Beat the Drums Slowly (20 page)

He closed the door and went back to his pacing. Then he thought that he ought to pray and knelt down. For a while the thoughts came in words, until these faltered and there were just unexpressed emotional pleas. The sun rose higher in a patch of blue sky that looked as if it would soon be swallowed again in dark cloud. He went back to pacing.

The cry was distinctive, unlike any of the noises of the past hours, and wonderfully pure. Williams went to the door cautiously, opening it like a naughty boy expecting to be scolded again, but unable to resist the lure. This time there was no angry shout. Jane was wrapping something small and reddish pink in a piece of clean linen from Jenny’s baggage. The mother lay back exhausted, as her son bellowed heartily.

‘Noisy little bugger,’ she said before sleep took her. Miss MacAndrews looked exhausted, and lost in blissful wonder as she rocked the child gently and calmed him. Williams thought that he had never seen her looking more truly beautiful.

‘Take him,’ she whispered. ‘I have things to do.’ He did not resist for this was still a place where authorities other than those of the army prevailed.

The boy was tiny and snub nosed, and far lighter than Williams could have believed possible. At first he was afraid that it was so delicate that it must break under his touch. One hand had come loose of the wrapping, and as he lifted it back beneath the little blanket he could not resist touching each minute finger.

Jane looked up to see the officer walking slowly around the room, gently rocking the child in his arms. Williams’ face was split into a grin so broad that it could almost have come from some printed cartoon.

The girl was drawn by instinct to children – indeed, almost any children at any time. She could never resist any baby, even if the last few hours had most certainly not altered her desire to wait some years before having any of her own. Reason told her that Jenny had had an easy time of it. Her senses screamed out that it was still painful and dangerous, and if truth be told part of her was terrified of the risks involved. Yet she was pleased to see Williams so taken by the infant, for it spoke of a natural kindness. He might make a good father, and indeed a good husband, if not necessarily for her. That assumed that he was equally capable of more practical assistance than simply cooing at a baby.

‘Mr Williams,’ she announced, ‘it is clear that we cannot move today. We need food – Mrs Hanks especially needs to regain her strength. We shall also need fuel for the fire. I will not let either her or the little one go cold. Most of all we need milk for the baby. I understand that it is often some time before the mother provides enough.’

Williams was startled from his reverie. The boy had begun to suck his index finger and that in itself seemed such a truly remarkable and delightful sensation, even though it confirmed Miss MacAndrews’ judgement.

‘Well?’ she said.

‘Of course, I shall go at once, but …’ He lifted the boy slightly; the infant began to cry.

‘Let me take him.’ Jane sighed happily. ‘He can rest beside his mother soon.’ She took the little bundle and almost instantly the crying stopped. Williams stood beaming at them both. Miss MacAndrews gave him an arch look.

‘Of course, of course, I am going.’

‘Do not take too long,’ she said, as the child began to search for a source of sustenance on her.

Jenny had been woken by the crying. As Williams left, Jane carried the boy over to his mother.

‘How do you feel?’ she asked.

‘Split in two,’ came the blunt response.

‘Would you like to hold him for a while?’

‘I’ve been carrying him for months.’ Jenny’s voice was weary and hard edged. ‘Someone else can do it for a bit.’

Jane wondered whether mothers often took a while to develop affection for their infants. In truth she was more than content to clutch the tiny life to her. Going to the fire, she one-handedly collected a bowl of stew she had prepared with almost their last provisions. She took it over. ‘Have something to eat.’

They said little while Williams was away, mainly because the mother had small inclination to discuss her offspring, while Miss MacAndrews could think of little else.

‘You should marry him.’ Jenny had insisted on getting to her feet and walking haltingly up and down the room. It seemed unwise, but she was determined and less inclined to follow orders than Williams. Jane was still surprised at her sudden pronouncement. She did not reply.

‘He’s good and kind.’

‘Was your husband not those things, Mrs Hanks?’ Jane was stirred to directness of her own.

‘Oh, in his way, he was kind enough. There are worse men. Dad chose him to try and keep me in his world, just like him and Ma, following the drum and never dreaming.’

‘Is that so very bad?’

‘Well, look what happened to her.’

‘And yet you would have me marry a soldier, who however good and kind may well get killed one day.’

‘You wouldn’t be here unless you was going to wed an old sodjer. Father or not, you’d be off sitting in fine houses and drinking tea. “Good day to you, squire, will you favour me with the next dance, and try not to stare at my …” ’

‘Jenny!’ The baby burst into tears as Jane shouted to interrupt the flow. Her pride at not being easily shocked continued to be eroded by Mrs Hanks’ directness. Yet there was something bizarrely fascinating about her image of polite society. She did her best to calm the child.

‘I do hope Mr Williams returns soon. The boy is very hungry.’

‘Typical man, never will wait for anything.’

‘Poor boy, never to meet his father.’ Jane once again endeavoured to change the subject. Part of her wanted the widowed mother to show more natural feelings, even at the cost of upsetting her.

Jenny put her head on one side. ‘Well, he may, one day.’ She laughed at the surprise. ‘You don’t think it was Hanks, do you? No, this little lad’s da is a fine gentleman. Drunk off his head at the time, but I owed him a favour.’

Somehow the revelation was less shocking than perhaps it ought to have been. Jane had now spent days in Jenny’s company, and they had talked longer and more freely than might ever have occurred in more normal circumstances. Apart from that, she had overheard a few conversations among the officers which hinted at such things.

To her relief, Williams came in at the perfect moment to permit them to drop the subject. He had ridden in search of an occupied farm or village. The first one he found was empty, and although there were two skinny cows and a calf in a byre he had decided to keep this as an ultimate reserve, in case he did no better elsewhere. Riding on, he had come to a cluster of five or six houses. There was no sign of any men, but women came to the doors. With some difficulty, he established himself as English, in need of food. With considerably more effort, involving a prolonged mime, which produced only laughter and confusion, followed by pointing at a baby in the arms of one of the women, which provoked a fear of kidnap, he was finally able to explain that there was also a child to be fed. The people were poor. They were also extremely generous. He suspected that had they been less distant he would have been followed back by half a dozen womenfolk trailing their own offspring in their eagerness to fuss over another.

Apart from bread, vegetables, some smoked ham and a few eggs, all in a basket, he brought a jug of goat’s milk, which he had carried gingerly as he rode on Bobbie’s back. There were also some old but carefully cleaned clothes for the child. One of Jane’s gloves, placed in steaming water for some time and then pierced at the end of the finger, formed a makeshift teat. It worked surprisingly well, and the boy was soon sucking away with every sign of satisfaction.

‘Have you decided upon a name, Mrs Hanks?’ Jane felt this was a better topic for conversation, as well as an important step for the mother to take. ‘Perhaps after his father,’ she added automatically, before realising how inappropriate this was.

‘Well, I did wonder about Billy,’ said Jenny mischievously.

Williams, who knew from the roster that Hanks’ name was Thomas, was puzzled. He also knew that neither Redman nor Hatch was called William.

‘Then I thought that Mr Williams here has been so good to us, perhaps I would ask if he would mind me naming the lad after him.’

‘That is most generous,’ agreed Jane.

‘But I can’t call him mister, can I?’ They both looked at Williams, who refused to catch their eyes.

‘I confess that I do not know your Christian name, Mr Williams,’ said Miss MacAndrews. ‘Pray tell us what it is?’

The moment could no longer be avoided, try as he might.

‘Hamish,’ he said softly.

There was silence, and then Jenny roared with laughter. ‘You poor sod,’ she said.

Williams stared apologetically at Miss MacAndrews. ‘In every other respect my parents demonstrated the fullest affection towards me.’ His smile was thin. ‘My mother is very proud of being a Campbell.’

‘Now Campbell could be a good name,’ Jenny mused.

Sensitive over such issues, Williams decided to protect the child’s interests before any damage was done. ‘Perhaps it would be fitting to name him after your father?’

‘He would like that.’ Jenny decided. ‘Fine, Jake it is.’ It seemed to end her interest in the boy, at least for the moment. Oddly, hearing it aloud made Williams realise that he had never once heard anyone call Dobson either Jacob or indeed Jake.

‘Jacob Hanks,’ he said aloud.

‘If you like,’ replied the boy’s mother.

Williams was unconcerned enough not to insist on standing guard. He had seen no sign of the French when he rode out earlier in the day. They ate well, and after a few serious spells of crying, the baby became calmer and slept at last. It was early, but they were all exhausted in their way. Jane was twice woken when little Jacob stirred, and heard the child’s mother hushing him back to peace before she dropped off to sleep again. Williams slept heavily, oblivious to even these small noises.

Jane woke first, and when she had waited and was sure, she stole over to Williams and looked for a long while at the baby resting beside him. Gently at first but, when this seemed to achieve nothing, somewhat more forcibly, she shook the man’s arm to wake him.

‘Mrs Hanks has gone,’ she whispered as soon as she saw sense come into his eyes. Little Jake began to cry.

I
t was a strange procession. The man led, walking ahead of a scrawny, one-eyed horse on which the woman with a baby was perched. The man wore a red coat, although it did not fit him very well, and it had brass shoulder wings, one of which was badly mangled. This suggested that he was an officer, and if the strange misshapen hat appeared to contradict this, then he certainly wore a sword like an officer. The red jacket suggested an Englishman. It also seemed unlikely that the leading French patrols would have a mother and child in tow.

‘I keep looking around for the kings,’ joked the Spanish captain to his lieutenant.

‘We’re a few days early,’ responded the junior officer automatically. ‘And I reckon we’ll see an emperor first.’

‘Yes. And not bringing any gifts we’d care for.’ They were the rearguard of the Army of Galicia, and General La Romana had left this brigade to hold the bridge at Mansilla. The captain knew a hopeless task when he saw one. He commanded the remnants of a regiment which now numbered scarcely two hundred men combined into a single battalion. Barely half wore the white coats with green front and facings, still less the cocked hats and red plumes in which the full regiment had paraded at the start of the year. The uniforms were threadbare and patched, but at least recognisable. The remainder of his men still wore the remnants of their civilian clothes, with just a red rag tied around their left arm to mark them as soldiers. All of his men had muskets, and that was something in this army these days, but the flints were poor and none of them had more than twenty rounds in their pouches. This was the second day when they had had no food apart from the little they could dig up. They had had no hot food for a week.

Both officers had been among the men rescued by the Royal Navy from Denmark. The captain had also lost a brother at Trafalgar, but preferred to remember the more recent friendliness of the English, and his far deeper loathing for the French. He and his men waited, and did their duty. The old soldiers among them must have known as he did that they could not withstand any serious French attack.

The sentry challenged them, prompting the redcoat to call out ‘
Amigos!
’ in such an atrocious accent that it farther convinced the captain that this strange couple must be English. He waved at the soldier to bring them over. A few words of English learned on the voyage from Denmark, combined with even fewer words of Spanish from the new arrivals, were enough to confirm that this was an English officer cut off from his own army and seeking to rejoin them. The captain assumed the young woman was the man’s wife and could not help envying him. To see such a gloriously beautiful girl on so grey and hopeless a day was an unlooked-for and precious joy. His own wife was in Saragossa, and he did not know whether she had survived the siege of the city earlier in the year. Yet when he watched his lieutenant lead the couple away towards the bridge he envied the man even more the freedom to leave.