Hervey 06 - Rumours Of War (21 page)

The general nodded. ‘I have. But since the war it has never been at more than half-strength. And half of those are on winter furlough.’

Hervey sat down opposite him.

The general brightened. Elvas had not fallen to Masséna when the French invaded for the second time, in 1810, when he had been but a captain of infantry. ‘The walls are strong. If the defenders are true then we might hold yet. But there must be active steps for our relief.’

Hervey could have no certain idea if the general’s sudden faith were sound or not, but unless the commander of the fortress himself was assured then there could be no resistance to speak of.

‘I have sent the captain of the guard to discover what is the musketry,’ said General d’Olivenza, brightening further.

‘That is capital, General,’ Hervey replied, hoping to sound convincing.

The general rose and made to fasten on his swordbelt. ‘Come, Major Hervey; I will show you the citadel. The guard is stood-to.’

That was a start, thought Hervey, but he need not see it now. ‘Sir, might I first see what the rebels look like?’

The general looked puzzled. ‘There’s another hour to sunrise, Major Hervey.’

‘Indeed, sir. What I meant was that I should like to see for myself what is this firing. Do I have your leave?’

The general looked no less puzzled, but was inclined to think that Hervey knew his business. ‘Of course, of course.’ Then he seemed to have second thoughts. ‘But I will not have you go without an escort. See you, take a dozen
atiradores.
’

‘Do you have a half-dozen cavalry instead, sir?’

‘What is here in the garrison is out on patrol already. The nearest are at Vila Vicosa, three leagues south-west.’

Hervey remembered Vila Vicosa well enough. He did not suppose the road was any better now than it had been then. ‘Thank you, General. I imagine we will be very well served by your
tiraadores.’
He braced. ‘With your leave?’

The general called his adjutant and gave instructions for the escort. ‘I will walk the citadel then, Major Hervey; before dawn – the first time in years. I believe I am the better already just for imagining it.’

Hervey smiled politely. He was pleased for the general’s re-animation, but despairing that it had taken his own observations with the magnifying glass to prompt it.

‘
Tiradores,
sir?’ asked Corporal Wainwright as they waited in the courtyard.

‘Johnson, you remember?’ Hervey took his reins back and checked the girth. They would lead the horses again, but he might have to mount in an instant.

‘Riflemen,’ said Johnson. ‘Like us ones.’

‘Good riflemen, too,’ added Hervey.

As he spoke, a dozen brown-clad figures came doubling towards them, their shadows large on the walls. They fell into line without a word of command, sloping their Baker rifles just like the Sixtieth or the Rifle Brigade – Shorncliffe-fashion.

‘See, black buttons and plumes and all,’ said Hervey, glancing at Isabella to see if she understood. Indeed, it was only the brown
zaragoza
cloth that would have distinguished them from Major Cope’s men at that moment, reckoned Hervey. That and the figure 1 on the shako: the
atiradores
company of the 1st Regiment of Caçadores; the best of the best.

And then he had second thoughts. ‘Senhora, I think, if you will, it is better that you remain here now. I believe we shall be able to make ourselves understood.’

The
atiradores
’ serjeant stepped forward one pace to report his men present.

Hervey thought he had better observe the formalities. He dropped his reins and advanced to the middle of the courtyard.

The serjeant slapped the butt of his rifle with his right hand. Hervey returned the salute. Then followed a declaration he imagined was incapable of translation.

Isabella was more than a match, however. ‘The company of
atiradores
is ready and at your command, sir.’

‘Thank you,’ he replied, a little awkwardly. ‘Please tell the serjeant I am marching towards the sound of the musketry and would be obliged if he would follow.’

Isabella conveyed the request and the serjeant’s ready assent, though the latter was obvious enough.

But Hervey was still of a mind that Isabella should remain within the citadel. He turned to her, saluting. ‘Thank you again, senhora. I am much obliged to you. Let us say goodbye, then, until later.’

Isabella spoke firmly. ‘Major Hervey, you will surely need me more once you are outside the castle. My father would wish that I stayed with you.’

Hervey nodded. ‘Your help would be inestimable, senhora, but the situation is too perilous. Besides, there is a universal language between soldiers in the face of the enemy.’

Isabella was affronted. ‘I do not doubt it, Major Hervey! But there will be more to this than barking orders, I would imagine?’

Hervey reeled with the vehemence. It was like being assailed by Elizabeth and Henrietta at the same time. He said nothing.

There was a sudden increase in the musketry, but no nearer than an hour ago. He reckoned the picket must be putting up a strong fight.

‘Shall I take point, sir?’

‘Thank you, Corporal Wainwright, yes. Along with the
atiradores
’ serjeant here. We’ll leave the horses.’ He beckoned the serjeant forward.

‘To the sound of the fire, sir?’

‘Yes, I think so. We had better try to join the picket from behind, though, to avoid any mishap.’

Wainwright handed him the torch, drew his pistol and led off with the serjeant, followed by six
atiradores,
then Hervey and Isabella at a dozen yards, Johnson covering, and then the remaining riflemen.

There was shouting ahead – Hervey couldn’t catch what – then cries, the unmistakable sound of a fight with steel and clubbed rifles. He drew his sabre and cocked a pistol, waiting for the
atiradores
to fall back.

It was all done in less than a minute. Wainwright came doubling back, breathless. ‘We ran into some of the rebels, sir. Supposed to be sentries, I reckon, but no challenge or anything. Napping most like.’

‘Have you any prisoners?’

‘One, sir, but he’s in a bad way.’

That was a pity. ‘Very well, we’d better go carefully. And by another way.’

But in five minutes more they were challenged again. ‘
Quern va lá?
’

Wainwright and the serjeant edged forward.

Hervey looked back to Johnson: he had put down the torch and was standing at the ready with his carbine. Either side of him stood
atiradores,
rifles at the ready too – a model patrol.

In another minute Wainwright and the serjeant came back with a man in a cloak and forage cap.

‘The watch?’ whispered Hervey.

‘I think so, yes,’ said Isabella.

Hervey nodded to Johnson behind, just to be safe.

Johnson came forward a little, and to a flank so as to have a clear shot if the man proved false.

The serjeant saluted. ‘
Senhor major
. . .’

Isabella translated as he spoke. ‘He says this man is the foreman of the town watch. They are in a house round the corner. They have a good view of where the shooting is coming from.’

‘Ask the foreman how many men they can see, and what they do.’

Isabella pressed the foreman on several particulars. ‘He says twenty, perhaps thirty. All they do is fire in the air from the place in front of the church of the Virgin.’

‘In the air?’

‘I asked him twice, and he said they just fire in the air. They have been there half an hour and more.’

‘Are they drunk? Why does he not arrest them?’

Isabella put it to the man.

‘
Não, senhor
. . .’

‘The watch has only six men there. The master of the watch has gone with the picket-lieutenant to the west gate in case more should try to join those in the square.’

Hervey was puzzled. A couple of dozen riotous soldiers, and very likely drunk: a serjeant-major and a resolute quarter-guard would be all that was needed to disarm them. But whatever their game, twenty riotous men with muskets could do mischief enough. ‘I’d like to look for myself. Will the foreman take me?’

‘
Sim, sim, senhor.
’

Hervey turned to Johnson again. ‘Come up with the
tiradores
to the corner yonder.’ He nodded to where the foreman had come from. ‘I’ll go on with Corporal Wainwright and the serjeant.’

He might have added ‘and the senhora’, for Isabella stuck close.

It was still very black, though Hervey reckoned that dawn could not be more than an hour away. They edged round a corner until they were in a little courtyard, and then inside a house by the rear door, a good-size house. Candles burned in wall sconces, the windows shuttered, but there was no sign of the regular occupants. The foreman went up the stairs. Hervey hesitated, but it was too late now; and he had his pistol.

There was another fusillade – not a volley but a roll of musketry, or pistols perhaps. He reckoned twenty, give or take; and from the front of the house.

He half stumbled to the top of the stairs, his eyes not yet accustomed to the light. He glanced back just the once to see Isabella safe. Then he was in a long gallery of sorts, dark, with the shutters of a window open, so that he could see the stars.

‘
Senhor!’
The whisper was insistent.

He moved to the window.

‘
Olha, senhor!
’

He could see very well. There were two braziers in the plaza, both burning bright. Around each stood a dozen men, in uniform of sorts, perhaps in shakos, even, loading muskets in a leisurely manner. Hervey winced: it was unmilitary
and
hazardous, no matter how little powder they carried, cold morning or not.

He stepped back from the window. What real threat did these men pose? They were scarcely hostile. It looked like a business for the provost men. And yet there had been a picket in the road leading to the square. Why would an undisciplined rabble of soldiers post a lookout, and then make noise enough to rouse the whole garrison? It might just be the confusion of soldiers no longer under discipline. But that was an easy answer.
Whose
soldiers? Had no one at the citadel any knowledge of men absent from their quarters?

He looked at his watch. Almost six – it would indeed be getting light soon. If he wanted to slip away it were better done now.

‘Isabella.’

‘Yes?’ she whispered back.

‘Do you think the
tiradores
would open fire if I told them?’

‘Do you mean would they be afraid?’

‘No. I mean . . . These are their countrymen after all.’

‘I do not know. That is the question, is it not?’

She put it plainly. It was the question the Horse Guards, and Mr Canning himself, ought to ask.

‘Very well. Please tell the serjeant that I shall want him to dispose his men to rake the plaza.’

‘Rake?’

‘To fire along its length.’

Isabella translated his instructions.

The serjeant answered simply: ‘
Sim, senhor major.
’

He sounded sure and capable. Hervey was encouraged. ‘
Buono, serjente,’
he tried. ‘When it is a little lighter.’

Isabella, interpretress, obliged again.

And then they waited.

A quarter of an hour passed without anyone speaking. There were two more fusillades, and every so often a single shot. Hervey looked at his watch, and then went back to the window. The sky was lightening. ‘
Vamos embora, serjente!
’

Outside, while the serjeant spoke to his men, Hervey sent Wainwright to tell Johnson what was happening. The
atiradores
were standing exactly as posted. Hervey smiled grimly; he could not have expected better from British riflemen. Perhaps not even as much, for it was perishing cold.

Isabella touched his arm. ‘Major Hervey?’

‘Senhora, I think it better if you go back inside.’

‘You will have no need to speak to the serjeant any more?’

Hervey hesitated. ‘You would risk yourself?’

Isabella smiled, though Hervey could not see it. ‘Someone must.’

Indeed. He was only surprised it should come to this – an Englishman, a widow and a dozen Portuguese sharpshooters in the same British slop-clothes of nearly two decades past. After all that had gone between then and now, he was back in the country he had started in. And, like the Peninsular cornet again, he was casting about in the dark with a handful of men and doubts about who and where was the enemy.

He smiled to himself. ‘The watchmen that went about the city found me, they smote me, they wounded me.’

‘I did not hear rightly, Major Hervey.’

She had not been meant to hear at all.

‘The Song of Solomon,’ he whispered. And he sighed inwardly: how
well
he had known his Scripture all those years past. But he didn’t suppose Isabella read her bible in English. Little did he these days.

He braced himself. ‘
Pronto, serjente?
’

‘
Sim, senhor.
’

Hervey glanced at each of the
atiradores.
As far as he could make out they did indeed look ready. But he could not know how willing.

Corporal Wainwright slipped silently to his side, sabre drawn, pistol in hand.

Hervey was especially glad of it. ‘And Abraham stretched forth his hand, and took the knife to slay his son.’

Isabella did not hear him this time, for he barely whispered it. Would she have understood if she had done so? He would now put the loyalty of General d’Olivenza’s men to the test. There would be time at length to speak of it.

‘Senhora, would you tell the serjeant I would have five rounds, at my command, fired above the heads of the rebels – or revellers, if that is the more apt name. I want to see what is the response.’

‘Do you want me to tell him that too?’

He thought for a moment. ‘No; just tell him five rounds above their heads. But at my command.’

Again she obliged.