Kiwi Wars (27 page)

This subtle scratching action infuriated Jack, who knew it was being done for the sole purpose of making him feel guilty. Yet if he charged Wynter with this accusation, he would be met with a look of astonished innocence.

‘Leave your face alone, Wynter.’

‘Oh, sorry, sir.’ A contrived innocence springing immediately into place. ‘I ’spect it was ’cos you was scratchin’ your stump. Unconscious like, I did the same. We been through a lot together, an’t we, sir? Battles here an’ there. That’s what I told them navy boys when they started insultin’ you. I said if they’d seen half the action you and me ’ave, over the years, they’d take refuge in a woman too.’

King stepped away from Wynter’s side and stared in shock at the private.

Jack, deep down inside, went very cold.

The captain was silent for a few moments, then he said in a low threatening voice, ‘Be very, very careful, Wynter.’

‘I’m just tellin’ you, sir, what I heard. I din’t believe a word of it, o’ course, you bein’ a married man of honour, but them navy boys wun’t stop yellin’ stuff. So I told ’em even if – even if you
was
goin’ with a Maori bint, which I was certain you wasn’t, there was good reason when you’d bin through so much action, like us. That was when they laid into me, sir, and I got this dirt on me. I fought ’em like a wild ’un, for the honour of the regiment, like, but they dusted me over good.’

Jack knew of course that these ‘navy taunts’ were fictitious. He strongly doubted there had been a confrontation at all. More likely Wynter had spent the night in a ditch, sleeping off his latest drinking bout. Where had Wynter got the knowledge of his liaisons with Amiri? This much Jack
had
to find out, to see how far his indiscretions had spread. God help him if it had reached the ears of a private soldier who hated him already! The silver cigarillo case was now irrelevant. More important was the source of Harry Wynter’s knowledge. Jack fought his feelings for a few minutes. He would have much enjoyed planting a fist on his private’s nose, an impossible scenario, but he had to control his cold anger and attempt to outmanoeuvre a man who owned more cunning than Shakespeare’s Iago.

‘I want to thank you, Private Wynter, for intervening on my behalf,’ he said, much to the complete astonishment of his sergeant. ‘These groundless insults are not to be borne, are they?’

‘No, sir, they an’t. It’s why I waded into ’em with me fists.’ He showed Jack a grimy set of fives. ‘I showed ’em what soldiers is made of, that’s certain. An’ anyways, it’s none of the navy’s business.’

‘Well, I think we have established the complete lack of evidence behind these insults, Wynter, don’t you? After all, if there were any truth in the matter, I would be in deep trouble, wouldn’t I? In such a case I would have conducted my affair with great caution and secrecy, which would have meant . . . what?’ Jack paused for thought. He furrowed his brow. ‘Yes – it would have meant that someone had to be watching me, observing my movements all hours of the day, for weeks at a time. No one I know has that sort of time and energy, and therefore it could never happen, could it, Wynter? You can see that, can’t you?’

‘Yes, sir, there an’t nobody I know who could do that of themselves.’

Of themselves
? A revelation! Jack suddenly realized who Harry’s informant might be. The knowledge hit him with a hammer blow. Now he remembered seeing a man, just once or twice, close to his quarters! Good God, it was worse than Jack could have imagined. The sweat came to his brow and he blinked. If this scandal broke, he would be ruined both in his marriage and probably in his career as an officer. It was not the act – many officers had been with local women – but the terrible consequences of being found out by a man who could use the knowledge to destroy him. What a stupid thing it all was! How weak he had been. Carnal lust had been the downfall of many a great man, let alone a small man like himself. All for a few moments of ecstasy between the sheets. Yet – yet, it had been more than that, hadn’t it? He loved Amiri, did he not? The difference only had meaning to himself though.

Harry Wynter was jabbering again.

‘Is this about the cigarillo case, sir? – ’cos I can explain that,’ said Wynter, cutting into the silence.

Jack had been staring at the crate top and now his face came up and Wynter saw the horror in it. The private smiled. Triumph was his. At last he had the bloody captain on a hook.

‘What? What can you explain?’

‘’Bout the cigarillo case, sir. It was give me, by my dear brother Abe Wynter, for a favour I done him.’

There it was, the confirmation of Jack’s fears. Abraham Wynter had had him followed. Or his man had witnessed Amiri entering Jack’s quarters surreptitiously. There was no doubt about it. Jack could read the message in Harry Wynter’s face. It was there in every crease. Harry Wynter had been with him when Amiri had flirted with him the first time they met. He had obviously mentioned this incident to his brother, who then had had Jack watched by one of his Maoris.

‘Quite so, Private Wynter, you are dismissed.’

Sergeant King suddenly found his voice. ‘But, sir, Wynter previously said the case had been given to him by a comrade.’

‘Well,’ replied Harry, grinning, ‘who’s my best comrade? None other than my dear old brother. Best mates, we are and always ’ave been.’ He came to attention and saluted Jack. ‘Justice ’as bin done, sir, ain’t it?’ Then he swaggered insolently from the room.

Jack buried his face in his hands.

Sergeant King was mortified.

‘Sir – are you ill? Is it the headaches again?’

Jack lifted his head. ‘No – that is, I’m not feeling altogether well, but you need have no concern, Sergeant. Just a little fatigue I think. If you wouldn’t mind, I would like you to take Private Wynter and Corporal Gwilliams and give them a lesson on map-making today. That’s all, Sergeant.’

King saluted. He clearly suspected that something had gone on between his captain and the private that had escaped him. Whether King would take it further, Jack had no idea. Perhaps he would try to question Wynter. Jack was sure Harry Wynter would keep his knowledge to himself, for if he gave it away to King, or anyone else, it would immediately become a weaker weapon. Harry Wynter was not one to let his strengths dissipate before he had used them to the full.

Jack sat staring bleakly at the wooden walls of the room he occupied. What was he to do? Confront Abraham Wynter? Where would that get him? What about leaving sleeping dogs to lie? In which case he would have the affair hanging over his head for ever. If only there were someone he could talk to, to get advice. He wished Nathan Lovelace, though he would have been excruciatingly embarrassed to take Nathan into his confidence. Steel-souled Nathan did not understand the failings of men.

Later in the day, Sergeant Farrier King came to see him.

‘Sir, I may have got us a new Maori man – you know, for your network? I thought you’d like to see him yourself. Recruit him personally.’

Jack was lost in his own thoughts. He had been so distracted and dismayed by Harry Wynter’s inferences he had hardly left his shipping-crate desk all morning. In the early afternoon he had paced up and down, trying to see a way forward. He certainly could not punish Harry Wynter in any way, though the man’s insolence warranted some form of punitive action. Nor could he make any sort of rebuttal. The facts were the facts, and Wynter knew it. Now that the knowledge of his affair was out in the public domain, Jack’s marriage was under serious threat. It would have been one thing to admit such a misdemeanour to Jane privately, quite another for her to discover that even the rank and file knew of her husband’s indiscretions. Jack’s mind had blazed with feverish thoughts and his spirit had plunged into the deepest imaginable misery. He would rather be dead.

‘Sir?’ said King. ‘I said . . .’

‘Sorry, Sergeant, I did hear you,’ murmured Jack, ‘I’m just not feeling myself at the moment.’

‘I understand,’ replied the sergeant, quietly.

Jack’s head came up, glad to be able to change his emotions, glad to have a target for anger.

‘Oh, you do, do you?’ he snapped.

He had never seen eye-to-eye with his senior NCO. Sergeant King and his obsession with map-making was a constant source of irritation to him. Sergeant King was more of a civilian surveyor in army uniform. He could not shoot straight, his discipline consisted of taking soldiers behind the latrines and knocking their teeth out and he obeyed only those commands which he felt were justified. It was true that King’s intelligence and dedication to his profession made him valuable to the army, but Jack would have much rather have had a sergeant with the mind of a good thoroughbred horse. One who thought less of charts and coloured inks and more of following through his captain’s orders.

‘That is, I know why you’re down, sir.’

‘I think this conversation should stop here, Sergeant.’

‘Well, sir,’ said King, ‘I would stop it here, if I thought it was the best thing for the group. But it seems to me that this problem you have goes too deep to be left alone. It will affect us all, when we’re out in the bush, where our minds need to be sharp as tacks.’

You see, thought Jack to himself, this was just what he hated about this man. King had the impertinence to intrude upon his commanding officer’s very private business. It was no use Jack doing his ‘how dare you, this is my personal life, I do not need a sergeant’s advice’ speech. It would be like water off a duck’s back. Jack tried to imagine what an officer like Lord Cardigan or Wellington would do with an audacious sergeant who had the temerity to patronize them. Why, the man would be sitting, hands tied behind his back, astride a newly sharpened wooden horse within seconds! Yet Jack was no Cardigan or Wellington; he could not explode in wrath and destroy this upstart. His nature was to writhe in cold anger and try to demolish the man with an aristocratic stare. Sergeant King’s nature was to ignore haughty stares and continue intruding upon his officer’s private trials and tribulations.

‘You see what I mean, sir? It’s not just about you. It’s about all of us. It’s about keeping our minds honed to the work and staying alive in dangerous situations. It’s about keeping our heads clear.’ The trouble with King was he had been born an intelligent man and made a great deal of sense. ‘You see, sir, it’s not like we’re just going off into battle. If that was what it was, the fighting would take your mind off what’s worrying you and I wouldn’t have the sauce to say the things I’m saying. It’s hard to worry about things when people next to you are getting blown to bits and heads are flying off bodies. But what we’re doing takes slow and deliberate thought. Out in the bush we have to think clear. Your head’s not clear, sir. It’s full of dark dreams. You could kill us all by just – well, by just going in on yourself, sir.’

Jack picked up his iron hand and used it to point at King’s face, hoping to intimidate him.

‘And you, Sergeant King, have a solution to my problems, do you?’

‘No, you know I haven’t got that, sir. Look, can I just say if it were me – caught out like you’ve been – I’d make a clean breast of it, sir. Write to Mrs Crossman – tell her. It’s no good you look at me like that, Captain, we all know. Harry Wynter doesn’t keep things like that to himself. It doesn’t matter to us, does it? We’re no saints. I got an Indian woman into trouble when I was younger, didn’t I? But think about it, sir, getting it off your mind, I mean. If Harry Wynter has anything to do with it, she’ll hear anyway. Sorry to intrude, sir.’

King stood before him, a square man with a square jaw, square fists and a square honest expression. Jack’s anger melted and the feelings it had temporarily replaced returned with a vengeance. His spirit plummeted like a stone thrown into a chasm. He only wished it would hit the bottom and his heart would stop with the impact.

‘I’ll leave you now, sir. Sorry again.’

King saluted smartly, turned, and left the room.

Jack sat there for another half-hour, then picked up his pen and began to write a letter. Once it was finished, he sat back and read it three or four times, before putting it in an envelope and sealing it. Then he leaned back and relaxed. King had been right. He did feel a great deal better, a great deal less fraught. The letter had not been sent yet, but just getting his confession on paper was cathartic in itself. He did not exactly feel purified, but his mind was clearer and more alert. It was no good wallowing in self-pity anyway. No good telling himself he had been a stupid fool or any of that rubbish. There was no healing in that, only self-recrimination. If Jane were devastated, he would have to take her disappointment in him on the chin. Things would never be the same again between them, their union would always remain stained, but that was the price of his folly and he was going to have to live with it.

He left the building for the first time that day, taking the letter with him to the mail room. Sergeant King intercepted him on the way. He quickly stuffed the letter inside his tunic before King could see it.

‘Sir, have you thought about what I said – about the Maori, I mean?’

‘Ah, yes, the potential agent?’

‘Yes, sir. I’ve got him in my quarters, if you want to talk to him. He’s a Waikato man.’

‘Right. Good work, Sergeant. I’ll see him now.’

Jack went with King and interviewed the man in question, who turned out be a shifty-eyed creature interested in money. Jack did not mind that the man was mercenary – most of his Maori spies were not in the work out of love for the pakeha – but the captain had the feeling that this particular fellow was one of those who worked both ends. He would be taking information back to his tribe, as well as bringing information out of it. Such men were useful in other ways. It was just as important to sow false rumours amongst the Maori, as it was to discover the truth about their movements and intentions. Jack paid the man, told him he was now a servant of Queen Victoria’s secret army, and began to question him on the situation amongst his people.