Honour Redeemed (14 page)

‘I thought it worth the risk,’ Markham responded, as the sergeant, and several of his men, sucked in enough air through their teeth to let him know he was wrong. Markham turned to Bellamy, looking at him hard, commanding him by gaze alone to join in the subterfuge. ‘Did you get the snuffbox?’

Bellamy was sharp-witted enough, when he answered, not to use his normal, well modulated voice, though the patois he employed, in Markham’s opinion, went too far in the opposite direction. ‘No Massa. I a’heared you a’yelling, so ah comes a’running.’

‘He used his bayonet to chase them off,’ Markham added, as much to shut Bellamy up as to provide information.

‘Just as well, your honour. I would have had no mind to come across your body, full of holes, with a darkie private running around who was your servant. Might have gone hard against the bugger.’

‘The people who attacked me were Corsicans!’ snapped Markham, incensed at the automatic assumption that Bellamy would have been taken as the guilty party.

‘Are you sure of that, sir?’

He was about to affirm it emphatically, when the image of his attackers came to mind. What doubts he’d carried evaporated as he realised it was the same outline as he’d seen, in that split second, on the beach at Fornali fort: that odd coxcomb flopping to one side on the hat, the short, dark, tight-fitting coats. The men who attacked him were not just islanders, but Corsican soldiers.

‘Yes,’ he replied, adding no more.

‘Do you need a surgeon, sir?’ Braithwaite inquired, indicating his cut and bleeding left hand.

‘I suppose I will.’

The sergeant then barked at Bellamy. ‘Take that bandage off your damned head, man, and give it to your master.’

‘It’s all right, sergeant. If I hold it up against my chest it won’t bleed too much.’

‘Then if you will fall in with us, your honour, we shall accompany you to the surgeon.’

‘That’s very good of you, sergeant.’

‘It’s my duty, sir. Just as it be the same thing that calls on me to report. Something will have to be done. Can’t
have the locals thinking they can rob, steal and murder at will, heathen Papists though they are.’

The sergeant stepped back to let him pass, and as he did so the crowd moved. Lizzie Gordon’s maid Maria was there, recognition evident in her widening eyes. It was perhaps unfortunate that the sergeant chose that moment to ask for identification.

‘May I enquire your name, sir?’

He had to reply, he had no choice. ‘Lieutenant Markham, and this is Marine Bellamy.’

The sergeant was looking around, as if seeking something. It was then that Markham realised he was still both hatless and weaponless.

‘Bellamy, be so good as to fetch my hat and sword.’

‘Sir,’ the marine replied uncertainly.

‘They are in that pine bush.’

Braithwaite, when he stiffened, wasn’t actually looking at the wall. He just needed to raise his head so as to avoid catching Markham’s eye. He was too long in the tooth, had seen far too much service in the ranks, not to be able to deduce something of what had been going on.

‘I think it would be best if we got off on our way, sir.’

‘So do I, sergeant, so do I.’

Major Lanester had the kind of cherubic face that even the ravages of time could not make look grave for long. And Markham wasn’t sure that underneath the barely disguised strictures regarding his recent behaviour, there wasn’t a hint of amusement in those twinkling blue eyes. Markham had, as requested, sent in a written report on the incident, quite deliberately opaque as to the identity of his assailants, and avoiding altogether his reason for being in the vicinity. But in an army garrison numbering less than two thousand men, the gossip was quick to conclude what a man of his background was up to.

Hard as he sought to ward off contact with the rest of the garrison, they proved impossible to avoid. Firing practice had to continue, and only he could sign for the stores they received from the commissariat. Each time he stepped past the sentries, newly posted on his own front door, he was subjected to snide looks, accompanied by whispering, from both his fellow officers and the other ranks, inevitably followed by raucous laughter.

Even in his own billet he suffered some measure of the same, though certainly better intentioned. With the possible exception of his NCOs, the Hebes were secretly proud of him, while the Seahorses didn’t know him well enough to risk ribaldry. But even then it still rankled, reminding Markham that he’d achieved the worst of all worlds. He’d compromised Lizzie Gordon, without enjoying any of the concomitant pleasures; provoked Augustus Hanger, yet left him in a situation where a demand for satisfaction was impossible, since that would only confirm
what was, at this point, educated speculation. And in his heart he knew that whatever price fell to him for failure, the lady was paying more, thus adding remorse to all the other troubling emotions. So a call, even from someone he considered well disposed towards him, was unwelcome.

‘Sergeant Rannoch!’

‘Sir.’

The crisp response surprised him until he recalled the presence of Lanester. Rannoch might hate officers as a class, but he’d never let his own down in front of another.

‘Take the men to the gravel pits, if you please. I will follow on shortly.’

‘Is that to include those on sentry duty, sir?’

‘No, leave them be. They can come on with me.’

The crisp thud of his boots on wood was a hangover from being in the army, one that had survived his induction into the marines. Rannoch wasn’t alone, and his men’s forgetful nature had caused Markham endless trouble with Captain de Lisle, forever complaining about the effect such stamping had on his precious deck.

‘Looks like a good man,’ said Lanester.

‘He’s the best sergeant I’ve ever come across,’ Markham replied. A flash picture of the old Rannoch filled his mind: mean, angry and downright insubordinate, before he’d discovered that his new officer was determined to keep his men alive, rather than searching for a glory that would get them killed. ‘He’s also a crack shot, even with a Brown Bess.’

‘You practise your firing daily, I hear,’ Lanester replied, as Rannoch, now outside, got the men into order. Both officers listened as the commands were issued. The men fell in, shuffled as they dressed their line, came to attention and marched off before Markham answered, the tone of his voice registering the stiffness of an individual who suspected that he’d just been made the butt of a joke.

‘Both Rannoch and I rate good musketry very highly, sir.’

‘Volley fire will do at close range,’ Lanester insisted. ‘It’s too damned costly, in time and money, to get anything more accurate in a whole regiment.’

‘We’re not a whole regiment, and are never likely to be part of one. And since the powder and shot we’re firing is French and free, it’s too good a chance to miss.’

Markham only realised the pun when it was out of his mouth, one that under normal circumstances would have produced a laugh from his visitor. Now it brought forth a pained look, leaving him in some doubt as to the reason. Was it because the joke was considered bad, or the timing inappropriate? It was a relief that the look cleared quickly.

‘Such application, Markham. And you even have proper sentries on your billet, and that in an allied town. I don’t wonder that most of the officers I have spoken to consider you mad.’

‘Only mad?’

Lanester tried hard to suppress the grin, only partially succeeding. ‘That and a few other things besides, boy. You’ve certainly kept the Officers’ Mess entertained these last three nights, though the jocularity dies quick enough if Hanger puts his nose through the door.’

‘What about the Navy?’

‘Even worse, Lieutenant. They are a coarse bunch of rogues compared to the Army. You can’t give rank to the sons of tradesmen and minor clergy then expect them to exhibit proper manners. Having had the misfortune to spend half a year in their company, you will know that better than most.’

Lanester said this without any rancour, which Markham attributed to his colonial past. That was unlike most soldiers, who tended to get quite passionate about the fact that they had to purchase their rank. More telling, they resented the fact that naval officers were not only given their commissions, but were fed and looked after by the Admiralty while they earned them. Commonly, Army officers considered themselves socially superior, a status
hotly disputed by all of what the redcoats liked to denigrate as ‘Tarpaulins’.

‘Having served in both, sir, I would say the differences are too fine to register. My question regarding the Navy was related to my forthcoming court. I’m having some difficulty in finding a fellow officer to represent me.’

‘They don’t want to be tarred, perhaps.’ Lanester waited for his own pun to produce a response. But Markham was too preoccupied even to notice the Major’s play on words. Finally realising he was not to be rewarded with even a chuckle, he continued.

‘Well, son, however galling that might be, you can forget about it now. Your court has been cancelled.’

‘What?’

‘At the specific request of Captain de Lisle. From what I hear, old Hood was exceedingly happy to oblige, though he did say something about a man minding what he did with the contents of his breeches. Vulgar perhaps, typical of a country parson’s son, but the sentiment is faultless.’

Markham turned away slightly. ‘What would you say if I told you that I was entirely innocent?’

‘I would say go tell it to the fairies, or in your case the leprechauns. There’s not a man jack on the island who doesn’t know what you were after. The only thing they’re wondering on is, was it the first time, and if it was how far you would have got, failing the fracas which exposed your intentions.’

‘Has Lizzie Gordon, I mean Mrs Hanger, been seen in public?’

‘She most certainly has. Because she knows she’s got to face down the damage you’ve inflicted. Besides, I’m sure her husband insists on it.’

Markham changed the subject quickly. ‘Why do you think de Lisle cancelled the court?’

‘I would imagine he did so at the express request of a certain Army colonel.’

‘Hanger?’

‘The very same.’

‘But that doesn’t make any sense at all!’

‘How good are you on the Bible, boy?’

That threw Markham. It was a subject he’d loathed, being at the receiving end of two different readings of the same basic text, the only plus to the Protestant one being that it was in English, not Latin.

‘There was a king once,’ Lanester continued, ‘who so lusted after another man’s wife that he sent her husband off to die in battle.’

‘Saul.’

‘This notion kinda spins that on its head. Hanger has agreed to go along with Navy and invest Bastia from the sea. He’ll have direct command of the artillery and engineers, which means he will exercise some control over the siege operations.’

‘Nelson wanted to command.’

‘Still does. But sailors can’t do everything, son, even if I’ve yet to meet one who will admit it. Once they’re on land, he’ll have to defer to Hanger’s superior tactical knowledge. What I was trying to tell you is that the landing force is all marines, so you will be investing Bastia as well. Every Lobster in the fleet has been assigned to that duty.’

Markham opened his mouth to speak, but Lanester held up a hand to stop him. ‘Hanger came back from Cardo even less enthusiastic about taking Bastia than before. His report put the garrison inside the town at over three thousand. Nelson lambasted this as utter nonsense, divided Hanger’s estimate by two, and is insisting on besieging with only half that number. In pure military terms, if Hanger is closer to the truth, that borders on gross stupidity.’

‘It could be false information. The French are good at that sort of thing.’

‘It could. It might also be too damned true, especially since our Corsican allies provided the figure of fifteen
hundred, which Nelson professes to believe.’

‘And you don’t?’

‘I’m no different from all the other soldiers, Markham, reluctant to trust any figure the Corsicans gift us. But that’s bye the bye. Nelson will go ahead because Hood wants action. And Hanger, who despite your opinion is no fool, and was dead against the whole thing three days ago, is now prepared to go with him.’

‘And General d’Aubent approves?’

‘Reluctantly, provided certain conditions are met.’

‘Hanger’s not going because of me?’

‘Give me another good reason why he would court what, to his mind, is almost certain defeat. Of course the Navy will bear the brunt of the blame, so he won’t be too badly distressed in terms of his career. But logic dictates that he should decline to move, like everyone from General d’Aubent down. He hasn’t, and from what I hear, at the latest conference he helped Nelson and his enthusiasm overwhelm the gathering. You hurt him bad, Lieutenant, so bad he must have trouble digesting his victuals. And it’s not a situation he can salvage by calling you out.’

‘Because I’d kill him,’ Markham snapped.

Lanester lost a measure of control then, his voice becoming harsh and commanding. ‘You know that’s not the reason.’

‘No,’ Markham replied softly.

‘I’ve taken the trouble to ask a few questions about you.’

‘Have you?’

‘Not hard to get answers right now, of course. You’d be surprised how much envy you generate.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Is that common sense or vanity?’ Lanester asked without emphasis on either proposition. Markham too had realised how it sounded, and had the good grace to blush. ‘Funny thing, but a lot of what all these folks say to diminish you, kinda raises you in my eyes.’

‘I think Americans are possibly less hypocritical.’

Meant as a compliment, it produced exactly the opposite effect. ‘Don’t you believe it, son. Hypocrisy knows no borders, and is not diluted even by three thousand miles of sea water.’

Markham wanted to ask what it was that so impressed him. If Lanester knew, he was in no hurry to pass on the information. The major sat for several seconds, lost in his own thoughts, before he chose to continue.

‘Rumour has it that you get a touch stretchy with your orders. That you’re rude to your superiors, speak when you should stay silent, interfere in operations that are none of your concern and waste every waking moment on firing practice.’

‘I could mount a defence to that.’

‘But not without more than a touch of bombast, I reckon.’

‘No.’

‘Hanger intends to get you killed, son,’ said Lanester, confirming what he’d only hinted at. ‘If you’re not first ashore at Bastia, you and those men you just sent off to the pits will be in the thick of whatever is going. A man’s luck can only last so long, and if Hanger gets his way, whatever rumours there are about you and his wife will die along with you.’

‘He’s tried it before, Major. And if he does so again, don’t let him fool you that it has anything to do with his wife’s reputation. I’m the man that put that scar on his face, so I’m with him every time he shaves.’

‘When was that?’

‘That’s of no importance.’

‘America, then!’ snapped Lanester. ‘I heard a whisper you two went back that far.’

‘He’d have killed me there, if he hadn’t been too drunk.’

‘The difference is, Lieutenant, if he succeeds this time, most people will turn a blind eye. You didn’t stand too high in folk’s minds before this. Now, thanks to your
nocturnal wanderings, you’ve sunk even lower. Where I come from, the word skunk would figure. Now I reckon that you are sorry for that, and you’re the type who, had the lady obliged, would have kept your own counsel.’

‘I would, of course, have done just that.’

‘Those two footpads have a lot to answer for.’

‘They weren’t footpads, Major, they were Corsican soldiers.’

‘Soldiers!’

‘Do you remember what I thought I saw at Fornali?’

Lanester nodded slowly, the bright eyes now bearing into Markham’s. ‘I recall you weren’t too sure of yourself.’

‘I am now!’ Markham snapped. ‘The pair who tried to knife me were dressed the same way as that silhouette. It was like seeing the same thing twice. Round hats that flop to one side and dark serge jackets, tight breeches and high boots. It’s not much of a uniform, but it is the only one our allies have. How many Corsican soldiers are there here in San Fiorenzo?’

‘A few. Generally only those who’re providing escorts for their liaison officers.’

‘Personal bodyguards, in other words.’ Lanester nodded. ‘And how many of those were in the vicinity of Fornali the night the French pulled out?’

The major didn’t reply, because it was superfluous. ‘Is that why you have guards outside?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you put this in your report?’

‘No,’ Markham replied, adding as Lanester raised an enquiring eyebrow, ‘Remember Hood’s dinner.’

‘Hard to forget. Dundas put you and the Corsican commanders on the spot. Quite entertaining, I seem to recall.’

‘Not for me. Grimaldi quizzed me when I returned from the deck. I could have explained what I thought I saw, including my doubts, though I think that would have done
more harm than good. Besides, I guessed Hood didn’t want it aired, so I said nothing.’

‘So the locals still have no real idea?’

‘I stuck to my story, trying to scotch the worst of what Dundas had said.’