Flashman in the Peninsula (24 page)

Who can appease like her a lover's ghost?                                                       

Who can avenge so well a leader's fall?

What maid retrieve when man's flush'd hope is lost?

Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul,

Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall?

Chapter 17

With Agustina gone I settled down to finish the bread, olives and some spicy sausage left on the table, washing it down with a jug of good red wine. The great hound sat beside me and fixed me with a brown eyed stare, probably in the hope that I would give it some sausage. But I was hungry too, so all it got were the two rough end pieces of the meat, which it gulped down with barely a chew. After varying degrees of refreshment, man and dog sat and surveyed each other. He was a tall, lean brute, but despite what Byron had said, I thought there was a calm intelligence to him.

‘Viriatus,’ I said thoughtfully. The dog’s head twisted to one side slightly at the name and I will swear that he cocked a single shaggy eyebrow at me. Not another word was said, but I sensed without a shadow of doubt that we were in unison in thinking that Viriatus was a ridiculous name for a dog. He had been an army dog before and I wondered what his previous name had been. Soldiers were not that imaginative with dogs’ names and I had known several just called ‘dog’. There was another name popular at the time, partly because it was an abbreviation for Bonaparte and partly because it related to a dog’s favourite food. Looking at this animal, whose haunches and even some ribs were visible through its skin, it seemed particularly appropriate. ‘Boney,’ I tried, and was rewarded with a wag of his tail and the opening of his mouth to reveal a smiling crescent of sharp white teeth.

A short while later, Boney and I were exploring the narrow streets of Seville’s Jewish Quarter in search of lodgings. Despite the name, there were few Jews in residence as most had been expelled or forced to officially renounce their religion during the Middle Ages. Several doors had already been slammed in our faces when we found the gateway to a courtyard of a large guest house. The stout surly woman who managed the establishment was another to refuse my request. The city was already packed with soldiers and politicians, she told me. But this time, before she had a chance to slam the gate shut, Boney sprang forward, wrenching the rope attached to his collar out of my hand.

‘Hey, what is going on,’ shouted the woman, she fell back against her gate to avoid the charging animal, who gave a short bark of excitement. The swinging gate revealed a filthy stable yard with a pair of mules tied under an awning in one corner and a cart and some bales of hay in another. Two large rats could be seen between some barrels in the middle of the courtyard, and too late they noticed the grey shape leaping towards them. There was a squeak of alarm that was truncated by the audible snap of jaws. Boney, dropping the first rat, reached the second with a single bound. He snatched it up, shaking it to break its neck. Then with a sickening crunching noise he seemed to swallow it in two gulps before turning to find his first victim.

‘Bravo,’ shouted the woman in appreciation before turning back to me. ‘
Señor,
your dog, he can stay.’ She paused, looking me up and down and appraising what she could charge before adding, ‘And you too perhaps.’ She eventually found me a room on the top floor of the house. It was comfortable apart from the summer heat, but everywhere was hot in southern Spain in July; well almost everywhere. I did not have to share with Boney as I found him residing with the owner in a much cooler parlour on the ground floor. It was poorly lit with shutters keeping out the sun while allowing a breeze, but I could clearly see the dog stretched out across the cold stone flags that made up the floor. He had a pail of water set for him at one side and the woman cooing over him and feeding him bits of stale bread. The damned creature even noticed me looking in through the door and its mouth lolled open into one of its canine grins.

That evening, after persuading my landlady to leave my dog alone long enough to press some clothes, I finally presented myself at the door of the small convent opposite the cathedral. It was a small miserable place that looked more like a private house, but they still took over a minute to answer my knocking. When the door finally opened, there was the priest I had seen before, with a look smug satisfaction on his face.

‘The lady has been prepared for you,’ he intoned pompously. ‘And while I believe that a British gentlemen would only behave with the
utmost
honour and integrity,’ he managed to say this in a way that implied he actually believed the exact opposite, ‘duty requires me to protect the lady’s honour with all the resources at my disposal. Brothers Joseph and Antonio will therefore escort you throughout the evening.’ He gestured at a middle aged monk and a younger novice who had appeared at his shoulder. He paused at this point, looking at me as though he could guess my intentions. Well, he was bang on the money so far, I had little honour or integrity but if he thought he was entrusting an innocent lamb to a wolf, well he was wrong there. For I knew rather more about women than him and Agustina was no lamb. Quite what she was at that moment though was hard to tell, for when the priest and monks stood back a figure dressed entirely in black emerged. If you imagine a nun in mourning with a black veil over her head then you pretty much have the picture. Only the medal still hanging around her neck gave any flash of colour. I had been expecting this and had prepared for it, but I did not want the priest to know that, and so I reacted indignantly.

‘Good God man,’ I exclaimed. ‘That veil is so thick there could be another of your damned monks hiding in that costume and I am not taking one of them to a ball.’ Agustina reached down for the hem of the heavy lace veil, and ignoring a shout from the priest to leave it alone, she pulled the front up over her head.

‘I am sorry
señor
, they forced me to wear this and even held me down while they sewed the veil into my hair.’ Her eyes were red and she looked sad and forlorn. If I had harboured any doubts about the arrangements I had put in place they melted at that moment. ‘You do not have to take me to the ball dressed like this.’

The priest gave a smile of triumph, but it was short lived as I reached for Agustina’s arm to guide her through the convent door. ‘Nonsense, I would still be delighted to take you to the ball,’ then in a lower voice that only Agustina could hear I added, ‘don’t worry, everything is in hand.’ As we reached the square instead of turning left towards the palace we turned right, and then into a street lined with cafes and shops, near the place we had first met. We walked briskly and I glanced over my shoulder to see the two monks hurrying to catch us up. They were still several yards behind us when we turned again to enter a small discreet establishment. Most businesses were closed with many of Seville’s tradespeople attending the celebrations themselves, but the door to the dressmaker’s shop opened instantly to my knock.

‘Hello, dear,’ the portly shop mistress greeted Agustina, ‘It is an honour to have you in my humble establishment. Come along, we will soon have you sorted out.’ She was interrupted as the two monks burst in behind her. ‘Ooh monks,’ she said gleefully, before giving me a broad wink. ‘We don’t get your sort in very often. Lucia, could you attend to these gentlemen?’

From behind a screen stepped a well painted professional woman with a predatory smile. But it was not her face that you noticed first, for she was wearing nothing but a very low cut scarlet silk bodice and the shortest of petticoats. She had a body that could have brought a regiment to a halt in that outfit and to use her on two monks seemed almost cruel. They stood frozen in eye bulging, slack jawed astonishment as she slowly walked forwards giving them plenty of time to take in the view.

‘Hello boys, is there anything I can do for you?’ she asked, cocking a suggestive eyebrow. By Christ she was a comely piece and I realised that Agustina had disappeared with the owner out to the back of the shop without me even noticing. The younger monk seemed transfixed while the front of his robes showed that with one significant exception he was frozen with lust. The older one licked his lips as he surveyed the bounty before him. I was clearly not the only one to be considering the possibilities. The whore, for that was undoubtedly what she was, reached forward and grabbed the tent pole that had appeared underneath the young monk’s cassock. ‘Do you want me to help you with that?’ she asked, laughing. The touch seemed to break the spell and with a shriek the young monk leapt back as though her hand had burned him through the rough cloth. Muttering a garbled prayer in Latin he flung himself out of the door. With a last reluctant look, his colleague followed. The woman laughed and shut the door behind them. As she turned around she noticed the effect that her appearance had had on me and giggled. ‘Don’t worry
señor
,’ she whispered, nodding to the back where Agustina had gone. ‘From what I hear she is very good at firing off big guns.’ The scarlet temptress disappeared into the back with the other women while I was left to wander around the front of the shop alone.

I had found the dressmaker that afternoon on the way from the café where I had met Agustina to find some lodgings. It had been obvious from the priest’s reluctant agreement to allow Agustina to attend the ball that he would do what he could to ruin the evening. I had been sure he would find her the dowdiest dress. I had not anticipated the nun’s habit though and I had been expecting priest to come himself as escort. When I had looked in Byron’s purse I had found even more money than I had guessed at from the weight and I was curious about the girl. Even in the loose black gown there had been a lithe body evident and she had a pretty face when not scowling. She undoubtedly had courage and spirit and I wanted us both to enjoy the ball. So when I saw the dressmaker sitting outside her shop making delicate stitches through a blue silk gown in the bright sunlight, I decided to make some preparations. Most of the seamstress’ clients were the better off courtesans of the city who had little love for the church. Everyone had heard the story of the Maid of Zaragoza and the woman had seen Agustina several times so was able to guess her size. She made clothes to order but had several overdue for payment that she could offer. It would do her business no harm for the Maid to be seen in one of her creations, although the amount she charged seemed eye-wateringly steep to someone who had never bought a gown before.

A very long hour later the amount paid was worth every penny. Agustina stepped out from behind the curtain at the back of the shop and looked stunning. The scarlet assistant, now properly dressed, was still fussing with Agustina’s hair, now artfully piled on top of her head, while the dressmaker was beaming with delight. I had paid for a red satin gown but Agustina was wearing the pale blue silk dress I had seen being made that morning. ‘This one looked better,’ the dressmaker explained. Agustina herself appeared as though she was still in a state of shock from seeing herself in the mirror. She walked hesitantly towards me, clearly unfamiliar with the size of gown that now surrounded her legs. When she reached me she grabbed my arm tightly and whispered her thanks as though at that moment she could say no more.

We walked back through the square to the palace. The monks were nowhere to be seen but the smartly dressed British officer and radiant beauty on his arm gathered envious glances from nearly all we met. Agustina was barely recognisable from the modestly dressed woman the priest had paraded in the town that morning, although she had kept her medal, which now dangled below a generous glimpse of cleavage. It was at the entrance to the palace that we found the cleric and two chastened monks awaiting our arrival. Even then we were almost up to them before the priest recognised us. His draw dropped briefly in astonishment at the transformation in Agustina, while the lustful look she was given by the two monks should have cost them a month of Hail Mary’s at their next confessions. I gave the priest no opportunity to intercept us and pressed on through the gate, waving the invitation card to one of the flunkeys.

The party was in full flow when we arrived, and there seemed a sense of urgency to the celebrations as though more than a few people knew that while we were rejoicing a victory, more bad news was in the offing. The palace itself dated back to the Moorish rulers of Spain, with exquisitely tiled rooms and courtyards with fountains.

‘It is beautiful,’ breathed Agustina enthusiastically

‘Haven’t you been here before?’ I asked. ‘I would have thought the Maid of Zaragoza would have been a guest of honour.’

‘Oh, I was paraded before the Central Junta and given my medal, but then the priests claimed that my husband had placed me in their care. They did not want me talking to anyone and word getting out that I have been with a lover in Zaragoza and not my husband. So I was hustled away again.’

‘Have you spoken to your husband? Is he angry about the death of his son?’

‘Oh, he was not the father of the child, something else the church would not want you to know. I was wild as a girl,’ she smiled and added, ‘I still am if I can get away from those wretched clerics. My parents were poor and I was pretty. I soon learned that I could earn money at the gates of the local barracks.’

‘I see,’ I said, realising that there was much more to Agustina than I had first thought.

‘Like hundreds of girls before me I found I was with child, so had to find myself a husband. His name is Juan, he knew I was pregnant but he did not mind. He wanted a pretty wife but there was no affection, he treated me like his personal whore. I was sixteen then and I stayed with him while the child was a baby, but he used to beat me and … and,’ she paused before adding in almost a whisper, ‘make me do things that I did not want to do.’