02 - Keane's Challenge (15 page)

Sanchez nodded and said nothing.

Keane retied his stock, which had come loose around his neck during the fight, and walked across to where the others were standing. Garland, the giant prizefighter, grinned at him.

Keane smiled back. ‘Good as you almost, eh, Garland?’

‘If you say so, sir. It was well done, though.’

Keane looked at his bloodied hand. ‘Hard bloody head he had, though. You might give me a lesson.’

Archer, the newcomer, had been watching the while and now he walked over to Keane and looked at his hand. ‘I’ve never seen that done, sir. Not ever. Killed with a single punch.’

Keane waited while Archer bound up his hand. He spoke quietly. ‘To be honest, Archer, I’ve never done that before. But don’t tell anyone, will you? I surprised myself. Only supposed I’d knock him out. Always wanted to try it, though. A trick taught me by an old Indian hand. Fellow in the 33rd who said he’d learnt it from a kaffir. One of Tippoo’s thugs. How to kill a man by punching him hard on the temple. Always wondered if it worked.’

Ross had done as he’d been ordered and rounded up ten men from the crowd. They had come without a struggle, cowed and shocked by what they had just witnessed. He reported to Keane. ‘Ten men, sir, like you ordered.’

‘Very good, sarn’t. Find a cart and make them load the bodies on to it. And you had better put Leech into it too, and Archer with him. We’re heading back to Celorico. All of us.’

It was then that he realized that he had not seen Heredia for some time. Not, in fact, since they had entered the plaza and discovered the dead hussars. ‘Sarn’t Ross, where’s Heredia?’

‘Couldn’t say, sir. He was with me when we cleared out the village. Haven’t seen him since, though. Shall I get the men to look for him? He can’t be far.’

But hardly a moment later Heredia appeared. He walked into the clearing from the direction of the village and Keane could see from his manner that something had happened.

‘Heredia? We wondered where you’d got to were. Where the devil were you?’

‘I chased two of the villagers into the fields. Two men. They were running away.’

‘Do you have them? Where are they?’

Heredia said nothing. He shook his head.

Keane frowned. ‘They got away then?’

Heredia looked across at the villagers, who were loading the dead hussars on to a wagon. He turned to Keane. ‘Please believe me, captain. This is not the way my people behave. These people are savages. You were right, sir. Well, now I have become one of them. I am a savage too.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing. I did what I had to do. Just that.’

‘You killed one of them? You know that I did the same.’

‘You do not want to know what I did, captain. Please do not ask me again. I have restored my people’s honour.’

Keane noticed that Heredia’s overalls were heavily bloodstained on the right leg and saw too that blood had dried on his scabbard and at the top of his right arm. ‘Are you wounded? Have Archer look at it.’

Heredia looked at him and shook his head. ‘It’s not mine. I told you. I have restored my people’s honour. Isn’t that enough?’

Something had changed in Celorico. There was a new spirit abroad in the town. Keane had sensed it the minute they had entered the main square. He could not place it exactly, but it was there in the eyes of the people as they looked up at the strange party.

Keane and his men rode at the head of the column, followed by two wagons containing the prisoners and another, smaller cart carrying Leech and Gabriella.

They had buried the three hussars at San Pedro and, still distrustful of the mood of the villagers, Keane had thought it wise to leave Sanchez and his men there. He had, however, brought von Krokenburgh and every one of the German hussars, anticipating a potential antagonism between them and Sanchez’s men following the commander’s refusal to involve his troopers in the arrest of the villagers.

He wondered what it was that might be troubling him. A sense of suspicion, resentment or just fear? The expressions on the faces of the townspeople seemed to speak of all of these things. Keane supposed that it might be simply his imagination playing tricks. A consequence of the shock of seeing the
Portuguese villagers turn on his men. But there was no denying that there was definitely something amiss.

He had returned to the town too in some trepidation, aware that his presence there might not be what Wellington had intended. But he had justified it to himself, secure in the conviction that it was of paramount importance that the murderous villagers should be brought to justice and receive their punishment, which he presumed would be death.

Had he but been truthful with himself, however, he would have admitted that this was not the prime reason for his return. There were in fact two more powerful reasons, neither of which he could admit to either Grant or Wellington.

He pondered Pritchard’s fate and knew that he would not rest until he had searched the ruins of his house once again. Something was not right. He could not pinpoint it. He knew that any such investigation must be done as soon as possible. Before the place fell to pieces or was too much looted. But apart from that, he had a burning need to gain any news he could of Kitty Blackwood.

*

They took the prisoners directly to the town jail, which was now a military prison, and handed them over to the care of the provosts. Keane had detailed Ross, Garland and Martin to do the job, but the sergeant soon reappeared outside.

‘Sir, I think you had better come in. Something you should see.’

Keane tethered his mount to one of the irons outside the building and walked in. He was met by the same provost sergeant who had accompanied them when he and Morris went to arrest Pritchard. The man saluted and Keane acknowledged him.

‘Sarn’t Baynes, good day. Good to see you again. What’s all this about?’

‘I was just saying to your sergeant, here, sir, that these ain’t the first of their kind we’ve had here in recent days. Not by any means. Whole place is full of Portos. Makes a change from the usual drunks and brawlers from our army, I suppose. But it’s a queer thing, sir, ain’t it?’

‘It is, sarn’t. Very curious. How do you come to have so many locals? What are their crimes? Have they all been thieving from us?’

‘Oh no, sir. Far worse than that. Same as your lot there. They’ve been murdering us, or trying to, the bastards. Don’t know what’s got into all of them. Thought they was on our side, sir. But I reckon we’ll have a few hangings before the week’s out. And good riddance to them.’

‘Can I see them?’

‘If you’re quite sure you want to, sir.’

The sergeant took Keane from the guardroom and into the prison, to where Garland, Martin and two of the provosts were shutting the ten villagers away in a common cell.

‘They’re in there, most of them. There’s a couple of right wild ones cooped up on their own in another cell, but I don’t think you’d want to see them, sir. Have your eyes out soon as look at you, they would. I’d shoot them now and be done with it if I had my way.’

Keane peered into the dark cell, his sense assailed by its rank stench of slop buckets, damp stone and sweat. At a guess, including his own prisoners it contained some forty men, all dressed in civilian clothes, all of the same peasant stock.

‘And you say they’re all here on account of having attacked British soldiers?’

‘That’s the long and short of it, sir. There’s three there that’s actually done murder on us as far as we know. Leastways that’s what the officers who brought them in swore to be the case.’

‘And where are they from?’

‘Seem to be farming villages mostly. Far as we can make out. All along the river. Where our cavalry have been doing the burning.’

So, thought Keane, it was not an isolated incident. Half the populace was in arms at Wellington’s policy. He thanked Baynes and with the others walked from the prison and out into the sunshine and fresh air.

At some point he knew he would have to make his report to Grant and Wellington and there was no way in which he would be able to cover up his actions at San Pedro and that he had killed a villager. Nor would he be able to disguise the fact that he had returned to Celorico. He wondered whether it might not be better to do so, however, after he had visited Pritchard’s house, lest they should insist that that he return to Don Sanchez without further delay.

‘Sarn’t Ross, take the men and find a billet. You might try our old hovel. Failing that, you had better go with the Germans and see what they can offer you. We shan’t be staying more than a single night, I imagine.’

Leech was lying in the small cart, tended by Gabriella and Archer. His eyes were open and, though it was clear he was in some pain, he managed a smile on seeing Keane.

‘Feeling better, Leech?’ He turned to Archer. ‘We had better get him to the hospital.’

‘Not if you want him to live, sir.’

‘Is it that bad a place?’

‘There’s too many that goes in there with no more than an
ailment that comes out in a box. Best that I look after him, sir, at least until we return to the front.’

‘Very well, Archer. We’re lucky to have you. But I can’t spare you here. You’ll have to leave him when we go.’

He walked to where von Krokenburgh and his men stood dismounted by their horses. ‘Captain, I suggest that you return to your unit. I daresay you’ll want to explain about your three men. We’ll leave here tomorrow. I’ll give a good account of you to the commander.’

Von Krokenburgh nodded and thanked him and led the hussars away to the lines of their parent unit, which had remained with much of the light cavalry close to the headquarters, from where they and others had made their daily sorties to ravage the land in accordance with the standing orders of the commander-in-chief.

Keane, having given his horse to Martin, set off into the town. He had decided that he would find Morris first, at least visit his house, and then, after a tour of Pritchard’s ruined billet, stiffen his nerve and make his report. He walked from the prison in the direction of Morris’s billet on the Rueda della Casa.

On his way there he noticed again the changed nature of the place and began to think that it might indicate a change in the attitude of the Portuguese as a whole. What had previously been gratitude to their liberators had he thought been replaced by resentment at their presence.

*

At length he came to the little narrow close beside the church of Santa Maria. The church was still in operation as a hospital. Now, though, a good deal more of the disease had been replaced by wounds from battle, but, as before, Keane smelt the familiar odour of infection and suffering. He stooped at Morris’s door
and was surprised to find it shut and locked. He banged at it a few times and called Morris’s name. But there was no response. At length a window opened in the house opposite and an old woman looked out at Keane. Seeing her, he smiled and asked as to the whereabouts of the officer
inglêse
.

The woman shrugged and said simply, ‘
Partado.
’ Morris had gone.

Keane was baffled. In theory, with Pritchard dead, he was once again part of Keane’s unit and had only remained in Celorico on account of various things to which he had to attend. Once again Keane found his mind inventing solutions. No doubt all would become clear when he made his report to headquarters. A moment he was still keen to delay.

He walked from Morris’s house along the way the two of them had taken on the day of the explosion, past the church with its twin bell towers, then across the main road and through cramped back streets, towards the granite buildings of the old town and past ornate gothic windows, in the direction of the headquarters building.

Pritchard’s house looked much as they had left it. Some of the sticks of furniture which had been left intact after the blast had gone, he thought, but apart from that, the site was the same pile of rubble it had been. The bodies, or parts of bodies, had long been taken for disposal and were he presumed now either interred or burnt. He was not even sure quite what it was he was hoping to find here. He only knew that somewhere in this place there must lie a clue as to who had planted the bomb and the identity of the body parts. Curiously, although it had been a good ten days, the house still smelt of burning.

He walked through the rubble, kicking at the stones as he went. Here was the spot where he had found the severed
arm and over there the place where the torso had been. Fragments of the bomb still lay where they had fallen, but nothing yielded any further clues. Keane wondered at himself for having returned.

He left the site and walked up the road to the headquarters building, wondering all the way what he was going to say to the commander-in-chief.

Lieutenant Ayles showed him in to Wellington’s office. Grant was standing with Wellington.

The duke appeared to be genuinely surprised by his appearance.

‘Captain Keane? I had not expected to see you. I had thought you were with Don Sanchez. Explain yourself, if you will.’

‘Sir. I am sorry to say that I have to report a problem.’

‘A problem? With Don Sanchez? This is not the news that I wish to hear from you, captain. This is not the purpose for which you were engaged. I expect you to bring me intelligence and news of cooperation between your two forces along the enemy lines. What is this problem?’

‘You will not have heard, sir, that we have just now brought in ten Portuguese peasants under arrest.’

‘Arrested, eh? Really? You do not surprise me, Keane. The place is full of them. For what were they taken?’

‘Murder, sir. Murder of your own soldiers. Sir, do you realize that the whole countryside virtually is rising against us?’

‘I think you exaggerate, captain. We have had a few incidents. Nothing more.’

‘Sir, they killed three of the German hussars in cold blood. Stoned them to death. And almost did the same to one of my men who had just demolished a bridge, thus denying the French
passage across the river.’ He paused, then spoke again. ‘In fact, I killed one of them, in self-defence.’