The French were reforming as two squadrons back at the top of the crest. Pringle wondered what they would try next. It seemed unlikely that they would give up. He tried to think of what he would do in their place. Perhaps dismount half – or even more – and bring the square under a heavier fire until it could be ridden down by the rest. How many cartridges did French horsemen carry for that matter?
‘Mr Pringle, sir!’ The call came from Hopwood. He noticed that the man called him rather than Wickham. It was odd how
easily men ignored a superior who was so supine. If Wickham noticed he did not seem to care.
Pringle walked to join the lieutenant.
‘More of them,’ said Hopwood, his voice steady, but little hope in his eyes. Down in the valley a column of horsemen was trotting along the road. There was a troop in the lead in dark uniforms, but at this distance it was impossible to tell their colour or nationality. Behind was another, larger squadron, so lost in dust that it was hard to say anything at all about them.
‘Mr Williams, may I have loan of your glass?’ Pringle scrambled up on to the top of the carriage and hoped the French skirmishers would hold off for a while. He took off his hat, lifted his glasses up on to his forehead and then tried to hold the heavy telescope steady as he adjusted the lens.
The leading men were in blue or green so dark that it looked almost black. There were fifty or sixty of them. He raised the glass and caught a glimpse of something red before the dust cloud again enveloped the squadron behind. Pringle had never heard of French or Spanish cavalry in red, but there were so many gaudily dressed regiments in the world that this probably meant little.
Pringle tried to run the glass across the column, but inevitably moved too jerkily and lost it. He found the front of the lead squadron again, and then caught movement to the side and was surprised to see a pair of hounds bounding through the grass. He followed them and then twisted the lens to sharpen the image of a lone horsemen they followed.
Billy Pringle smiled as the relief flooded over him. He watched for a moment to be sure, and then stood up, pushing his spectacles back down on to his nose.
‘They’re friends, my lucky lads!’ All of the officers and many of the men turned their heads to look at him. ‘It is Colonel Wilson.’
A carbine ball ripped a splinter from the roof next to his right boot.
‘Damned cheek!’ said Pringle, and the redcoats cheered happily as he jumped down.
‘I
t seemed a worthwhile risk,’ said Hanley, and then winced as Dobson pulled the bandage tight around his forehead.
‘Keep still, sir.’
Pringle and Williams scarcely brimmed over with sympathy as the three of them sat around a little fire. It was dark and the cold was getting worse so that it became difficult to remember the feel of the day’s heat.
‘You nearly got yourself killed,’ said Williams. That was true. Hanley had spurred away from the French when the squadron of Spanish cavalry attacked them from the rear in support of Wilson’s men. A chasseur officer had given chase, slashing and missing as he passed. The man had turned his horse on a farthing. Hanley could not make his mount swerve far enough, and so flung himself to the side, losing balance and his stirrups as he fell to the ground. The tip of the Frenchman’s sabre grazed his head. If the Spanish had not come up so quickly then he would surely have been killed.
‘Oh, this is just a scratch, I assure . . . Oh God damn it all to bloody hell!’ Hanley spat the words as Dobson turned the bandage slightly, pulling at the clotted blood on the long scar.
‘Cursing will not help, sir,’ said the corporal softly. ‘Just you keep still.’ Williams marvelled at the transformation in the veteran since the arrival of the new Mrs Dobson and her firm ideas of respectable behaviour.
‘I am sorry, Corporal,’ said the officer meekly.
‘Nearly done, sir.’
‘I am more concerned about the danger to the detachment,’
said Pringle, no longer light-hearted old Billy, but the officer commanding a detachment of his regiment who had just watched two of his men buried, and suspected that a third would join them soon. ‘It was close.’ The captain thought for a moment. ‘Damned close,’ he added.
Williams noticed that Dobson made no protest this time, and suspected that the corporal’s sentiments echoed those of his captain – and indeed of Williams himself. They had lost men, and if the relief had not arrived then they would have lost more and perhaps all gone to the grave or French captivity.
‘Colonel Wilson was delayed by bad luck,’ offered Hanley in weak defence.
‘Misfortune is in the nature of war,’ said Williams, who was fond of such pronouncements and trying to be fair.
‘Indeed it is.’ Pringle was less sympathetic. ‘And it was surely possible that farther obstacles might well have postponed his appearance until it was too late.’
‘It seemed . . .’ Hanley struggled for an answer.
‘A worthwhile risk?’ Pringle’s voice was bitter, his gaze harder than Williams had ever seen in the past.
Hanley met it. ‘So it seemed. And so it still seems.’
Dobson coughed. ‘It’s done, sir.’ Williams was not sure whether he meant that the bandage was in place or something else. ‘If you will excuse me.’ He did not salute, as none of the officers wore their hats. Instead the corporal stiffened to attention, about-faced, and walked rather than marched away.
‘You are probably right,’ said Billy Pringle, and broke into his familiar smile. Williams let his breath out, and had not realised that he had been holding it.
Sir Robert Wilson had no doubts about their success.
‘Caught ’em on the hop!’ he called out delightedly as he returned from leading the pursuit. The gentlest of motions brought his horse to an abrupt stop, and a moment later he sprang lightly down. ‘Capital sport.’
His two dogs scampered after him as he strolled over to join them.
‘Any chance of tea?’ he said, and waved them down as they moved to stand.
Jenkins, Pringle’s soldier servant, appeared miraculously with a steaming mug in hand. A devotee of the merits of the brown leaf, he struggled manfully with the misfortune of caring for an officer who could not stand tea in any form. This never prevented him from brewing the liquid at every opportunity and urging the captain to reconsider.
‘Thank you,’ said Sir Robert, and sipped from the mug with such evident pleasure that delight was brought into Private Jenkins’ heart.
The colonel nuzzled the heads of the hounds with his free hand.
‘Good fellows, both of them,’ he said as the dogs licked his fingers. ‘Plenty of heart. Remind me of a couple of pugs I have at home. So ugly they’re beautiful.’
Sir Robert took another long sip and then passed the mug to Pringle. The captain noticed Jenkins watching with expectation. Knowing that he would regret such weakness, he nevertheless felt obliged to drink a little before passing it on to Hanley.
‘Thank you, Jenkins,’ he said, dismissing the quietly ecstatic private.
One of the dogs wandered over to sniff at Williams. He would have thought the smell of charcoal was so strong that there was no need for such close inspection, but the animal seemed fascinated.
‘How many poor fellows have you lost?’ Sir Robert asked, noticing the wounded men lying around another fire.
‘Two dead, half a dozen wounded, one of them most likely mortally.’ The colonel’s sympathy sounded genuine, but Pringle did not soften the news because of this. ‘Oh, and a few scratches here and there.’
‘A great shame. However, I have no doubt that if you and Major Wickham had not commanded with such resolution then the cost would have been far higher.’ Williams noticed that Wickham was already receiving credit for their stand. ‘Where is the major, by the way?’
‘Deeply asleep,’ said Pringle. Williams suspected that Wickham would have been assiduously dancing attention had he known of Sir Robert’s return. ‘Shall I send to wake him?’
‘No, no. Let the good fellow rest. I count myself a good judge of men, and have no doubt that I am already sharing tea with the true heroes of the day.’
Williams was pleased to hear this. It was Pringle who had kept them going and Sir Robert who had saved them. It was also Sir Robert who had put them in such a fix in the first place.
‘Is La Doña Margarita well?’
‘Resting as best she may in her carriage. As well as can be expected given her condition.’ Williams noticed the emphasis in Pringle’s words. The captain had revealed to him that the lady was not with child. Sir Robert betrayed no sign of recognition in his face, but perhaps the flickering red light concealed his thoughts.
‘She is a fine lady and a dedicated patriot,’ said the colonel. ‘And has played her part well, as have you all. No doubt Hanley has explained our little ruse?’ That seemed too mild a term for using them all as bait to draw the French down on them and give time for Sir Robert to gather his horsemen.
‘Yes, sir,’ Hanley confirmed.
‘You must accept my apologies, Mr Pringle, for not taking you into my confidence. When we met and I arranged for you to escort the carriage I was not sure that there would be any need. I had knowledge that the lady was on her way.’ No doubt from Mr Baynes, thought Williams, and carried by Velarde. ‘It was a happy chance to discover your two companies so near. The Legion and our Spanish allies are spread so very thinly and there was no one available.
‘And I hope you will understand that it is prudent to be secretive when such a sum of money is involved.’
‘Then we are carrying gold?’ asked Pringle.
This time Williams saw a flicker of amusement from the colonel. ‘Yes, indeed yes. Although I did wonder whether to
send the coin by mule more secretly, and perhaps fill the chest with lead bars.’
‘Is that a mark of confidence?’ said Williams boldly. The dog was slobbering over his trousers.
‘I could not find sufficient good mules in so short a time,’ said Sir Robert with disarming honesty. ‘But in truth my faith in your corps is complete in every regard. So it was prudence, and not the slightest doubt, that led to my concealment of the whole truth, and for that I once again crave your forgiveness.’
‘Of course, sir,’ said Pringle after only the slightest hesitation. Williams echoed his approval. The dog suddenly sprang to press its front paws against him. The scent of meat with just a hint of mud and dung wafted over him.
‘Push him down if he is bothering you,’ said the colonel with the cheerful unconcern of the true dog lover. Williams had a general benevolence towards animals, without particular regard for all things canine.
‘You may well have slipped past the French without any trouble. General Lapisse is retreating with his tail between his legs. I cannot stop him, and all I can do is harry their flight, snapping at small detachments. The Legion has cost him a lot of men, a lot of time, and shown the Spanish hereabouts that the French can be beaten.
‘The French knew about the lady and the gold. I don’t know how they found out. Perhaps a traitor or a mere mercenary with Cuesta or any one of a dozen garrison commanders or leaders on the juntas.’ It seemed to Williams that the colonel scarcely lamented the escape of this secret, and he could not help wondering whether his ignorance was feigned.
‘Hence the attack on the carriage, which we helped Mr Williams here to thwart.’
Williams smiled at the compliment. ‘We were lost if you had not arrived. Such good fortune was hard to accept as coincidence.’
‘You have shrewd judgement,’ continued Sir Robert. ‘One of my patrols noticed their dragoons fanning out in small groups to
sweep along the roads, so we split up and tried to find you first. It was a close thing.
‘After that failure the French seemed to lose interest. Lapisse was not hanging around, and we were making life difficult for his outposts, but skipping back out of the way as soon as they gathered any sizeable force.
‘Then your Mr Hanley turned up after his remarkable escape from captivity and . . .!’
Williams’ startled yelp interrupted the explanation. The dog had nipped him as puppies will, not hard enough to break the skin, but with sufficient force to make their presence known. He stood up, half crouched, with both hands clasped protectively over his crotch.
Hanley looked almost as shocked by the suddenness of the exclamation. Pringle was struggling to restrain his mirth.
‘As I say, just push him aside if he is a nuisance,’ said Sir Robert calmly. He snapped his fingers and the dog slunk back to join its companion sprawled at their master’s feet. ‘Now where was I? Oh yes, the return of the prodigal son. So in comes this saucy fellow with his story of how he had brazened his way through the French lines. It seemed a shame not to take advantage of the opportunity.
‘Off he goes again, telling the French he is Sancho Panza or some such and a loyal servant of King Joseph – God rot his benighted soul – and has news of the treasure they had so narrowly missed. There ain’t a French general in the world who can resist loot. Call them princes or counts for five minutes and it doesn’t turn ’em from the bandits they are. The rascals have been filling their pockets with anything they could find since they got here.
‘Here was certain knowledge and an agent to show them the way. Didn’t take ’em long, did it, Hanley?’