Honour Be Damned (14 page)

Progress was desperately slow, which had Markham harrying the stragglers. Aramon’s servants, still saddled with their master’s possessions, coped remarkably well. Renate had a degree of natural grace that diminished the appearance of struggle, and a very attentive Bellamy was assisting her through every difficult stretch.

But their garments, especially Mademoiselle Moulins’,
hampered
both females. If proof were needed of the folly of bringing them along, regardless of plots and stratagems, then this was it. The Monsignor himself had hitched up his cassock in such a way as to leave his stockinged legs free to move, though he often found it necessary to use both hands and feet to make any upward progress.

Markham at least had the sense to remove his scarlet coat. De Puy hadn’t even attempted to put his own back on. Not Germain! His naval uniform, even if it was made of thick broadcloth, was his badge of distinction, and he was damned if he was going to forfeit it for what he termed a minor discomfort. His neck linen was soaked with perspiration, some of that dripping from his chin onto his waistcoat. Naturally, he had not seen fit to bring any water of his own, nor even a container to carry it, and was
annoyed when his marine officer restricted that which the captain could demand from his men.

Frequent halts for rest were necessary, and frustrating. But as the day wore on this lessened, and to some extent the vegetation thinned. Well clear now of the coastal strip, Markham felt he could relax. He was reasonably sure that the soldiers, even if they’d found the bodies of their comrades and picked up their trail, hadn’t pursued them. And by the time they reached Nice, the next largish town, he and his party would be too far ahead of any search party that could be mounted from the permanent garrison. So, when reconnoitring ahead in the late afternoon, he and Rannoch heard the crashing sound of a body of men moving through the undergrowth, it came as quite a shock.

‘They are ahead of us,’ whispered Rannoch, as both men fell forward on to the ground.

‘That’s not possible,’ Markham replied, his mind racing to confirm the validity of what he had said.

Certainly they’d halted often enough, and a mounted party sent in pursuit of them could have used the Grasse road to get in front, then cut across on another track to bar their way. But that argued they knew their route and destination, and something about the composition of the party. Or it was a sheer fluke?

Rannoch had his head cocked, his ears straining to make something of the noises coming from up ahead. There wasn’t much in the way of speaking, excepting the odd curse. But there was ample sound, as bodies pushed through bushes, accompanied by the swish of the swords and bayonets that were being used to slash at the undergrowth.

‘They are moving across our path, not towards us, but slowly.’

‘Searching?’

‘Definitely that.’

‘Fetch the Comte de Puy up here, will you, Sergeant, and ask him to make sure to bring his map. Get him to this spot and keep him here till I return.’

‘Shall I alert the others to be prepared to run.’

‘No! Tell Halsey to be ready to retreat, but make sure no one else hears you say it. He’s not to make any dispositions until you and the Monsieur de Puy are out of sight.’

Rannoch looked at him, his blue eyes boring into those of his officer. Markham had no need to speak. The Highlander could make the same deductions as he had; that if the men ahead of them
were searching for their party, then someone had to have told them where to look. The only person who’d been out of contact with the rest of the group, free to arrange such a thing, had been de Puy. With a sharp nod, he slithered downhill over the covering of wet leaves.

Markham, using the undergrowth in front of him, crept forward, pistol extended, heading for the source. Aware that the searchers had moved on, he tended slightly to the right, and was soon on the edge of the area already covered, a swathe some twenty feet wide though which the evidence of human passing was plain. Bushes and plants had been cut down or trampled. In the distance he could now hear other parties, also searching, perhaps half a dozen, certainly two or tree groups. That argued a substantial body of men, some of whom were acting like beaters on a hunt.

How could they have got so organised and so placed at such speed? It was easy to imagine that with the encumbrances he and his men had, they could easily have walked smack into this search party. But that thought negated the notion of any prior knowledge. And why indulge in this elaborate search, when all they had to do was wait for their quarry to arrive, and close in on them as they unsuspectingly, and noisily, walked into a trap?’

The sight of de Puy, lying beside Rannoch, was a relief. He
half-feared
that the Frenchman would be gone, having slipped away from the others, well aware of what lay up ahead. On reflection of course, that didn’t make sense. The Comte could stay with the party until they were taken, and he was still the only person, who, since coming ashore, had had the time to arrange matters.

But as Markham crawled closer he was struck with another obvious thought; why bother? He had been thinking through a set of ideas that applied to him, Aramon and Germain, not de Puy. He had in his mind the treasure they were after, and an individual attempt to get hold of it. Why should the man who left it behind, the only person who could take them to it, go to all this trouble to have them taken up? De Puy, once he was out on his reconnaissance, could have left them all in that outhouse, and simply not returned. As soon as he was alongside him, the Comte, in a whisper, bombarded Markham with the same set of questions with which he had taxed himself.

‘I have no idea, monsieur,’ Markham insisted. ‘All I know is
they are there, and that they represent an almost insurmountable threat to us.’

‘Perhaps we would be better to stay where we are until dawn.’

‘If we can’t get ahead of them,’ Markham said, ‘I’d rather we fell back and put some distance between us. If we have to withdraw in a hurry, with women in tow, we will be hampered if they get close.’

The noise had been fading, as the distance between them and the search parties grew. But a sudden shouted order changed all that. Faint though it was, Markham was sure it was an instruction to retire. But that notion evaporated when he heard the first blades striking on wood. The group nearest to their position had come round in an arc. They were now making their way back towards the road, but lower down the slope, heading right for the place where the remainder of the party was resting.

Added to that came the unmistakable thud of hooves pounding on earth, as what sounded like a squadron of cavalry passed by, heading up towards Grasse. No horse could enter the forest, of course, it was too dense and the slope was too steep. But it was clear evidence of a mobility that Germain’s party lacked. They couldn’t stay in this wild woodland and survive. Remaining still invited discovery, moving up and on, sticking to their original route with its attendant noise even more so. He had no idea in which direction the searchers would move next, the only certainty being that while they were so engaged they would not be on the Grasse road. And if there were piquets there, they would be visible and perhaps avoidable, while the noise of cavalry would so precede them that avoiding action could be taken.

‘Rannoch, ask Captain Germain to get everybody on their feet and heading due east. He must proceed with care. When they come to a road, request that they stay out of sight and wait by the edge of that for me. On no account are they to cross it. Keep our Lobsters in their present position and send the rest on ahead. We will form a rearguard. We have about ten minutes I reckon before they chance on this spot. They may come on and they may not. If they do, and if we can get across to the other side of the road, we will be out of their search area, and we might be safe.

‘The women can’t run.’

‘Then carry them,’ Markham snapped. ‘And tell Aramon to hide his damned boxes in some bush.’

Markham grabbed de Puy as Rannoch departed, and they
moved crabwise across the hillside, the noise of the men beating through the undergrowth increasing with each step they took. Occasionally a voice floated through the trees, giving an order that kept the men in some kind of formation. He tried to calculate their pace, and to relate that to the ground his own party would have to cover. But it was a futile exercise. There was a risk and it had to be taken. To move was safer than staying still. He tugged at de Puy’s shirt, to haul him back again, afraid that what remained of the startling whiteness of his linen would show up, even through this dense foliage.

He got back just as his party had begun to make their way, sending every bird and animal off in a noisy escape. Only the fact that the French were doing the same, and making so much noise of their own in the process, saved them. Ordering Rannoch to fall back in good order, he went ahead to see if he could quieten them as they approached the Grasse road.

Aramon was red-faced and gasping for breath, clearly angry, as though Markham had arranged this for his personal discomfort. Ghislane Moulins had not been carried, judging by the way her breasts were heaving, a sight that drew Markham’s eye, and for a second distracted his attention. But he forced himself to concentrate, and went ahead, setting a slower, quieter pace as he tried to ease through the vegetation, rather than brush it aside.

Rannoch, meanwhile, was cursing officers in general and Markham in particular. Moving across the hill, in this way he’d been ordered to, was difficult. It seemed as if every root or obstruction had been placed especially to trip the marine
rearguard
up, especially since they had to keep their muskets trained, prepared to give the French a volley should the two groups get too close to each other.

Markham had come to the edge of the road, easing himself out through the thinning trees. The light wasn’t good, though there was still at least an hour of daylight left. But the angle of the sun, given the canopy of trees, cast the road into deep shadow, and it was only the small movements of men fidgeting that drew his eye. He watched for a full minute, his thoughts deeply troubled, before easing himself back in to the thicker undergrowth.

‘I can’t see what’s over the other side. But there are soldiers up ahead on the road. There’s a coach there too.’

‘How many soldiers?’

‘One about every fifty feet, all facing these woods which their comrades are searching.’

Markham paused, examining each face in turn for some sign that such a statement registered. It was bad enough that the enemy was looking for them. But that they should concentrate their search only on the western side of the Grasse road was singular. But no one reacted, except to keep staring at him, waiting for a decision.

‘There don’t appear to be any on the other side.’

‘We might be able to go round them,’ said Germain.

‘By crossing the road,’ added de Puy.

‘It would be safer surely,’ Germain continued. ‘Once it begins to get dark, they will have to give up anyway. But they might just come close enough to us in their last cast to smoke us out.’

‘Can I have a private word, sir?’ asked Markham.

Germain was reluctant, perhaps guessing what he was going to be asked to do. But he had no choice but to accede, the look in his marine officer’s eye leaving the captain in no doubt that he would speak out publicly if he had to.

‘What is it,’ he whispered, once they were alone.

‘I think we should turn back.’

‘No!’

‘We are trapped in these woods by a superior force, and we are making slow progress anyway. You might have had what you thought were good reasons to agree to let Aramon bring his servants, let alone Mademoiselle Moulins and her maid. But that has backfired now.’

‘You heard what he said. He would not move without them.’

Markham hated to be thought stupid, and that was reflected in the tone of his voice. ‘I also saw what you were thinking, and how much it suited your purpose to get them all off the ship.’

‘You’ve lost me Markham.’

‘No I’ve not. And if you think I’ve read your mind, you can be certain Aramon has too. He wants that treasure in Rome.’

‘That is not going to be up to him to decide. I am a naval officer, Markham, and I intend to remain so. I have already confided in you what my intentions are.’

‘And I am asking you if the game is worth the candle.’

‘Think of the reward,’ Germain insisted.

Markham hissed his reply. ‘I’m afraid, sir, if I do I will become as blind as you.’

‘If you wish to return to the beach, and wait for us there, you may do so.’

The same dilemma! The odds were stacked against success, perhaps even against survival. But Markham was arrogant enough to believe that if he went that could only get worse. Germain was even less of a man to trust on land than he was at sea. He would carry on regardless. And now it wasn’t just his Lobsters to worry about. Abandoning Aramon held no terrors. But there was also de Puy and Ghislane Moulins.

‘I think my place is here, sir.’

‘Then what I need to know, Markham, is what we do now?’

‘I seem to remember that you are in command.’

Germain blinked at that, and Markham was aware that what he’d just done was deliberately cruel. He’d made all the decisions since coming ashore. Germain had acquiesced in this, no doubt because all those he’d made at sea had been uniformly disastrous. That high degree of confidence he’d displayed in Corsica had quite evaporated.

‘I would appreciate your advice, Markham.’

‘You will not withdraw?’

‘No!’

‘There is a dense thicket some fifty yards back. I suggest we pull back to that, sir, and remain there.’

‘Will we not cross the road?’

‘That is an operation fraught with risk, only to be considered if it becomes obvious that it is necessary. It is not one I image can be undertaken without casualties. In that regard, I think your command has suffered quite enough.’

The eyes locked, and the unspoken rebuke, that they would not be in this predicament if it weren’t for Germain whoring after glory was sent and accepted.