Hervey 11 - On His Majesty's Service (16 page)

‘Do you have any Russian, Colonel Hervey?’

‘I regret I do not, ma’am,’ he replied, puzzled that she should think he had, or that it might be useful – unless she referred to his coming mission, about which he must presume she knew.

‘Then your French will serve.’

She had evidently heard his exchanges with the
vicomtesse
; it made him warier still. ‘I trust so.’

‘And your German?’

He was not sure how to answer, his instinct being to reveal as little as possible to someone who might relay any and all to St Petersburg. ‘Does the Russian army use the language?’

‘There are officers whose first language is German, Colonel’ (as soon as she said it he recalled her own birth). ‘The Bavarian minister resident’s wife tells me you speak excellent German.’

He began wondering if his chance conversations with
die Bayerin
and the
vicomtesse
had been quite so by chance as he’d supposed. ‘I cannot deny it,’ he said, with a smile.

‘Then I think it may interest you to hear of what we ourselves have lately learned, that a Prussian officer has arrived in Constantinople – one Moltke, a lieutenant who though but a junior officer is especially well connected in Berlin.’

Hervey was largely indifferent to the intelligence itself (a Prussian observer with the Turk army, especially a lieutenant, seemed hardly more significant than an English officer with the Russians), but the vouchsafing of intelligence was always intriguing. For notwithstanding the action at Navarino, when squadrons from both countries had engaged the Turks side-by-side, Britain was neither an ally nor a co-belligerent with Russia in this war with the Ottomans (Lord Hill himself had made the position very plain). He was therefore at once both cautious and keen to understand the princess more. ‘Indeed, ma’am?’

But she, likewise, was intent yet on drawing him out. ‘We are most anxious to discover what this portends. It may well be, in the course of your duties, that you have opportunity to meet with this Moltke; indeed we would urge you to seek such an opportunity, and to report as you find as soon as may be.’

Hervey frowned just enough to convey that there was some misunderstanding. ‘Your Highness will know that it is on His Majesty’s service that I proceed, and no other.’

‘But of course, Colonel. That is perfectly understood, but our two countries share, do they not, the same endeavour in respect of the Turk? You know full well, I am sure, what passed at Navarino?’

Navarino – how the guns evidently echoed still. He must redouble his guard. She spoke English with such precision, and with so indeterminate an accent – not obviously Russian, a little German perhaps, and possibly some French (the experience of so many courts) – it would have been so easy to join her scheme. He took refuge in the Duke of Wellington’s turn of phrase: ‘Indeed, ma’am: the “untoward event”.’

He thought he detected the merest signal of distaste in the movement of her lips, but she was too practised to allow anything more definite. ‘Admiral Codrington did most noble service that day, Colonel.’

Even had she known that as a consequence of the action that day, his old friend Laughton Peto lay
invalide
in Norfolk this very moment, she could not have played him better. He knew it, and he struggled hard. ‘I understand the King sent him the ribbon of the Bath.’

‘But do not you yourself believe our cause to be just, Colonel Hervey? You would not, I think, favour the Turk over Christian people?’

He smiled again to attempt to disarm her. ‘I am but a soldier, ma’am. I cannot choose sides.’

‘But even as a “mere” soldier you may recognize …
comment dit
? – dispassionately, which has the nobler cause. Surely that is so?’

‘Without possession of all the facts, ma’am, which a soldier is unlikely to have, all he may do is conduct himself honourably, in accordance with the articles of war. And to observe how others conduct themselves.’

The princess nodded. ‘I perceive you will be fastidious in this, Colonel. I have no doubt that you will find our army bears itself with courage and honour in equal measure. Your Lord Bingham found it so.’

‘You have spoken with Lord Bingham?’

‘Yes, indeed – both before he went to the war and again when he came back. He was greatly impressed by all that he saw.’

This much seemed singular, for Hervey knew that not even Lord Hill had spoken with him, and his despatches, which he had lately read, were non-committal. ‘I am sure Lord Bingham spoke as he found,’ he replied graciously, wishing only to ask by what experience of these things did Bingham judge?

‘And that is all that I beg of you, Colonel Hervey, upon your return … though if there is anything that might be thought pressing, I hope you will not hesitate to write it to me.’

He thought he had the advantage. ‘What might be pressing?’

She realized that she had been, as it were, flushed from covert. There was the merest flicker of awkwardness (but Hervey saw) before she proceeded boldly. ‘What this Moltke does, and what might be thereby the Prussians’ intentions at Constantinople.’ And then, before he could make reply, her countenance regained its steel. ‘But I forget myself, Colonel: I did not say that I dined with Lady Katherine Greville last month, before she went to Ireland.’

He reeled, if not visibly (he hoped), then in his mind’s composure. Rats began scrambling in his stomach, and he had to summon every ounce of self-possession to keep the ‘mask’ in place.

‘You are acquainted, are you not?’

‘I am.’ It was all he could find to say, and the effort was prodigious. He awaited the
coup
.

‘General Greville – you served together, no?’

He felt sure his expression had betrayed him, yet this mention of Kat’s husband was an unexpected deflection. If she ‘knew’ they had served together, she surely knew they had
not
. Was she toying with him? Was she offering a line of withdrawal? He took a breath to fortify himself. ‘How was Lady Katherine? I have not seen her in the better part of a year.’

‘She was very well, though I thought it improvident that she should travel in her condition. And I told her so, for we are very close; we have known each other these many years.’

Hervey checked his instinct to say that Kat had never mentioned it. ‘She … That is, does General Greville accompany her?’

‘Oh, indeed, yes. For he is all excitement at the prospect of an heir. And so late come! Really it is very remarkable, is it not, Colonel?’

He hesitated for as long as he dared (certain now of her ruse). ‘A blessing indeed.’ And he cursed himself for the blasphemy.

The princess touched his shoulder again, ever so lightly. ‘Colonel, I lost my brother Constantin but a few months ago in the Dobrudscha. This war is very grievous to me. Your intelligence of it would greatly favour me. I should be ever in your debt.’

PART TWO

‘A VERY OBSCURE PORTION OF EUROPE’

The Spectator
, for the week ending 5 July 1828

THE THEATRE OF WAR IN TURKEY

The ignorance which prevails respecting the situation of the Russian army has been displayed in many of the speculations on its progress … The truth is, that the Danube debouches in a very obscure portion of Europe, and, except in the case of a contest, like the one commencing, there is very little reason why we should trouble our heads with its geography. Between 1805 and 1812, however, a most sanguinary struggle was maintained between these two ancient enemies on the same ground, so that it might have been supposed that some recollections had remained on men’s minds. The slowness of the progress of the Russian army, for instance, and that the Lower Moldavia, by which the Russians approach the Danube, is a perfect swamp. In 1736, Count Munich required no fewer than 90,000 waggons to conduct the supplies of an army that never exceeded 80,000 men – and the features of nature are not changed. It is now supposed that, because the Russians have passed the Danube, they have nothing to do but march to Constantinople. Russian armies, however, as vigorous and as resolute as this under the Emperor Nicholas, have done the same thing frequently enough, and been compelled to return. We will endeavour, in a brief compass, to explain the geographical position of the parties.

The Danube flowing to the east separates Bulgaria from the provinces of Wallachia and Moldavia – dependencies only of the Porte. Between the Danube and Constantinople lie this Bulgaria and a principal part of Roumelia. Bulgaria is an agricultural district, rich in soil, but thinly inhabited. The part of Roumelia, towards Constantinople, chiefly consists of downs: between these two provinces exists the great obstacle to the progress of the Russians. Roumelia is cut off from Bulgaria by the chain of mountains called the Balkan, which runs from the Black Sea to the Adriatic: over the lofty and precipitous ridges there are five passes – by either one of the two lying to the east the Russians will, in all probability, attempt to pass: these precipitous passes are, in length, about twenty-seven or thirty miles across, though, as the mountains push outworks, and form ridges a considerable distance before the most elevated points are arrived at, the roads difficult to pass, may be said to be ninety-six or a hundred miles across. The passes are such as a few troops could defend against any greater number: wretched bridges over ravines must constantly be passed; the paths are slippery, and it would be almost impracticable to convey artillery along the ledges of the precipitous sides of the mountains. Among the ridges which strike out from the main chain, lies the fortified town of Shumla, whence the two paths across the Balkan just mentioned, diverge. This town contains about sixty thousand inhabitants: its fortifications would be weak and contemptible in the eyes and in the hands of European troops, but are a very efficient defence when manned by Turks. They consist of earthen ramparts and brick walls. It is here that the Turks form their entrenched camps in their contests with Russia; and the Russians have always found it impregnable.

VIII

THE BLACK SEA HOST

Siseboli, on the Black Sea, 3 April 1829

‘Bastard!’

Private Johnson lay sprawled in a stinking pool, half-stunned and pride wounded.

The others rushed to his aid, Hervey leading.

‘Are you hit? There’s no blood.’

‘Ah don’t think so,’ Johnson gasped as they pulled him up. ‘Bastard thing. What wor it, sir?’

‘A rifle,’ said Hervey. ‘And a Turk with a damn fine eye – or the Devil’s luck. See, the ball struck your knapsack’ (the corner was holed). ‘Keep your head low. I want to find yonder marksman.’

He turned to clamber over fallen masonry to a half-demolished wall, pulling out his telescope from the holster slung over a shoulder. Fairbrother, Cornet Agar and Corporal Acton scrambled after him.

There was a billow of white smoke, a report – louder in the warm, still air – and a flutter, bat-like, as the ball passed close and then struck the wall of the house behind. And it had been less than a minute: a Turk adept with powder and ramrod – or were there
two
rifles?

‘Mark the time, Mr Agar. What would you say it was, Fairbrother – three furlongs?’