With a brief salute, he was gone.
As he watched the captain ride off towards the head of the column, he pondered on the chasseurs words. He recalled how, back in Salamanca, in contravention of their generals orders, his guards had busied themselves with other duties whenever visitors were in the offing. Was it his imagination or had Captain Fosse just intimated that he and his men would avert their gaze at an opportune moment also? He had, he suspected, until Bayonne to decide.
It was dusk when the column finally reached the outskirts of the town. To the west, the last rays of sunset had finally given way to a dark aubergine sky. Although the coast was still three miles distant, the smell of the sea, carried inland along the river from the estuary, hung in the air like a sharp bouquet.
They entered one of the towns squares, and halted.
My men and I will try and find somewhere for us to bed down for the night, Fosse told him as they dismounted. I suggest you remain here while we go and look. I regret I dont know the town that well. We may be gone for some time.
The captain held his gaze for several seconds before giving a brief nod of farewell.
He watched Fosse and his men walk away. The rest of the column were paying him no heed. They had become used to his closer association with the chasseurs rather than the infantry and they were too busy attending to their own requirements. He retrieved his knapsack and the cloak from his saddle bag and slipped it on. He stroked the mares neck and she whickered softly. Theyd travelled many roads together and survived numerous adventures. If her disappearance was noted as well as his own, it was likely the alarm would be raised a lot quicker than if he alone was seen to be absent.
He knew shed be well looked after. Fosse would see to that. He owed the young captain a debt of gratitude. Some day, he hoped he would be able to repay him. He drew his cloak around him, adjusted his hat low on his brow, slipped the knapsack over his shoulder, and without a backward glance walked purposefully into the rapidly descending twilight.
He wondered how long he had before the alarm was raised. His fate lay in the chasseur captains hands and he knew there was a time limit on how long Fosse would wait before he started shouting. The captain might have been willing to offer him a way out, but it was unlikely hed jeopardize his career any more than he had to. He had, he estimated, an hour, perhaps two at the most, before the alert was sounded. And then they would come after him.
It was a guaranteed certainty that when they discovered him missing, theyd assume hed try to head south towards the mountains. Theyd know he had allies within the guerrilleros who would be only too happy to escort him through the high passes and back into Spain. The French would search the town and then they would scour the countryside in the direction of the frontier.
But they would be looking in the wrong place, because he wasnt going south; he was heading north.
The plan had been gestating in his mind long before the chasseur captain voiced his unhappiness at his generals duplicity. The seed had been planted the day he and his escort left Salamanca.
Rumours that the Emperor was planning to invade Russia had been circulating for months. The troop movements he and Leon had observed on their sorties confirmed that the French were transferring an increasing number of men northwards, in particular contingents of the Imperial Guard. They were either being used to plug the gaps in the Empires home defences or else they were part of an impending invasion force. But were they really destined for Russia, or somewhere else? There had even been talk that Bonaparte had resurrected his plan to invade England. Which was it? It was his duty to find out, he had decided, and to accomplish that hed have to travel into the heart of the Empire; to the last place they would think of looking for him.
He glanced around. The streets were quite busy and there were a lot of military personnel in evidence; not that unusual, given Bayonnes proximity to the border, which made it one of the main staging posts for troop movements between France and Spain. In the poorly lit streets, however, one uniform looked much like any other. Nevertheless, he kept his cloak about him as he made his way towards the town centre.
As he drew closer to the main concourse, he spotted the entrance to a narrow alleyway and stepped into the shadows. He used the knife concealed in his boot to unpick the stitches on the inside of his jacket. It took but a few seconds to withdraw the bank notes and the two dozen guineas sewn into the lining. Then, stowing the knife and slipping the money into his pocket, he retraced his steps to the street. He kept his head bowed. All he needed was to run into Fosse and his men coming towards him from the opposite direction.
He struck lucky at his third port of call. The hotel concierge, taken in by his military cloak, weather-stained headgear and sword, was only too happy to help an officer he thought was part of the Grand Army.
In answer to his query, the concierge advised him that a public diligence was due to depart from the square outside the hotel very shortly and that one of the guests, General Souham, was booked on it. In fact, he was the only passenger.
He thanked the concierge and took a seat in the darkest corner of the lobby. General Souham! It wasnt often you were about to introduce yourself to the Divisional Commander of the Army of Portugal. He bowed his head and pretended to doze. Just another battle-weary officer seeking rest and recuperation from the war.
It was twenty minutes before the general entered the lobby, accompanied by his baggage and a weary looking aide-de-camp. Even if he hadnt been wearing his uniform, the general would have been an easy man to identify for he was very tall, well over six feet in height. Greying hair showed beneath the rim of his hat. In addition to his distinctive height, two other features marked him out: the livid scar, half visible on his temple, and the black patch that covered his left eye socket. He was also smoking a thin cheroot.
He waited until the aide had disappeared outside to supervise the loading of the generals luggage before he made his move.
The general took a draw on his cheroot, savouring the taste. He looked like a man who was relaxed and at ease with himself. But then he could afford to be. He was a general and every other soldier within sight and earshot was his subordinate.
Forgive me, sir, General Souham? He spoke in French, as he had with the concierge.
The generals head turned and he found himself perused through a spiral of cigar fumes. The generals right eye searched for recognition and an indication of rank. And who might you be?
Some senior staff might have shown irritation at being approached unexpectedly by a lower ranked officer. On this occasion there was only curiosity.
A fellow traveller, General, if youll permit.
A frown creased the scarred brow.
Its now or never, he thought.
I understand from the concierge that youre about to board the diligence and I wondered if youd allow me to share your coach. Ive been on attachment to Marshal Marmonts staff and recently arrived from Salamanca, en route to Orleans. Id be more than happy to share any expenses.
The generals right eyebrow lifted as he picked a shred of tobacco from his lip, not so much surprised by the request as intrigued.
Your name again? I didnt catch it.
Your name again? I didnt catch it.
My apologies, General. Major Hawkwood, 11th Regiment of Infantry.
The generals frown deepened. His eye moved to the patch of red jacket showing through the gap in the cloak. Really? Thats an interesting name. Youd better explain, Major.
Im an American, sir, as is my regiment. Assigned to the Imperial Forces by President Madison with the permission of Emperor Bonaparte. Ive been serving at Marshal Marmonts headquarters in a liaison capacity. The president is most interested in the Spanish campaign.
Ah, the general said drily, as if everything suddenly made sense. Is he now? Thats comforting. Im sure well all sleep easier in our beds. And when you make your report to your President Madison, what will you tell him?
That the Emperor probably needs all the help he can get.
The general stared at him. Well, your French is excellent, Major. If you hadnt told me, Id have taken you for a native. But Ill say this: its a damned good thing youre a soldier and not an ambassador. Diplomacy isnt your strong point.
No, General. Its probably why Im still a major.
The corner of the generals mouth lifted. And how is the Marshal?
Hes well, sir. Still complaining about the quality of the wine.
Sounds familiar. He always did appreciate his home comforts.
The generals aide appeared at the entrance. Your baggage is loaded, sir. The officers glance slid sideways.
Thank you, Lieutenant. Ill be there shortly. The general paused, then said, You can inform the driver therell be two of us. Major Hawkwood will be joining me. Hes an American, you know; come to offer us his support.
Very good, sir. The lieutenant nodded. You have luggage, Major? There was no hint of suspicion or even surprise on the aides face, which suggested the lieutenant was well used to dealing with his generals last-minute whims and would probably have been equally unabashed had the general introduced the newcomer as the Sultan of Rangoon.
I regret I was separated from my valise. Ive made arrangements for it to be sent on. Im carrying all I need. He indicated the knapsack.
If he asks for my papers, its all over.
A pity the same couldnt be said for our Marshal Marmont, Souham said as his lieutenant disappeared once more. Do his cooks still travel with him?
He nodded. All twelve of them, General.
A hell of a way to go to war. The general parked the cheroot in the corner of his mouth and shoved his hands in his coat pockets.
The aide was back again, his message delivered. The coach is ready, sir.
Souham nodded. Right, thank you, Lieutenant. You can relax. Go and get yourself a drink. And mind the bastards dont serve you from the bottom of the cask. He turned and removed the cheroot from his lips. Shall we, Major?
They left the hotel and the driver held the coach door open as he followed the general up the steps. It occurred to him, as he took his seat and the driver retracted the steps and closed the door behind him, that he hadnt bought a ticket.
As if reading his mind, Souham smiled. You can spread yourself out, Major. We have the vehicle to ourselves. Rank, as they say, has its privileges.
He breathed a sigh of relief. It meant they werent likely to be disturbed until theyd reached their destination. He recalled then that Souham wasnt only a general; he was also a count. Hed received the title after his victory at the battle of Vich; the same engagement that had cost him his eye.
There was a jolt as the driver released the brake and then the coach moved slowly off.
The general removed his hat and ran a hand through his thinning locks.
So, Major, Ive a cousin who served with Rochambeau during your war of independence. He tells me that America is a beautiful country.
Indeed it is, sir.
Jesus, he thought.
He wondered how long hed be able to maintain the charade. What he knew of America hed gleaned only from his service in the West Indies, during conversations with American merchants in Dominica and St Christopher. He knew a little about the eastern side of the country. Everywhere else was a mystery.
So youve never been there yourself, General? he ventured.
Souham shook his head. Sadly no.
Maybe the gods are back with me, he thought.
A vision of the moments before his capture came into his mind. He saw the dragoon lieutenant raise the sword his sword and drive it home. As the light died in Leons eyes he felt the spark of anger deep within him; as if a tiny ember had burst into flame. Somehow, he would make them pay. He didnt know how. But one day he would exact his revenge for the death of his friend.
The vision faded. He realized his fists were clenched and that the general was gazing at him with a quizzical expression.
Forgive me, sir, he heard himself say, while risking what he hoped was a rueful smile. It occurred to me, not for the first time, that Im a long way from home.
Souham shook his head. No need to apologize, Major. Youre not alone in that. We all are.
From outside, above the noise of the coach in motion, there came the sound of hooves on cobbles as a body of horsemen entered the square. He heard voices, someone shouting orders, but the words were indistinct. Parting the blind, he looked out into the night, to where the riders were milling. Torches flickered. He could see dark uniforms and darker-coloured shakos.
Chasseurs.
As calmly as he could, he readjusted the blind and sat back.
Your aide had better get a move on, General, if he wants to slake his thirst. Theres a unit of cavalry out there who look like theyre about to drink the town dry.
The coach hit a pothole and bounced. The noise of the horsemen faded, drowned by the trundle of the coach wheels as they left the square behind. He felt his pulse begin to slow.
Across from him, General Souhams right eye glinted with amusement. I fear youve severely underestimated Lieutenant Bellacs determination where alcohol is concerned.
Taking another pull on the last inch of cheroot, the general smiled. So, Major, he said, settling himself back into his seat. Weve a ways to go. To pass the time, you can tell me all about America.
As he watched the light of expectation steal across the generals face, the thought struck him that this had all the beginnings of a very long night.
Chapter 2
Hawkwood waited for the attack. He knew it was coming and he knew it was imminent. Timing his retaliation would be crucial.
The inscrutable expression on his opponents face wasnt helping matters.
It seemed to Hawkwood that Chen hadnt moved a muscle for at least five minutes. It was as if the Chinaman was carved from stone. Neither did he appear to be breathing hard, which was just as disconcerting, but then in their brief association Hawkwood couldnt recall a time when Chen had ever broken sweat.
While he, on the other hand, was perspiring like a pig on a spit.
It wasnt as if the room was warm. In fact, it wasnt really a room at all. It was a cellar and it was situated beneath the Rope and Anchor public house which sat in a grubby lane a spit away from Queen Street on the border between Ratcliffe and Limehouse. Tallow candles set in metal brackets around the walls and in a wagon-wheel chandelier suspended by a rope from the centre of the ceiling were the only sources of illumination.