to Trafford, who was immediately turning to face another enemy. In the meantime, Gi
les Courtenay was facing the Spanish-looking man., He was dressed in what would have been regarded years ago as a typical pirate’s outfit – baggy bright coloured trousers and shirt, with a sash around his waist and a bandana around his head – but he clearly had breeding judging from the manner in which he used his sword and his demeanour. Once or twice when Courtenay came close to catching him, he would smile elegantly and even said once, ‘A little too close for comfort, Senor!” before executing a series of feints and lunges aimed at catching Courtenay off-guard. However, as they moved around, Courtenay was gradually gaining the upper hand and the other man knew it, so he tried a despairing feint one way before bringing his sword round for a sideways cut, only to realise Courtenay had stepped back a pace, putting him outside the sweep of the blade. He stumbled as he was caught off balance and at that moment, Courtenay rammed his own blade forward, and then put his weight behind it. The blade sliced into the man’s chest, and he stopped, dropped his own sword and looked stupidly at the blade in his chest, with blood pouring down his dirty clothing before his eyes rolled up into his head and he dropped, dead. As he fell, his own weight pulled his body off the sword and Courtenay was already looking around for someone else before his body hit the ground.
What he saw brought forth a grim smile. The fight was over. The soldiers from the mine had joined in, and attacked as they had been from three sides, the attackers had not fared at all well. There were a number of bodies on the ground, one or two moaning, and Courtenay saw two red-coated figures among the bodies, one of which was Lieutenant Price. He looked around and found his son.
“Edward, get your men and the bullocks together and put the ones who have surrendered in one group. Then have a count and tell me how men we have killed and how many are left.” He paused. “Are you all right son?” he said softly.
“Aye aye sir!” replied Edward Courtenay nodding, and handed his sword to one of his men who promptly began to give it a good clean.
“Leave it to me Mr Courtenay sir, I’ll soon have her as shiny as new!”
Minter was cleaning his sword and Horrocks came back once he had spoken to his men. He had Habib with him.
“According to what I have been told Admiral, the mine was attacked at dawn, but one of the mine workers had been down to the river to clean some clothes when he happened to see something that did not seem right to him, so he went to tell Sergeant Mercer, who was in command, and he implemented our agreed plan of barricading the mine portal. Good man. Kept a steady head. Habib here says that the man he saw has survived, and he has offered to try and find out how they managed to get here.”
Courtenay looked at Habib for a moment, knowing what he would probably do to get information out of the man, then his son came back. ‘Yes, Edward?”
“It seems there were about 25 of them. We have killed, one way or another twelve, ten have surrendered, and the other three have taken to the jungle.” He broke off as Habib said something to Minter in Swahili. He raised an eyebrow and Minter smiled grimly.
“He said they will not get very far. This mine is the source of work for many people who live locally, and they will not take kindly at all to anyone who tries to damage their existence.” He paused and cocked an ear and a wail came from the nearby jungle, followed by a scream of pure terror that was abruptly shut off. “I would say that is one of them!”
“Thank you Edward,” said Giles Courtenay. “Make sure the prisoners are well guarded and organise some water for our people.”
“Aye aye sir”
Horrocks smiled as Edward Courtenay strode away. “He would appear to be of a similar mould to you Admiral!”
“Yes, but I doubt his mother would see it quite that way!” He turned serious again. “Very well Mr Minter, we must find what is going on here. That chap I was fencing with was a Spaniard by his appearance. Ask Habib to see what he can find out.”
“Certainly Admiral. I could offer that man Roja some money of course. You know what people of his type are like.”
“Yes. I have a very good friend who would say that he would sell his mother for tuppence half penny and his grandmother for a damn sight less!” smiled Courtenay.
Minter saw Trafford grinning as well and smiled. “Just so sir.” He turned to Habib and spoke briefly. Habib’s face broke into a smile and he nodded. He strode off, took hold of the man named Roja, who had his hands tied firmly behind his back, and pulled him off to behind some buildings that were part of the mine workings. A few moments later there was a terrified scream followed by more screams, then Habib came back, wiping his knife blade on a small tuft of grass. He smiled and spoke to Minter.
Minter nodded and turned to Courtenay. “It would seem, Admiral, that most of the men here are Spanish, with the rest from various other countries. You know the sort of thing. The man Roja was hired by a certain Rodriguez Peron when he discovered why the man had been banished from his own country. He made him promises of lots of money if he would join them and he got him to lead a party of men through the jungle to enable them to attack the mine. A few nights ago, the Spaniard’s ship closed to within a mile or so of the coast to the south of the Bimara, and set a party ashore. Roja was to lead them through the jungle to the Bimara, near to where this smaller river branches off it. Once it was dark, they stole some boats and crossed the river so that they were approaching the mine just before dawn. Had it not been for the man who saw them, the guards would have been overwhelmed, the mine would have been either in their hands or totally destroyed. Either way, it would help to ruin the country’s economy as it is at the moment.”
“What of this man Roja?” asked Giles Courtenay, smiling at his son as he rejoined the group.
Habib spoke up. “He dead” Then he smiled and drew a bloodied finger across his throat. “He bad man Excellency. He deserve to die. I did it for my people.”
“Rodriguez Peron.” said Courtenay senior. “Another Don who wants to make some money and does not care how he does it. With du Mason involved as well, it seems to me we are dealing with mercenaries, rather than someone in the paid employment of a person or government who wishes to take over Balathia by whatever means are available. We need to be able to find where these people are working from, and exactly who they are working for.”
Minter thought for a moment then said quietly, “King Khalfani is worried, I think, that it may be this cousin of his, Abdalla. Could it be him?”
“Possibly Mr Minter, but whoever is organising this must have plenty of money to fund the enterprise, because mercenaries do not come cheap. They would want a pot of gold for the risks they are taking.”
“Or a share in a diamond mine.” said Edward Courtenay slowly.
“What do we do with the prisoners sir?” asked Horrocks.
“We will take them back with us and I will detain them aboard Alexander. We may be able to get some information of them there, especially if they are threatened with having an excellent view of the ship whilst dangling from the mainyard with a noose around their necks!”
“The King may wish to have them Admiral.” said Minter.
“Yes, and I suspect I know what will happen to them if they are handed over to him! I want to find out what is going on, so I wish to be able to talk to them., If the King asks, he can be told they were caught by His Majesty King George’s men and they are therefore his prisoners.”
“Bit tenuous Admiral?” said Horrocks with a smile.
“With all due respect to the King, they are better with us for the time being. At least his mine is safe!”
Minter and Horrocks smiled knowingly. Thirty minutes later, the party was on the move again, back on the boats and heading downstream to the Bimara and the rendezvous with the brig Justify. Lieutenant Ernest Price and the other Marine who had been killed had been wrapped in blankets and placed carefully in the bottom of one of the boats. Courtenay had insisted that they be buried at sea from Alexander. The Marines sergeant had confided in his Admiral when asked about his officer that he had been
terrified, not so much of facing the enemy, but of letting the Corps down. “His father was a Major in the Corps sir. Killed at Trafalgar. He were only a nipper at the time.”
“Were you there Sergeant? Courtenay had asked. The man had straightened his back.
“Aye, that I were sir. Proud to be on Victory, no less! “
“I was there as well Sergeant, I had Argyll,80.”
“Gawd bless you sir, I remembers seein’ her!”
“It is a small Navy Sergeant.” The man nodded and said nothing.
FIVE
‘Well, at least we have some information from those men you captured Giles.” James Fenwick was saying as he sat in Courtenay’s cabin a couple of days after he had returned in the brig Justify with news of the attempt on the mine and the attackers captured. “Although it was not much of course.”
“No, most of them did not really know much more than they had to. All they have been able to tell us is that they were to blow up the mine entrance so that it could not be used anymore and that they were then to be led back to where they landed by the man Roja. Whether that was true or not we will never know, but let us assume it was. It would have taken a number of days to move back through the jungle to the spot where they were put ashore, and we know that was to the south of the Bimara.”
“Yes, almost at the end of that channel. The ship that landed them had stayed out of sight of land of course, but that is hardly unusual.” Fenwick added, toying with a glass that had contained some of his friend’s favourite claret. Courtenay smiled and reached for the decanter on the desk, pushing it over to his Flag-captain.
“So let us assume they were to be collected. They were almost certainly led by the Spaniard that I killed, because he was the only person there that had any kind of authority, and I am fairly certain that if he was sent with the others by this chap Rodriguez Peron, he was wanted back.”
Courtenay and the Mercenaries Page 7