Brothers at Arms (23 page)

The lads nodded agreement, out of habit.

“Enough of such maudlin thoughts,” Dr Hawley said, waving a nonchalant hand to illustrate a point he wished to make. “Let us look at the terrain through which the Macedonian army travelled, and consider how they fared. Where they would eat and sleep.”

Joshua glanced through the window. What did he mean? There was no sign of habitation here. The last village he remembered seeing was several miles back, and from the state of the land, it was no wonder the folk were thin and gaunt. The scrubland was only fit for rabbits, which were in abundance, and a few scrawny sheep and goats on steep hillsides. He looked at the riverbed running beside the road, its flow of water reduced to a trickle. There was nothing here for horses to drink, let alone an army.

Looking around, he wondered when the landscape had changed. All of yesterday, they were in an undulating, fertile valley, and it was the same when they set off this morning. He had not noticed anything different when the group stopped for luncheon, to rest the horses, so they must have turned off the main road after that. He wondered why, and hoped the guide knew where he was going. Then he realised Dr Hawley was still talking.

“Be thankful you have better shelter at night and more food than the armies of Alexander did in their time. Remember that when you don the uniform to fight for His Majesty, King George.”

“I remember Pa telling me an army on the march rarely had enough food, and men often went out to shoot rabbits for the pot,” said Charlie.

“Who did the cooking?” said Joshua.

“There are always camp followers. Wives and such like.” Dr Hawley pursed his lips, but did not elaborate.

They lapsed into silence, and listened to the sound of the coach wheels, grinding slower as the gradient of the track increased. The atmosphere felt oppressive, and in the distance the heavy sky threatened a rainstorm. Before it came, they would need to find shelter.

At the top of the slope, the coachman stopped to rest the horses. Joshua and Charlie climbed out of the coach and Dr Hawley wandered towards an outcrop of rock amongst the juniper bushes.

The lads would have followed him, but Sergeant Percival said, “Take care where you go walking, young sirs. You never know what dangers lurk out there.”

“Dangers?” said Joshua. “But what harm could be there?”

“More than you would know about, young sir.”

“Now look here, Percival…” The heat made him irritable.

“No, you listen to me,” the guide said. “This isn’t the English countryside. There are brigands in these hills, which is why we have guards. If that isn’t enough, a snake or insect bite could cost you your life. Now, if you will pardon me, I had better find the professor and make him aware.”

The man’s abrupt manner left Joshua feeling stunned. He looked at Charlie for reassurance, but it was not forthcoming.

“I think he could be right, Josh.”

Before they could say more, Dr Hawley came wandering back, looking perplexed. The soldier followed behind.

“Sergeant Percival tells me that I have been somewhat negligent of your safety, gentlemen.”

“Certainly not, sir,” Joshua said, “it’s not for him to tell you what to do.”

To their surprise, the tutor said, “I think it is, Joshua. The good sergeant has apprised me that he has your father’s full permission to oversee your safety in any way he sees fit.” He turned aside and said, “Sergeant Percival, I would be obliged if you would show them Squire Norbery’s letter.”

The soldier extracted a folded sheet of paper from his pocketbook and proffered it for Joshua’s inspection. “I meant no disrespect to Dr Hawley, but as you will see the decision about everyone’s safety lies with me.”

Joshua studied the contents. The sight of his father’s signature brought a wave of nostalgia, a sense that even this distance from home, a sheltering presence was with them. He took a deep breath, nodded agreement and returned the paper.

“Thank you, Sergeant Percival,” he said. “That is most reassuring.”

The soldier was already turning away towards the coaches.

“Right, gentlemen,” he said. “If you are ready, we will be on our way.”

The cavalcade moved on, its mood sombre. No one could think of anything to say. Dr Hawley started to speak, but lapsed into a drowsing stupor. Sometime later, he started muttering in his sleep. Incoherent wisps of conversation, unlike his usual logical talk, about
Belinda and a litter of kittens.
They knew about Miss Hawley, but such a lapse from a well-ordered mind was out of character. Then the rambling started again.

“Alexander – the fever…”

“He looks a funny colour,” said Joshua. “Do you think he’s all right?”

An unnatural flush had overcome Dr Hawley’s normally pallid complexion. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow. A dull glaze coated his eyes, and on his breath, a strange, rancid emission.

The sight galvanised them to action. Charlie grabbed the tutor’s walking stick and hammered on the roof to attract the coachman’s attention, while Joshua shouted through the window.

Sergeant Percival appeared on his horse by the coach door. “What’s the matter?”

“Dr Hawley’s ill – he’s sweaty, flushed, rambling…”

The soldier clambered through the door nearest the tutor, passed a hand over his brow, and turned the man’s head sideways to reveal a vivid red blotch staining the side of his neck.

“You’re right,” he said. “It looks as if he picked up an insect bite in the undergrowth.”

“Will he be all right, Sergeant?” said Joshua.

“He needs treatment, so I’ll leave you to do the hoping and praying, and I’ll see if we can find a gypsy herbalist. I doubt there’s a physician in the area.”

“But surely the Embassy would provide a doctor.”

The soldier’s laugh had a hollow ring. “Yes, they might, if we were within fifty miles of them, but he could be dead before we got anywhere near. We must find someone with knowledge of local herbs – and quickly.”

“What can we do to help?”

“It would be best if you rode in the other coach,” the soldier said. “Your man Gilbert can stay with the tutor, and his manservant can help until we find shelter in the nearest village.”

The thought of their tutor being in danger struck Joshua to the core. He felt sick, and scared. It seemed easy when Dr Hawley was pompous about things, and for them not taking notice, but now…

“Come on, Josh. I think Sergeant Percival is right. We’ll only be in the way.” Charlie looked just as pasty-faced, but he grabbed Joshua’s arm, and pulled him out of the coach, while the servants changed places with them. They had to accept the matter was out of their hands.

A distant rumble of thunder warned of the impending storm, matched by a flicker of lightning amongst the gathering clouds on the horizon. It was a matter of time whether they found shelter before it arrived – or not.

Hearing the order to move, the coachmen whipped up the horses and drove them onwards. Half a mile further on, a ramshackle collection of dwellings came into view, but before they reached it, the road went in separate directions. One track continued to the village and on into the hills, another turn led to a church, while the main road went down the hill out of sight. They waited while Sergeant Percival galloped ahead to seek shelter.

A woman peered out of one of the hovels, and pointed further along the road. Half a mile beyond, they found what appeared to be a tavern, in a much dilapidated state. It was not somewhere they would have stopped from choice, but there was nowhere else.

Somehow, the guide made his needs known and paid whatever money the innkeeper demanded. Only then did the man allow the guards to carry Dr Hawley from the coach to a dingy little room on the lower floor.

Conditions inside the inn were stark, but it was worse outside. The thunder rumbled overhead, but the rain held off until they carried their baggage indoors. Then the storm broke, lashing heavier by the minute as the coachmen and grooms released the frightened horses from the coaches and settled them under cover in a barn – just in time.

The two servants busied themselves in the improvised sickroom, using their own bedlinen to cover the thin straw mattress on a roughly hewn pallet in the corner. The only other item of furniture was a wooden chair.

Joshua and Charlie hovered around the tavern door, waiting for someone to tell them what to do – not knowing what would happen if Dr Hawley did not survive. They could not say the other word, for fear of making it happen.

By lucky chance, a local physician was visiting his brother in the area. When summoned to attend, he took one look at Dr Hawley and advised they called for a priest. Before he left, he proceeded to bleed the patient, and promised to return in the morning. Convinced he was dealing with a dying man, the priest came to sprinkle incense and utter a multitude of prayers.

Minutes after he left, a maidservant sidled into the room and approached Sergeant Percival, just as he was trying to persuade Joshua and Charlie to take some food. From the murmur of voices, they heard her telling him about a person living a few miles away – a Romany woman, skilled in dealing with local fevers.

He hardly waited for her to leave the room, before saying, “Mr Joshua, your tutor is likely to die unless we can improve on the care of this physician.”

That stated the case baldly, but Joshua knew he was right.

“Did you understand what the maid said about the gypsy woman? I’m hoping she will give me some kind of herbal potion. There is no guarantee it will work, but you need to know the score, in order to tell your father we did our best.”

“Do what you must,” said Joshua. “We can’t leave Dr Hawley as he is.”

“Why can’t she come here?” said Charlie.

The soldier stopped to consider his words.

“Because the locals think she’s a witch. Neither the church nor the physician would tolerate us seeking her help, even if she saved his life. I want the chance to put her treatment to the test without anyone being the wiser. If we stop one before trying another, we’ll give the game away.”

Joshua could see the logic. The physician would continue to bleed the patient as long as they paid his fees – but unless Sergeant Percival found alternative treatment, Dr Hawley might die.

With one of the guards by his side, and a local boy as guide, Sergeant Percival set off into the darkness to find the gypsy woman.

Joshua and Charlie forgot their hunger until told by the innkeeper their dinner awaited them. It was a scraggy leg of mutton, roasted on the spit with herbs, and served with a few root vegetables, and chunks of bread. The juices from the meat tasted like nectar, but it seemed indecent to enjoy food with their tutor lying almost moribund in the next room.

They divided the joint and set aside food for Gilbert, and Priddy, manservant to Dr Hawley, and sent portions out to the coachman and remaining guards, whilst ensuring there would be ample for when the others returned.

Whilst they waited to see whether Sergeant Percival could achieve his aim, Joshua and Charlie took turns to sit in the tutor’s room while the servants ate their fill and took a rest.

All the time, the tutor looked frailer and sank lower. Joshua had never seen anyone die, but he imagined this was how it would be. He felt helpless to intercede, wondering how his father would judge their action.

Please, please, please let the gypsy woman help.

He did not want to dwell on what would happen to Dr Hawley’s sister if the unthinkable happened. She would be all alone.

Some hours later, Sergeant Percival and his fellow soldier returned, looking equally weary, with rain dripping off their hats and waterproof capes.

“Did you find the gypsy woman?” Joshua hastened to ask.

“Yes,” Percival said. “She has given me something to try, but said to give no more than three doses. He can have the first now, another two hours later, and a final one in the morning before the physician returns. Any more might kill him.”

After dispensing the first dose, the soldier and his guard went to eat. Joshua and Charlie went with them, and took a tankard of ale while Gilbert and the manservant returned to their patient.

They were incredibly tired, but sleep was beyond them.

“What will we do… if…?” Joshua did not want to say the words.

“If the potion doesn’t work, you mean?” Sergeant Percival said.

Joshua nodded.

“Keep praying, young man, there are at least two more doses of the stuff in the flask, and it is not going to waste. If I’d had something like this to give your Uncle Jack, he might have survived.”

“You knew my uncle?”

“I was his batman, and the tragedy was he sold out when his wife died. He bought my freedom from the army as well, and we were going back to Linmore to collect his daughters. I daresay he might have married again, but he didn’t live long enough.”

“I’m sorry,” said Joshua. “I didn’t know who you were…”

The man shrugged his shoulders.

“There’s no reason why you should, except your father kept in touch and provided work for me. I’ve escorted quite a few young gentlemen on their travels. I even went to Oxford with your brother, but… um… let’s say we did not get on well enough for me to accompany him on his Italian trip. There’s not much of his father in him.”

“He says the same about me.”

“Oh no, anyone can see you’re a Norbery.”

Joshua felt comforted by the thought. “What about the other people here?” He nodded to the guards sitting beside the sergeant.

“Oh, you mean these ruffians? You could say they are old soldiers like me, between the wars and likewise recruited by your father.”

Even here in Macedonia, there was evidence of his father’s influence.

“Come on, young sirs.” Sergeant Percival adopted a brisk tone. “It’s time you were asleep, and there’s a room upstairs awaiting you. Depriving yourselves of slumber won’t benefit the professor.”

The physician returned mid-morning, and was surprised to find his patient not only alive, but also swallowing sips of lamb broth. The priest similarly attributed his recovery to divine providence and went away to give thanks.