All in Scarlet Uniform (Napoleonic War 4) (34 page)

More soldiers came during the night, and not all were French as some of the garrison were eager to befriend their captors and show them good places to find food. A few were angry, and he worried that things were getting out of hand. If the men began to search then it would not take them long to shift the empty barrels that lay on top of the trapdoor leading to the cellar. Josepha held him so close that he could feel her heart beating, as well as her wiry hair against his cheek. The girl had a habit of stroking his thigh that was pleasant, but scarcely calming.

Angry shouts came from above, the lady screaming insults, and Williams prepared to free himself and take his sword up into the house. Josepha pulled him even tighter, the scent of onions on her breath strong.

More shouts, from a new voice now, and Hanley whispered to him that it was a French officer damning the men and telling them to get out and go back to their regiments. A sergeant yelled orders, so the officer was clearly wise enough to confront the looters with disciplined men to back him up. It grew quieter, footsteps and softer conversation lasting for a while before there was silence. An hour later the footman came to explain that a senior French officer had commandeered the house and was now sound asleep, leaving guards on the door. For the moment they were safe, but they were also trapped.

Night passed eventually, and at some point Williams must have dropped off to sleep because he awoke with the girl snoring softly, her head on his chest and his left arm uncomfortably beneath her. There were slivers of daylight from the floor above them, but the house was silent. He could dimly see Murphy sitting awake and on guard, his firelock over his lap. The Irishman winked at him, although whether his amusement came from their predicament or the officer’s good luck in waking with such a pretty companion was hard to say. With a struggle, Williams managed to reach Hanley’s watch. It was just a few minutes after five in the morning.

The day crept by even more slowly than the night. The French officer remained in residence, and even when he left to go about his duties his servant and several soldiers stayed in or just outside the house.

‘Could we take them?’ Hanley whispered to Dobson when the room above seemed to be empty and the cellar was full of dim light. ‘Quietly, so that no one would know.’

The veteran thought for a while. ‘Aye, probably. What then?’

‘Slip away as we planned,’ Hanley said quietly. ‘Although best to wait for darkness.’

Williams watched as Dobson continued to stare at the officer.

‘I do not think Dob is talking about us,’ Williams explained. ‘How can we leave the ladies with a house full of dead Frenchmen?’

‘We could take them somewhere,’ Hanley suggested without any conviction.

‘Aye, carry bodies or lead prisoners through a captured town.’ The veteran’s irony was heavy. ‘For the moment we’re stuck,’ he added.

‘Wasn’t thinking,’ Hanley muttered and they fell back into silence.

Another night and day crawled by. Josepha wanted to go out, and said that her appearance could easily be explained. ‘We want the Frog to leave, don’t we,’ Dobson said. ‘Can’t see the lady’s presence helping that.’ The girl could not follow the sergeant’s heavy accent, but when Hanley translated she was delighted at the compliment and soon persuaded to stay. Williams had to admit he was glad, for she continued to find comfort sleeping with her arms around him.

The lady of the house once came down in person to see Josepha and ask whether they needed anything. A servant came with her to take away their night soil, and in truth the air in the cellar was becoming less and less wholesome by the hour. Fortunately the smell of burned buildings and hastily buried corpses pervaded the streets of the city so strongly that this was unlikely to be noticed outside.

‘Colonel Pelet tells me that he must regretfully leave my house tomorrow. Yesterday he was out for three hours with this French prince, touring the ramparts. He tells me that we were very brave, but badly led and betrayed by the English.’

‘Did he tell you to expect other officers when he departs?’ Hanley asked.

‘He has said nothing about that.’

They waited for the rest of the day and through the long, long night. With a good deal of stamping and loud farewells, the French staff officer left early the next morning, and a servant came to say that his soldiers had gone with him. Two hours later an officious NCO arrived, demanding that the widow hand over any surplus loaves of bread she had in her possession.

‘Bribe him, bribe him,’ Hanley said under his breath as if the idea would somehow reach the lady in the house. Footsteps came alarmingly close to the hidden trapdoor as the man continued to rant about his orders and the needs of the Emperor’s brave soldiers. Williams gestured for the girl to go to the corner of the room, but she clung determinedly to his side as the NCOs readied their weapons.

Then the lady’s voice came, too faint to catch the words, but it calmed the man. A few minutes later he and his party left, no doubt a little richer even if the brave Emperor’s soldiers were poorer by a few loaves. Williams felt himself breathe again.

Minutes dripped slowly into hours and they waited nervously, fearing the appearance of more French soldiers. Darkness fell, and still they waited. Then Hanley showed Williams his watch. It was half past eleven and as good a time as any to take the risk. He led them up the stairs, treading warily although that was absurd, and tapped on the trapdoor as they had arranged. They heard the barrels shifting and the alarmingly loud creak of the door. Hanley spoke quietly to the lady.

‘All clear,’ he said, and climbed up into the house, his long cloak trailing behind him. Dobson followed, then Rodriguez, Rose and Murphy, each of them wearing their long greatcoats and forage caps, their shakos stowed away in their packs.

‘Goodbye, Josepha,’ Williams said softly to the girl. ‘I wish you every happiness.’ For a while she had wanted to come with them, and it had taken a long time and the older lady’s stern refusal to dissuade the girl.

Josepha wrapped her arms around him. The embrace came naturally, as did the long kiss, and after so many days close together Williams revelled in the sensation of holding her. He understood Pringle’s interest, but hoped fate had some more permanent lover in store for the sweet child.

Murphy put his head back down through the trapdoor and gave another theatrical wink.

‘Ready, sir?’

Williams left the cellar with more reluctance than he would have expected.

Outside in the street it felt cold and dangerously exposed.

‘This way,’ Hanley said, and set off with Williams at his side and the men marching two by two. He nodded amicably and acknowledged the salute of a corporal passing with a file of artillerymen in blue coats and trousers and carrying heavy sacks. With their cocked hats and cloaks he and Williams were obviously officers, and there was no particular reason for anyone they passed to assume they belonged to any army other than their own.

‘Fine night,’ Hanley said to a captain and lieutenant walking arm in arm in that amicable French way. One offered them a puff on his cheroot, and they took it happily, prompting a fit of coughing from Williams.

‘Germans, eh?’ Hanley had decided to act as if Williams and his men were from the redcoated Hanoverian Legion. It would explain both their uniform and their poor French should the need arise.

The two French officers grinned, and one patted Williams on the back cheerfully.

‘More used to powder smoke, I’ll be bound,’ the man said.

Bidding them good evening, Hanley took his little band on past the castle, returning the sentries’ salutes, and went towards the Gate of San Jago. This would be the first serious test. The soldiers forming the guard looked different, and as they came closer Williams noticed that their jackets were a deep brown with blue fronts and cuffs.

‘I am Colonel Espinosa of King Joseph’s staff,’ Hanley said in response to the challenge, ‘and my business is urgent. This is Lieutenant Langer of the Hanoverian Legion, who is my escort.’

The sentry called for the sergeant.

‘You had better send for an officer, but damned well do it quickly.’ Hanley exuded arrogant certainty, and Williams could not help being impressed, but it was hard to stop his hand from reaching for the hilt of his sword.

A sous-lieutenant appeared, his jacket unbuttoned.

‘Stand to attention, man, when you talk to me!’ Hanley hissed at him.

Williams wondered whether he was overdoing the act, but the officer paled and fumbled with his buttons.

‘I am not permitted to let anyone through the gate without checking their papers,’ the man said, almost as if expecting reproof.

Instead Hanley smiled. ‘Of course, Lieutenant.’ He reached inside his jacket and handed over a letter bearing the royal seal and commanding obedience and cooperation with the bearer, Colonel Espinosa. ‘And here is a pass from the Prince of Essling,’ he added casually, producing a second letter.

‘Your men?’ the sous-lieutenant asked almost apologetically, handing back the letters.

‘I dare say they have a pass from their regiment, if you would care to see it. But they are simply here to escort me and the dispatches I carry.’

Williams felt a pang of fear that this was a mistake, for surely dispatches would be taken on horseback or by coach and they were on foot. The French officer did not seem to notice. Instead he saluted.

‘Thank you, Colonel. May I bid you a good evening.’

‘You may, Lieutenant, you may indeed.’ Hanley nudged his hat with his hand, somewhere between a wave and a salute. Their boots echoed on the cobblestones as they marched out under the arched gate. The sentries outside merely brought their muskets up to the salute as the officers passed. For a while they processed along the road, until Williams paused, ostensibly inspecting his little command as it passed. A glance back towards the city showed that they were out of sight.

‘Now,’ he said, and they left the road and plunged into the deeper darkness of the fir trees that ran down to the river. It took a few minutes, but then they found a path and followed it to a little stone hut beside the water.

‘This is the spot,’ Hanley said. So far everything had gone as planned. Weeks ago, before the siege started, there had been talk of sneaking him upriver to meet with a guerrilla band. After the heavy rain, the idea proved impractical and they had failed to make any headway, but the governor had assured him that the little boat was still kept in the same spot.

‘I don’t see anything.’ Williams tried not to sound worried. Rose and Dobson passed him their firelocks to hold and splashed into the water, reaching down to feel with their hands.

‘Here,’ said the sergeant after a moment. He began to lift some heavy stones out of the water. ‘Give me a hand!’ Murphy and Rodriguez rested their own muskets on the ground and waded in to join the other two. More stones came out, and Williams saw something rise to the surface.

‘Is it in one piece?’ Hanley asked, less cool now than he had been at the gate.

A few more of the weights were tossed to thud dully on the bank. ‘Looks fine, sir,’ the sergeant replied after a moment. He gestured to the others and with a struggle they lifted the flat punt on its side to tip out the bulk of the remaining water, before righting it again. It would be a squeeze, but the six of them could all sit or squat in the damp-smelling wooden boat.

‘Quickly, get the packs and muskets on board,’ Hanley hissed. Williams went into the water, handing their firelocks to Dobson and Rose. He went back for the other weapons, but first tossed the packs to each man. Murphy and Rodriguez pushed the flat boat out into the water, wading behind it until they felt that they were near the main channel and then scrambling aboard.

It was a clear night and the moon was already beginning to rise. Ahead of them they could see the long low shape of the Roman bridge. That was the first danger, for there were most likely sentries patrolling its length. The current was sluggish, but it took the laden boat and soon they were running quickly, almost out in the centre of the wide river.

Williams could see the shape of a soldier walking beside the wall of the bridge, his musket on his shoulder. It seemed impossible that the man could not see them, but perhaps he was not looking. Long hours on sentry were rarely conducive to alertness; no doubt the man was happier being somewhere where he did not have to worry too much about a guerrilla knifing him in the dark.

The bridge loomed up surprisingly quickly. Dobson was trying to steer, but he hissed at Murphy to be ready with his firelock to fend them away from the stone pier. In the end he managed to edge them away, but the flat bottom grated for a moment on some boulder beneath the surface, and they stuck fast. Williams could not believe that the sentries had not noticed them. Dobson was cursing under his breath as Rose and Rodriguez leaned over the side and pushed down at the rock underneath them with the butts of their muskets.

‘
Qui vive?
’ Came the shouted challenge, but it was not for them. Iron-shod hoofs clattered on the stone of the bridge. Williams heard an impatient answer thrown back at the sentry.

The punt came free, and almost immediately they were under the great arch, ducking because it was lower than they had thought with the water so high after all the months of rain. Murphy poled them away from the wall when they veered into it and then they were out again in the open.

Someone shouted. There were cavalry on the bridge, men in helmets with flowing horsehair crests. At their head was a big man on a horse taller than all the rest. His cloak was bright in the growing light of the rising moon, and something gleamed silver where it parted in front. Men turned, their faces pale as they looked down into the water.

A musket flamed, but the sentry had not troubled to aim and Williams neither saw nor felt the ball come close. Already they were fifty yards from the bridge. Men were clambering down from their horses. Most French cavalry were equipped with carbines, but dragoons had once been trained as mounted infantry and they carried muskets only a little shorter and lighter than those of the infantry. Thankfully they rarely kept them loaded when they were mounted, because the motion of a running horse tended to shake powder from the pan and loosen the charge.