Brothers at Arms (17 page)

Tom had his answer ready.

“She will remain at Linmore. The places where you will travel are not appropriate for her to go. Let us say, this is a practice for when you begin your military careers.”

He could understand Charlie’s predicament, feeling torn between loyalty to his sister, and his wish to travel.

In the end, Charlie said, “I understand, sir. I will have to explain she could not bring her pony. She fretted about him when we were in London, and we will be away from Linmore much longer this time.”

Tom hoped she would accept this. Seeing the lads sitting in the classroom, at desks they had outgrown, he wondered if Dr Hawley noticed how they had changed since visiting London in the spring.

Charlie was almost sixteen, and it was obvious their gruff voices had not come alone. Long limbs and big feet brought their own problems as the two young men adjusted to their new maturity. At their age, female distractions were inevitable, but he must do his utmost to avoid any undesirable consequences.

Whilst out riding in the park, he saw the former pugilist walking towards him, so he drew his horse to a halt and waited for the man to approach.

“William Rufus,” he said. “Joshua and Charlie are going travelling with their tutor in the spring, but I want you to keep them out of mischief until then. They’ll have plenty to think about, once they are abroad.”

“You mean the wenching kind of mischief, sir?” the man said with a grin.

“Yes,” said Tom. “They’re growing up fast. I don’t want any bastards here, and they’re too young for anything else.” He could say it to William Rufus with impunity. Dr Hawley was another matter.

“I’ll do me best, sir, but they’re healthy lads, and popular with the womenfolk on the estate. A bit like a jam pot attracting wasps.”

Tom knew what he meant, having seen how the lads drew many eyes in the congregation at church the previous Sunday. Most people looked favourably on them, but those with daughters had cause to be anxious. Sons of the gentry always drew attention; but these two were likely to set the neighbourhood alight.

“Do not give them time to get bored,” he said. “Increase the pressure on them. Test them to the limit, and keep their competitive spirits directed against each other. Tell them these skills might one day save their lives in the army. They’ll accept it from you.”

William Rufus nodded. “I reckon whatever we do, they’ll be having an audience, sir. Even when I was in the ring, there were wenches around the prize fights. Not out in the open, but behind the scenes they were.”

Throughout the late autumn, Joshua and Charlie rode hard to hounds, and honed their shooting and fencing skills to competitive levels. Boxing became ever more intense – almost to the point where William Rufus ended the session with a well-aimed bucket of water. Neither would give an inch – they each had to earn the respect of the other.

Whilst there was little to choose between them, if either one was judged the loser on points, he demanded a rematch, determined to prove him the better man. Inevitably, the bouts attracted an audience of cheering stable lads and giggling dairymaids. Sophie, previously the only observer, was furious, and she drove them from the barn.

The snow, which came in January, was particularly deep and for a few weeks, Joshua was anxious in case it caused them to delay their journey. Thankfully, it melted by the beginning of March, but took another two weeks for the waterlogged roads to clear of floods.

With everything prepared for the journey, they studied the weather several times a day, desperately hoping for keen winds to blow away the storm clouds. Eventually, there was a lull, and on the morning of departure, Joshua went dutifully to take leave of his mother, but she refused to see him.

When he went outside, two coaches lined up outside the door. Dr Hawley stood waiting by the first, and Joshua looked around for Aunt Jane. Thank goodness, she was there, but the hardest part was saying farewell. Knowing it would be a long time before he saw her again, he gave her a quick hug and said, “I promise to write about our travels.”

Then there was a delay of an hour, because Sophie was missing and Charlie would not get into the coach until he saw her. The servants looked everywhere inside Linmore Hall and out. Eventually, they found her hiding under a seat in the second vehicle containing the baggage, where Dr Hawley’s manservant, and Gilbert, younger brother of William Rufus, were due to ride.

She looked so dejected when they tried to say farewell, Joshua almost wished they could let her go with them – anything to put a smile on Charlie’s face. Then Shelwick brought her pony and she rode alongside the coach to the bottom of the drive. The last sight of her was when they reached the lodge. She waved a hand, as if in acceptance and turned away to gallop up the drive.

Charlie was hard-pressed to contain his sadness, but no one said a word, fearing to embarrass him. The thought of leaving Linmore touched Joshua the same way, and Dr Hawley, sitting with them, holding his book of poems, was similarly quiet.

By the time they had left rural Shropshire behind, and moved through the farming landscape of Herefordshire, both considered themselves seasoned travellers to be visiting London for the second time in a year. Despite this, not even the well-padded seats of the Linmore coach could alleviate the tedium, or jolting from side to side, along cart-rutted roads, and they viewed the coaching inn on the outskirts of Gloucester with relief.

Within an hour of arrival, they sat down to a meal of beef stew topped by herb dumplings, with lashings of gravy, followed by a spiced apple pie and cream. It was simple fare, but most welcome.

Their bedchambers appeared as if by magic, and they tumbled into the warm feather beds and slept the night through. They awoke refreshed, and after a leisurely breakfast, set off towards Oxford, through the Cotswold hill country with its green valleys and pretty villages of yellow stone houses.

They reached Mrs Pontesbury’s home in London by the middle of the third day, and spent the next two weeks with the family, waiting for the ship to take them to Italy. It was a busy time, acquiring travelling clothes for their journey.

While Dr Hawley visited museums, Joshua’s father took them to his tailor, Weston, and to have new boots made by Hoby. Aunt Winifred donated numerous items of attire, for which she claimed her two sons had no further use. Knowing her love of giving presents, Joshua suspected it was no such thing, but would never dream of saying as much.

Most poignant for him were the days his father spent with them in London before they embarked. During this time, they met a former soldier, named Sergeant Percival, employed by his father to act as tour guide to organise their travel and accommodation. It was clear the man had been in the army, but his bearing, manner and voice seemed too refined for a common soldier.

He was a tall man, with dark hawkish features, and strange green eyes, which gave him a natural air of authority. At first meeting, his disposition seemed taciturn, but his unerring knowledge of the vernacular in several foreign languages deterred anyone presumptuous enough to approach them. Two other men appeared with him, to whom he designated the title of assistants. Both were hard-faced, with wiry frames, clearly stamped with the mark of former soldiers.

When Dr Hawley met the tour guide, he froze him with a look of disdain and turned away. Later, when he needed to communicate on any matter, he sent messages with Gilbert, the Linmore servant. Joshua saw this and puzzled over the reason. It was strange, because their tutor always expected people to be polite to him, but he showed scant respect for the other man.

It was a cold morning in the second week of April, when Joshua and Charlie travelled to London Docks, to board a merchantman bound for ports along the Mediterranean coast, of which Naples was their destination.

They stood on deck, buttoned up in their greatcoats against the freshening breeze that filled the sails, as the ship slipped its moorings and slid into the deep-water channel on the morning tide.

Tom Norbery stood on the quayside, his hand raised in farewell. As Joshua returned the salute to his father, he felt the enormity of the increasing distance between the land and boat, knowing it would be many months before they met again. He sensed the same emotion in Charlie, standing beside him at the rail, but did not want to admit feeling scared.

“I suppose it will be like this when we go to war,” he said. “Travelling across the Channel, I mean.”

“Yes, I suppose it will,” said Charlie.

They gave a final wave of farewell as the docks slipped out of sight. Soon, they were past the mouth of the river, heading down the Kent coast. Then curiosity took over. They never imagined seeing so many ships in the Thames estuary, or a lighthouse at Sheerness.

They saw the chalk cliffs of Dover on their starboard side, whilst across the water the French coast looked ominously close. They had not realised enemy ships had access to the same coastal waters through which they sailed. They were not alone in feeling nervous. Dr Hawley admitted he had not travelled before. Only Sergeant Percival was a seasoned traveller, but he kept to himself.

Once clear of the English Channel, Dr Hawley resumed their lessons. Each day he kept them apprised of the ship’s position, and the captain’s intention to keep the Brittany Coast well to port.

There were no problems until they were halfway down the Atlantic coast, approaching Bordeaux. The first intimation of trouble came when a lookout sighted a ship off the starboard quarter. Activity amongst the ship’s crew intensified and Sergeant Percival appeared at Dr Hawley’s side, to interrupt his discourse.

“Beg pardon, sir,” he said in a blunt voice. “Can you take the young gentlemen down to their cabins?”

Ignoring the man, the tutor turned a haughty shoulder, with unexpected consequences. The former soldier raised his tone.

“For goodness sake, Hawley,” he said. “Do as you are told for once. It’s the captain’s orders.”

Dr Hawley was incensed. “You are impertinent, Percival. How dare you use that tone with me?”

Joshua and Charlie looked at the two men, aghast. What was going on? No one omitted the tutor’s title.

“With respect, sir,” the man said. “I am trying to impress upon you that Squire Norbery did not intend Master Joshua’s tour to include an enforced ride in a French man-of-war.”

The tutor’s resistance collapsed as pallor replaced his previous facial flush.

“A French ship…?”

“Yes, sir,” the guide pointed across the deck, “and it is bearing down on us. Now, if you don’t mind, sir, the captain wants all English travellers to go below deck and stay there until further notice.”

The ensuing panic induced an epidemic of mal de mer, as passengers rushed to their cabins, hailing servants to their side. This state of affairs proved of benefit when the advancing ship signalled the merchantman to heave to for an inspection.

Knowing the risk of the French taking his ship as a prize, the captain had ordered the fever flag be pinned to the yardarm, to discourage boarders. His hope being with only a handful of crew on the deck, the French sailors would wish to avoid contact with disease.

While the meeting went on above deck, Joshua, Charlie and others like them lay on their bunks, desperately praying none of the French sailors came aboard to put the heaving travellers to the test. For extra effect, Dr Hawley muttered his entreaties in Latin.

After what seemed an eternity, the ship was free to go on its way, and the lads vied with each other to decide which was most afflicted. In truth, relief left them feeling wan, and they stayed in their cabins from choice.

The nausea was anything but false when they went deeper into the stormy waters of the Bay of Biscay. Dr Hawley was worst affected, and Sergeant Percival, someone he scarcely deigned to notice, most adept at dispensing a swig of brandy to settle his system.

They rounded the coast of Northern Spain and were soon approaching Portugal, a fraction of their way to their destination, but the knowledge they had left France behind exercised a powerful effect.

They had no time to be bored when Dr Hawley found several new courses of study. A word with the ship’s captain gained access to the charts, so they could learn how the officers plotted the route.

The following day, they had a lesson in the workings of sails, watching the sailors scrambling high above the deck in the rigging. They marvelled at the agility, yet knew it would not do for them.

When the boat stopped at Lisbon, they stepped ashore and looked around the town, before moving down the Spanish coast to Cadiz, from where the great Armada set sail. After a day there, they moved on to Gibraltar, where the ship entered the Mediterranean Sea.

At first, it seemed idyllic, with warm, fine weather every day. Then they remembered the military hostilities. That was the reason the captain took the ship on a more southerly course, but the wind dropped and left the vessel becalmed for several days on a shimmering sea within sight of the Barbary Coast.

Some travellers thought it seemed an excess of diligence when the captain ordered his crew to keep a strict watch in the heat of the day. A thought shared by Dr Hawley, until Gilbert brought a message from Sergeant Percival, explaining that a becalmed ship was as much at risk of attack from pirates as one sailing on the high seas. It was a tense time, waiting for a change in the weather, but the lack of wind similarly affected the barbarians.

In the first week of May, Joshua celebrated his sixteenth birthday on board the becalmed ship with a nefarious tot of rum, acquired for him by Sergeant Percival in the tutor’s absence.

“Go on, lad,” the soldier said with a dry laugh. “Drink it up before the professor comes back. It won’t kill you, and more likely it will make a man of you.”

Goaded by the taunt, Joshua swallowed it in a fit of bravado. Then he choked as the spirit burned his throat, and everyone laughed at his discomfiture. Charlie promptly did the same and drew their fire.

“Dear me,” Percival said, with a wink at the Linmore servants, “I can see we will have to toughen your young gentlemen up if they are going to be army officers. Their subordinates won’t respect them if they are abstainers – in anything. I wonder what other little treats we can find for them to sample.”