Authors: Simon Scarrow
THE GENERALS (13 page)
‘Look here, there is an order to these things. Patronage is a well-tried system. Without it we might as well give up the fight and embrace the principles of the revolution in France. And we’ve seen where that leads. Chaos and tyranny. Patronage works. When the needs of patronage have been satisfied then we can appoint people on merit. That usually comes with experience, young Wesley, and at the moment that is what you lack. I have heard fine things about you from various sources, particularly concerning your aptitude for military command. However, in the sphere of politics and office-holding you are something of an ingénu, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘It is true that I lack experience,’ Arthur conceded.‘But as you say, I show promise and I am very keen to learn. In any case, how is a man to acquire the necessary experience if he is denied the chance to gain it in the first place?’
Lord Camden shrugged. ‘It may seem like something of a conundrum, but something will turn up. I am sure of it.’
‘And if it doesn’t, my lord?’
‘Then perhaps you would be best advised to pursue a purely military career.You might win promotion, decorations and a title if you cover yourself in glory, and live long enough. Then you could enter politics at some advantage. It’s worth considering.’ Camden clapped his hands.‘Come now! Surely a young man like you must be longing for adventure and the chance to win his spurs?’
Arthur smiled bitterly. ‘It sounds as if there is already considerable doubt that any public office will be found for me.’
‘I said I would do what I can for you,’ Camden replied coolly as he picked up a pen.‘You cannot ask for more than that,Wesley. In any case, you are not in a position to. Now, if you don’t mind, I have other duties to attend to.’
The meeting was over, Arthur realised. He turned away from the desk and strode out of the office seething with indignation, which swiftly gave way to new depths of hopelessness.There was one last thing he could try, even though it stuck in his throat like a fishbone. He could write to Richard and ask for more assistance. A direct recommendation from the Earl of Mornington would surely open some doors.
Once the letter had been composed, carefully written out and sent to Richard in London, Arthur turned his attention back to Kitty. Now that he had renewed their acquaintance at the ball, he felt able to call on her at home. After all, with a handsome and financially well-endowed suitor like Captain Fenshaw on the scene, there was no reason for Tom Pakenham to be concerned over the presence of Arthur. So he was able to join Kitty and Fenshaw for evenings at the theatre, or various soirées and castle picnics once the summer managed to shoulder its way through the persistent rainclouds of the Irish climate. It pained him when Kitty used Fenshaw’s first name. He had not been on first name terms with Kitty for some months after he had met her.
His feelings towards Fenshaw were mixed. Fenshaw told a good story, and hinted, in terms discreet enough for Kitty’s ears, about the bawdy life of officers in the Navy. At the same time, he had a natural philosophical sensitivity and knew his Locke thoroughly. In all, a fine man, who would be a pleasure to know, were it not for his affection for Kitty.
Every smile she bestowed on Fenshaw, every touch of her hand on his and every meeting of their eyes filled Arthur with such jealousy that he instinctively wished for divine intervention of the most fatal and instant kind. Then he felt shamed by the thought, and less of the man that he wanted to be. It did not take long for Arthur to realise that these moments of hatred for Fenshaw were due to his having precisely the personal qualities and social connections that Arthur felt himself to lack. That added a most bitter and distasteful edge to the baser sentiment of jealousy.
One day in July, the three of them took a carriage out to the hills south of Dublin at Dundrum. It was a fine summer’s day and thin skeins of white cloud drifted across a deep blue sky. They spread a blanket down in the shade of an ancient oak tree and began to unpack the basket.
‘A fine spread.’ Fenshaw smiled. ‘Fit for a king.’
‘While we still have one,’ Arthur added wryly.
The naval officer looked at Arthur curiously and Kitty chuckled. ‘You’ll have to excuse Arthur. He thinks that the French will be invading us at any moment, red in tooth and claw as they lay waste our cities and slaughter our people, though not without ravaging the womenfolk first.’
‘Oh, I doubt that will happen,’ Fenshaw replied, and helped himself to a chicken leg.
‘Not with the heroes of the Navy standing, or floating, between us and the enemy, I suppose,’ said Kitty, then glanced at Arthur. ‘And the heroes in the army as well.’
Fenshaw shook his head.‘That’s not what I meant. I just don’t think that the French can be as bad as our newspapers, and our government, would have us believe.’
‘Really?’ Arthur stared at him. ‘What makes you think that?’
Fenshaw delicately took a bite from his drumstick and chewed it for a while before he responded.‘It’s a question of what motivates the revolutionaries. From the outset their goal was to improve the condition of their people.The commoners had a far harder time of it than our people in England, with little hope of any reform at the hands of the aristocrats and those who ran the Catholic church. Given what they had to put up with I would say that there is some justification for responding to their condition as they did. If the common people are oppressed too severely then some day they will rise up and overthrow their rulers.’
‘So you would justify regicide?’ Arthur cut in.
‘No, I think they were wrong to execute their king. But it would be hard not to justify almost anything short of that.’
‘Including the abolition of the monarchy?’
Fenshaw shrugged. ‘Maybe, given how far their kings had moved away from the needs and desires of their subjects. The revolutionaries are simply shifting the balance of government back in favour of the people. That is why I do not think that they should be regarded as some elemental force of chaos and evil.’
Arthur shook his head in astonishment. ‘You can’t be serious, Fenshaw. Look at what they have been doing to their own countrymen. Sending them to the guillotine in their thousands. Waging war on their compatriots in the Vendée, in Normandy and in the south of the country. And what of the lands they have invaded? How is that proof of their good intentions to the common man?’
‘They are fighting to keep the revolution alive, Wesley. No monarchy in Europe dares to allow the French republic to succeed for fear of the precedent it would set. It is a beacon to oppressed people everywhere - that is why other powers are bent on destroying the revolution by waging war from without, and by spreading lies and insurrection from within. Faced with that, they do what they must to defend the revolution.’
‘So the end justifies the means?’ Arthur sniffed. ‘That’s been the excuse of tyrants through the ages. The means and end are indistinguishable and only fools and charlatans pretend that they aren’t.’
‘Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.’
‘Oh, come now, Fenshaw! You can’t really believe that. The scum who have risen to the top of the heap in France aren’t killing their own people, and those of other nations, for the sake of an ideal. They are doing it to protect themselves alone, and to extend their tyranny to other nations. A tyrant is a tyrant no matter what noble cause he may profess to serve. Revolution only breeds chaos, and chaos can only be resolved by a cruel and ruthless tyrant. That is not a fate I want for my country and my people, should the French invade.’
Fenshaw smiled slightly. ‘Wesley, you shouldn’t believe everything that you read in Edmund Burke’s vile pamphlets.’
‘And you should not be fooled by the wretched scribblings of Thomas Paine,’ Arthur snapped back.
There was a dangerous tension hanging over the picnic blanket and Kitty grabbed a small pot from the basket and thrust it between the two men. ‘Goose liver terrine? You really should try it. Our cook makes it. Quite delicious.’
Arthur turned to her with raised eyebrows, then took a deep breath and held out his plate. ‘That would be nice, Kitty. Thank you.’
Fenshaw continued to nibble at his chicken leg as he shifted to take in the view of Dublin, for once free of the usual brown haze of smoke, sprawling either side of the Liffey.
‘It’s such a lovely day, isn’t it?’ Kitty gushed. ‘Far too nice to waste on talking about those wretched Frenchmen. Please let’s not mention them again today. Let’s not give them the satisfaction of ruining our picnic. Come now, Arthur and Charles, eat up.’
There was no attempt to continue the disagreement for the rest of the afternoon and the two men were scrupulously polite to each other as they made small talk, but the friendly ambience had gone and despite Kitty’s best efforts to revive it the atmosphere remained strained. Late in the afternoon, as the sun’s angled rays burnished the slope of the hill and the fields below in red and yellow hues, they packed up the picnic basket and loaded it on to the carriage. Fenshaw strode away to help the groom lead the horses back into their traces. Kitty waited until he was out of earshot before she turned on Arthur.
‘What did you do that for?’ she whispered fiercely.
‘To what do you refer?’
‘Don’t treat me like a fool, Arthur. You know precisely what I’m talking about. Why did you provoke him?’
‘I did no such thing. If anything, he provoked me, Kitty. All that nonsense about the revolutionaries and their principles. The man is a damned fool if he really believes any of that.’
‘He was just being sensitive. I thought he spoke quite well about the unjust way their common people were treated.’
‘What does he know about common people?’
‘Arthur, what do any of us know about them?’
Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but could say nothing. Kitty was right. There was as wide a gulf of incomprehension between the classes as there was between nations. He felt shamed by that knowledge. He was a lieutenant colonel of foot, and yet he knew little of those he led. Something must be done about that, if he was to be trusted with the command of hundreds of his countrymen. He must not only command them, but command their respect and their willingness to serve him to the best of their ability. In the recent campaign Arthur had seen the terrible consequences when officers distanced themselves from their soldiers and took no interest in their well-being.
Kitty nudged him. ‘Charles is coming back. Don’t say another word on the subject.’
Fenshaw flashed a warm smile at Kitty as he joined them, and kept the expression fixed in place as he nodded to Arthur. ‘All ready? Then let’s be off.’
He graciously handed Kitty up into the carriage and stood aside to allow Arthur to go next, but Arthur stood his ground.
‘You first, Fenshaw.’
‘After you, sir. I insist.’
Arthur was about to protest when Kitty began to drum her fingers on the side of the carriage. ‘If you boys have quite finished . . . Arthur, get in.’
He hesitated a moment, then did as she had asked and took the seat next to her. Fenshaw climbed up and sat opposite, his stout knees pressing between Arthur’s boots and the folds of Kitty’s skirt. The groom clambered up on to the driver’s bench, took up the reins, and gave them a deft flick as he clicked his tongue. The carriage lurched into motion and rumbled back down the track towards Dublin.
For a while no one spoke, not even Kitty, and they gazed unseeingly across the passing countryside, until at length Fenshaw cleared his throat.
‘Colonel, I must apologise if I offended you in some way. It would distress me to think that a good friend of Kitty’s was discomfited by something I had said.’
Arthur flapped a hand. ‘Think nothing of it. I was in an intemperate mood. I shouldn’t have reacted as I did. It was just that your remarks surprised me, coming as they did from a king’s officer. I imagine that you were playing devil’s advocate for the sake of debate.’
Fenshaw stiffened. ‘Indeed, sir, I was not. I stand by my opinions.’>
‘And how do your opinions stand beside your duty to your king and country? Surely sympathy for the enemy must lead to some conflict of interest, given that you may be forced to kill them?’
Kitty slapped her hand down on her thigh. ‘Arthur! You go too far.’
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