Courtenay and the Mercenaries

by Brian Withecombe

  “That Foreign Minister person? No, and neither have I spoken to anyone else here. Did this man not tell you the story I gave him about the need for me to be here?”

  “He did. He said you passed yourself off as a real Spanish officer, which I know you used to be of course. Was that correct then?”

  “Yes, that was the story I spun for him. He really did think I was in the service of the Spanish Navy, whereas….”

  “You were nothing of the kind.” Peron inclined his head. “From whom did you receive your orders then?” asked Courtenay.

  Peron sat in silence for a moment, and Minter, who was also present, leant forward as he suspected the man was about to say something very important and he did not wish to miss it.

  Peron sighed. “I do not know the names of either of the people I have met from time to time.”

  “Either?”

  “Yes, there were two. Never at the same time, and always somewhere there was no-one else around. They said it was safer that no names were given. One man was an African person, the other was a white man.”

  Minter pushed forward. “Can you provide a description Captain?”

  Peron stroked his short beard. “Allow me a glass of brandy and I will do so. Since they have clearly thrown me to the wolves to save themselves, I will not assist in saving them.”

  As he sipped at the brandy Courtenay placed in front of him, Peron started to describe the two people he had met to give him his orders. Wetherby wrote everything down. As Peron gave the description of the first man, Minter’s head jerked up and he looked at Courtenay, understanding clear in his eyes. “You know who it is Peter?” Minter nodded. When the description of the white man was given, he shook his head sadly, and Courtenay turned away to look through the sternlights at the sun’s dancing reflection on the blue water of the anchorage. He had recognised the description of the white person instantly.

  “Now, Captain Peron,” he said, looking the man straight in the eyes, “we know of course that the raid on the fishing village where almost everyone was murdered was the work of du Mason, but what about the one where an entire village has just disappeared? Where is everyone?”

  Peron looked genuinely surprised at the question. “Yes, I know about the fishing village Admiral, but upon my word, for what little that may now be worth, I know nothing about the village you have spoken of. I am sorry I cannot assist you.”

  Courtenay thanked Peron and he was returned to his quarters. He did not wish to let the man know that no-one could have saved him because not even the spy in Bimara knew what he, Courtenay, was doing. He looked at the occupants of his cabin. “Very well, gentlemen, let us go and see Solomon and discover what he has to say.”

  What Solomon ‘The Wise One’ had to say caused Giles Courtenay to spend the most of the short voyage back to Balathia in deep thought, usually standing alone on the high poop of his flagship with James Fenwick looking at him from time to time with a concerned look on his tanned face. Even Alex Trafford was not welcome to share his Admiral’s solitude, which was odd itself, and Fenwick found himself glad he was not the Admiral and saddled with the responsibility of what to do next.

  H.M. frigate Matilda slowed to a stop as she approached the anchorage off the main town of Bimara. Her sails were taken in smartly and there was the usual hustle and bustle of a ship heaving-to and preparing to sway out her boats. Martin Stevens turned as Courtenay, followed by Wetherby, appeared on his quarterdeck and formally touched his hat. He noticed that his friend looked unusually serious and was clearly troubled. From what Courtenay had told him after signalling his ship to close on the flagship after it had returned from Mondiana, and the short trip up-river to the ‘capital’ he supposed he should not be at all surprised. At least Courtenay now knew who was behind everything and hopefully their presence would not be required for much longer.

  Trafford was supervising the lowering of the barge and cast an eye at the number of boats, all gaudily decorated, which were setting off from the river bank. Some other boats were also going into the water. He looked up at the quarterdeck, and saw Courtenay in conversation with the Captain. He turned his attention to a seaman who was in danger of losing control of a rope and took out his anger at not being able to help his master on the unfortunate man. “Looks what you are bloody well doin’ right? The Admiral ain’t goin’ to be too pleased if he sees his barge smashed to matchwood!” He instantly regretted it, but said nothing. The offending seaman dropped his head for a moment to hide the resentful look, but one of his mates nudged him and whispered to him.

  “Don’t take it to ‘eart Jakey boy. ‘Swain’s in a rare mood today. Never seen im like it since they came on board. Summat’s up, mark my words.”

  That something was up became apparent when a large detachment of Royal Marines started to form up on the gangway, obviously getting ready to go down into the boats. The flagship’s Major Berisford, was even there taking overall control. The man named Jakey and his friend looked at each other and raised eyebrows.

  Trafford’s voice broke them out of their thoughts. “Step lively there, for Gawd’s sake! We ain’t got all bloody day!”

  The barge and the other boats were in the water and soon full of men. Wetherby went down into the barge, where Trafford was already at the tiller, cap in hand, as Courtenay came through the entry port and down into it. At a nod from Courtenay, he barked his orders and the barge sidled away from the frigate’s side. “Give way, together!” Trafford ordered, and the men picked up the stroke. The colourful boats were left floundering, their crews not knowing quite what to do, but one by one, they started to return to the bank.

  The barge came alongside the jetty and Courtenay and Wetherby ran up to the top. Courtenay looked down. “Leave the barge with your second, Trafford, and come with us.”

  The other boats were also coming to the jetty and in just a few moments, the Marines were in their marching order. Courtenay, sweating in his dress uniform, strode along the jetty with Wetherby hurrying to keep up and Trafford easily matching his Admiral’s stride, left hand curled around the hilt of his cutlass. Major Berisford waited just a few moments, then ordered the Marines to follow. Each Royal Marine had the bayonet on his Brown Bess firmly fixed in place, and each musket was loaded.

  Minter was waiting at the top step outside the doors that gave access to the Palace, as was Marmaduke Spencer-White, who stepped forward with a petulant frown on his face the moment Courtenay reached the top step, and Captain Horrocks.

  “What the devil is this all about Courtenay? My God, if this is just to serve your ego, I will….”

  Wetherby stepped between them, his face very controlled. “I do not know how many times I have to tell you this, sir, but you address the Admiral as ‘My lord’ and I sincerely hope I never have to remind you of your insolence again, sir.” Spencer-White stepped back, his face livid.

  Courtenay barely noticed. “You will soon find out the reason I have summoned you all here Spencer-White.”

  The double doors opened and the King’s First Minister appeared, with a questioning look on his pleasant face. “Can I help you gentlemen? Am I right in assuming you wish an audience with His Majesty?”

  “Yes, you are. Would you please inform him that I have been able to get to the bottom of what has been happening and I have taken steps to ensure there will be no further trouble.” said Courtenay.”

  The man smiled broadly. “In that case Admiral, I am sure you will be most welcome! Please wait in the cool here and I will not keep you very long.”

  The wait was in fact very short, but when the Minister returned, he saw that all the Royal Marines were lined along the broad verandah that ran along the whole width of the building, and their officers had their swords drawn and were resting them on their shoulders. He looked at Courtenay, whose face was expressionless. “Please to follow me Admiral. His Majesty will be very pleased to see you.”

  They strode along the elegant hallway, and then were directed into a room
Courtenay had seen before and which was furnished in a western way, with comfortable armchairs. At a glance from Courtenay, Trafford took up position just outside the doors, left hand still on the hilt of his cutlass. The various servants going back and forth gave him some curious glances, and in fact made a wide detour if they had to go anywhere near him. He looked back to the main entrance and saw that Berisford had prevented the huge double doors being closed entirely and was standing in the imposing entrance, ramrod straight, and ignoring the concern that the occupants of the Palace were showing at this exhibition of British Naval might. What had not assisted insofar as that was concerned was the fact that the ship which had brought these men amongst them had opened gunports and they were looking at the barrels of the ship’s port battery as they were run out into the sunlight.

  King Khlafani rose from his chair and greeted Courtenay. “Ah, Admiral Courtenay. How very good to see you again and I understand you have some news for us? You have found the people who are behind these outrages!” He smiled at the others who filed into the room behind Courtenay. “Ah, our excellent Colonial Officer as well. Please, gentlemen, be seated. May I offer you some refreshment?”

  Courtenay shook his head. He had glanced around the room as he and the others entered and had found what he had looked for, but he wished to get on and do what he had to do without any interruptions.

  “You are of course aware, your Majesty, that the threat posed by the blue corvette, and Captain du Mason, has been removed, which just left the so-called Spanish frigate which was anchored in Mondiana’s waters, under a Captain Peron.” He paused and the King nodded, smiling. His Queen, Tabara, sat next to him and kept her face devoid of any expression. “I can now report that in fact, that threat has also been removed as the frigate is now under my command..”

  “I believe you said you had got to the bottom of it, Admiral?” the King said, now not smiling.

  “Yes, your Majesty, I have. As I have said, the Spanish ship, which for some time masqueraded as a ship of the Spanish Navy to secure a safe berth in Mondiana’s waters, is now a prize. When I was in Mondiana, I had a very interesting conversation with a certain Solomon, who is the King’s Foreign Minister.”

  “Yes, yes, Admiral, we know him. It was he who came here a short while ago to leave a message you were not welcome in Mondiana, so how did you come to meet with him?”

  “I, ah, neutralised the batteries they had at their disposal and used my flagship to persuade them to talk to me.”

  “I knew nothing of any proposed attack on our neighbours!” said the King angrily. “I should have been consulted!”

  “No, your Majesty, with respect, you should not have been. You requested my country’s assistance and protection. You have been given both, but there is a spy amongst us, and I did not wish any of my plans becoming known by those I have been fighting on your behalf.”

  “Please continue Admiral.” said the King tersely.

  “When I was speaking to Solomon, he told me that his country had nothing to do with the problems you have been experiencing, and this was confirmed by Captain Peron, who told me he received his orders from two people. He did not know their names, but he gave a good description of each person. One was African, the other a white man. He also introduced me to two people who were able to offer some very important information. Tell me, your Majesty, before your father became King of Balathia, his brother was the King, am I correct?”

  “Yes, you are. He was named Leopold. He died quite young, and there being no issue, my father became King. He also, most unfortunately, died quite young.”

  “Is it not true that your mother was previously married to Leopold?”

  “Yes, it is. It is not at all unusual for a brother to marry his sister-in-law if her husband dies and she is without any means of support.”

  “And, your Majesty, is it not true also that King Leopold and your mother had a child before he died?”

  “No, it is not! Where did you obtain such information from?”

  “Two people. However, that is your mother, is it not?” Courtenay pointed to a portrait hanging on the wall of the room.

  “Yes, it is, rest her soul.”

  “She is dead?”

  “Most unfortunately, yes she is. She died in a most unfortunate accident, but what has all this to do with your wild allegation that she had a child before me?”

  “I understand that there used to be a Missionary here, a Father David. He, I gather, is responsible for converting many of your people to Christianity and teaching a lot of them to speak English?”

  “Yes, he was a good man. He unfortunately died at the same time as my mother. It was a most tragic accident.”

  “Would it interest you to know they are not dead at all?” said Courtenay, his almost black eyes boring into Khalfani’s. He ignored the sharp intake of breath from everyone listening.

  “They are dead! I have said it is so, and it is!” thundered the King. Tabara held out a restraining arm and he sat back.

  “They are not. I met with both of them when I last saw Solomon. I have confirmed the lady I saw is the one in that portrait. Your mother, the person you tried to have killed, together with Father David!” He paused as he sensed Khalfani was going to say something else and held up a hand. “Before you deny that Abdallah is your half-brother, Father David was very punctilious about keeping records, as he did when he was a Parish Priest back in England, and he faithfully recorded Births, Deaths and Marriages as if he were still in that position. I have seen the records which show clearly Abdallah is the son of King Leopold, and he should be King. There are even some doubts over how his brother died so young, but that is unimportant at the present.”

  The King was on his feet, raging, ignoring his wife’s attempts to calm him. “How dare you come into my Palace in my Country, where I would remind you I am the King, and accuse me of this! I will have you arrested and….” He broke off as there was a commotion outside and the doors burst open with Major Berisford marching in, raising his sword to the salute for Courtenay and reporting.

  “Royal Marines present and correct sir!” The King looked through the open doors and saw the red-coated Marines with levelled muskets, ready for anything. He sat back down.

  “You see,” Courtenay continued, “I spoke to Father David and your mother for some time and they told me that you tried to have them both killed because they obviously knew that Abdallah, whom you have called your cousin, is in fact your elder half-brother, and he is the real King, just as he has always alleged, being the eldest son of King Leopold, and whom your mother had taken out of the country because she was concerned there might be attempts made by your father to dispose of him, to enable you to be the next King. You tried to have Father David and your mother killed to hide the truth about who the real King is. Unfortunately, you chose people whom you thought were loyal to you and would not say anything, but they were far more loyal to the Father and to your mother. They therefore faked the deaths.”

  “That is complete rubbish Admiral. If that is the case, who is carrying out these attacks on my country?”

  Courtenay looked him in the eye. “You are. You know that Abdallah is doing his best to try and raise a rebellion against you to take the throne for himself, since he is the real King, and you sought to rally your people to your cause by inflicting attacks on them. If they thought another Country was involved in trying to overthrow you, they would be far more likely to resist. When I spoke with Captain Peron, as you know, he gave me descriptions of two people he was dealing with. Mr Minter was with me at the time. He recognised one immediately.“ He turned to look at a slim tall man who had gone to stand near the doors. “It is your brother, Duma! He acted as your messenger, and he also had a willing person to aide him, someone who acted as a spy so that whatever I intended would be known by those I am against as soon as they could be told.” He paused and looked at the throng of people, most of whom had disbelieving looks on their faces. Duma stood with his face blan
k, giving nothing away. “Is that not true Captain Horrocks? You threw in your lot with the King to try and make your fortune. What did he promise you?”

  Horrocks made an immediate dash for the doors, but Trafford was there with a bared cutlass pointed at his throat. “I don’t think the Admiral has finished matey!”

  “It was obviously you that sent messages to Captains Peron and du Mason as to what my squadron was intending. You also had a hand in that effort to steal the diamond ore shipment. It was a good job that Commander Pountney acted in the manner he did. Captain Horrocks, you are under arrest. I intend to have you taken aboard the flagship and kept under guard until we return to Gibraltar, where I intend to lay charges of treason against you.”

  Horrocks paled beneath his tan. He dropped his head and said nothing as two Royal Marines took him by the arms and led him away. As they did so, he turned and looked at Khalfani. “Damn you, you greedy bastard! I will see you in hell for this!”

  Courtenay turned back to Khalfani, now slumped in his chair. His wife, Tabara, was in floods of tears, rocking back and forth with her head in her hands. “Those poor people that you had killed in the fishing village along the coast were murdered by you to further your cause of holding on to a power that was not really yours. And what about the village that ceased to exist, when all the people were taken away. Did you have them killed as well?”

  “No, they are safe. They are up-country with some of my loyal supporters. They have not been harmed.” Khalfani said in a low voice, looking at the floor.

  “Very well. You will send word, through a man who can be trusted, that they are to be released immediately.”

  “I am still the King! I, and I alone will decide whether to do that, and you do not know where they are, so you cannot do anything to release them yourself!” May I remind you, Admiral, that you have no legal powers in this country, and neither does Minter, nor that ineffectual so-called Colonial Officer Spencer-White. I will still decide what is to be done! I am still King and you will respect that!”