Miss Jacobson's Journey (22 page)

By the time he and Petye reached Pamplona, Isaac had almost succeeded in convincing himself that as a rational person he could not possibly have fallen in love in a week.

They drove through the gate into the ancient city on the ninth of April, the first night of Passover. Petye wouldn’t have cared if he had known, but Isaac regretted being unable to celebrate the festival. The best he could do was to avoid leavened bread when he treated Petye to a superb meal at the inn where they stopped. He had come to like and respect the cheerful, willing Basque.

 Petye had family and friends in Pamplona but he agreed to stay with Isaac until he had made contact with Kalmann Rothschild. If Kalmann failed to turn up, Isaac hoped Petye’s guerrillero contacts might help him smuggle the gold to Lord Wellington, always supposing they knew where Lord Wellington was to be found. One way or another he had to deliver the gold. Miriam expected no less.

Next day he walked to the cathedral square well before noon, anxiously scanning the faces of the passers-by though he knew he would recognize Kalmann from a distance.

The chimes of the cathedral clock rang out over the city, and there was the young Rothschild crossing the square, his high-crowned, narrow-brimmed silk hat conspicuous among the Basque berets. As he caught sight of Isaac striding towards him, his plump, face took on an expression of surprise and-- embarrassment? However, he shook Isaac’s hand heartily.

“You made good time,” he said in Yiddish. “You had no trouble on the way?”

They strolled on through the town as Isaac gave a brief description of the various trials and tribulations of the journey. Kalmann seemed relieved when he learned that Felix and Miriam had been left behind. Isaac began to be puzzled.

“When did you arrive in Pamplona?” he asked. “Have you already made arrangements for transporting the gold from here onward? I assume it will have to be transferred from the berline to a mule train.”

“The situation is somewhat complicated,” Kalmann evaded.

“But we cannot drive the berline across the French lines!”

“No, no, the berline has served its purpose. To tell the truth, Jakob was far from sure that you would reach Pamplona.”

Isaac halted, grasping Kalmann’s arm. Something was definitely amiss. “What do you mean? You expected to lose the gold?”

Kalmann glanced around. A row of ancient houses faced the city walls across a narrow cobbled street. No one else was in sight, or in earshot. “The only gold in the berline is there to deceive the English lord,” he revealed. “Most of the weight is lead. It is best if you do not tell the English lord. His government does not need to know our methods.”

Staring at his bland face, Isaac felt his neck muscles tense in the effort not to shout. “You Rothschilds stole the gold?” he demanded through gritted teeth. “You used Miriam and me to keep Felix happy while you covered your tracks?”

“God forbid! Trust is our greatest asset; why would we steal from the British Government? No, Jakob took the gold from Nathan to banks in Paris and exchanged it for notes on banks in Barcelona and Zaragoza. I brought the notes to Spain and exchanged them for gold. Both cities resisted the French invaders and the people hate them, so it was not difficult to persuade even the suspicious to cooperate in transporting the gold to Pamplona.”

 “Then what... We were decoys.” As the realization struck, Isaac began to shake with anger, his voice rising. “You intended the French to follow us, to arrest us even, to divert suspicion from what was really going on!”

“We had every expectation of being able to buy your freedom if you were caught.”

“And in the meantime? That you should endanger Miriam for nothing, risk her being confined to prison--and worse--merely to distract attention from your trail!”

“Hush.” The street was no longer empty. Kalmann jerked his head towards an interested old man and a pair of giggling girls who had stopped to watch the altercation. “We had best move on before someone wonders what language we are speaking.”

He started walking and Isaac perforce fell in beside him. Fury seethed within him, remembering the lascivious army captain at Blois, the dungeons of Bordeaux, the cold, cruel eyes of the prefect. He had hated Miriam’s involvement even when he thought it was in a good cause.

“I would not have sent a woman,” Kalmann said. “Jakob hoped it would lessen the danger, both by making your travels appear more natural and because of Miss Jacobson’s languages and experience. Was she not of assistance to you?”

Isaac’s laugh was harsh. “As I told you, without her we’d still be imprisoned in Bordeaux. She saved our skins, at grave risk of her own! And that was not the only time. We’d not have gone far without her,” he admitted grudgingly.

As if his admission closed the subject, Kalmann turned to business. He had discovered, roughly, Wellington’s whereabouts, hired mules, and arranged for an escort of Basque guerrilleros. Assuming that the guerrilleros hated the French more than they loved gold, another fortnight or so should see the mission completed.

They rode out of Pamplona before dawn the next day. Travelling mostly by tortuous goat tracks, often invisible to anyone but their guide, they rode southwest through bare, bleak, stony mountains towards the Portuguese border. Sometimes they saw clouds of dust on the plateau far below, where the road from the French border carried troops to the French army headquarters at Salamanca. Sometimes they detoured around towns or fortresses held by the French. Always either Isaac or Kalmann was on guard at night, keeping watch over Wellington’s gold.

During Isaac’s brief hours of restless sleep, wrapped in a blanket on the hard, cold ground, he dreamed of Miriam--or of Miriam and Felix. Waking, he had to acknowledge it was just as well she was not on this leg of the journey. Once again his anger at Jakob for involving her flared.

One day a scout returned to announce that he had met with a band of Spanish guerrilleros. Wellington’s army was encamped at the village of Fuentes de Oñoro, right on the Portuguese border, some fifteen miles west of the French stronghold at Ciudad Rodrigo. But
El Aguila,
the Eagle as the Spanish called Wellington, had ridden south to inspect General Beresford’s army at Badajoz.

Masséna was expected to try at any moment to relieve the starving French garrison at Almeida, the last outpost on Portuguese ground. A battle was imminent and General Lord Wellington was elsewhere.

A battle! Kalmann decided discretion was the better part of valour: no sense risking the gold falling into French hands after bringing it all this way. Isaac argued that in the confusion after a battle handing over the gold to the British might prove difficult, dangerous, or impossible.

The matter was settled by the guerrilleros. Honour demanded that they seize the chance to come to blows with the French. The mule train picked its way down from the Sierra de Gata and plodded towards Fuentes de Oñoro.

The sentry gaped when a rumpled, grimy, unshaven Englishman stepped forward to answer his challenge. He’d heard Nosey had just ridden in from Badajoz, a rumour that was confirmed as Isaac and his ruffianly crew were passed from hand to hand. At last a young lieutenant led Isaac and Kalmann across a boulder-strewn stream and into the hillside village, a tiered labyrinth of one-story stone cottages, walled vegetable patches, and narrow, twisting alleys.

“The Beau’s quartered near the top,” he said. “His lookout post is up there by those slabs of rock, near the church. He’s a busy man so I hope you have something of importance to tell him.”

“I am quite certain his lordship will be pleased to hear my news,” Isaac assured him dryly.

Arthur Wellesley, Viscount Wellington of Talavera and Wellington, and Baron Douro of Welleslie, radiated energy. His light blue eyes, brown hair, and hooked nose were unremarkable but his presence filled the tiny room. He scanned the letters from the Treasury and from Nathan Rothschild and tossed them on the battered table that served him as a desk.

“Mr. Cohen, Herr Rothschild, you have brought the gold? Splendid.” He fired some rapid orders at his staff then turned back to the visitors and shook their hands. “You have my most sincere thanks, gentlemen. Ned here will see you get your receipts all right and tight. Now if you will excuse me, I have a battle to prepare for.”

The two things Isaac wanted most in the world at that moment were a bath and a bed. Ned Pakenham, the general’s adjutant and brother-in-law, found him both. He also provided receipts-- three copies, for Jakob, Nathan, and the Treasury,--horses, and a guide.

Neither Isaac nor Kalmann had any desire to linger. The next morning they started back towards the Pyrenees. Towards Miriam--and Felix.

Chapter 20

 As Miriam watched the berline climbing through a golden dawn towards the pass, she felt as if she were being torn in two. Felix needed her, Isaac didn’t, but how she wished she had not been forced to choose between them.

The carriage disappeared around a bend. “Fare well,” she whispered. No mere conventional phrase, it was a fervent prayer for Isaac’s success and, above all, his safety and his return.

She went back into the house. Hannah had spent the night at the Cresques’ and would soon arrive to take over in the sick room. Felix had slept, albeit restlessly with pain and laudanum fighting for supremacy. When Miriam had left him to see Isaac on his way, he had been showing signs of rousing. She was anxious to determine the extent of his concussion.

Esther and the children were at the table, breakfasting on weak, milky coffee and bread with berry jam.

“Sit down and eat,” Esther invited. “How goes Monsieur Felix this morning?”

“He was still sleeping when I came down. I must go and see if he is awake now. If it will not inconvenience you, please leave my breakfast on the table and I shall eat shortly.”

“I’ll put some coffee by the fire to keep hot,” Rachel volunteered. “Monsieur Felix will need some too.”

“I’ll carry Uncle Felix’s breakfast up the stairs,” Aaron cried.

“Wait until he is awake,” said his mother.

Miriam smiled at the eager boy. “I’ll tell you when he’s ready,” she promised, and went up.

Felix turned his head on the pillow as she entered the little room under the eaves. His blue eyes were bright beneath the white bandage, though his face was still very pale under the tan he had acquired in the past week.

“Good morning.”

She was relieved to note that his voice was crisp and clear, no longer slurred. “Good morning. How do you feel this morning?”

“Much better. My arm hurts like the very blazes, but I’m past that devilish feeling I’m about to shoot the cat. Has... has Isaac left?” He sounded diffident and apprehensive.

“A few minutes ago.” Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement as he closed his eyes with a look of relief. “I would not let him wake you to say good-bye. Did you have something to say to him?”

“Not exactly, or rather, nothing helpful. I was not sure... I could not recall whether you really said yesterday that you were going to stay here or whether I had imagined it. I was afraid you’d leave me here... I’m sorry, Miriam. If I had been more careful this would never have happened and we’d all be on our way together.”

She took the hand stretched pleadingly towards her and pressed it. “Hush, now, you did not injure yourself on purpose. It’s...disappointing that we have to split up, but Isaac will get the gold to Wellington without us.”

“Yes, he’ll do the trick.” He paused, visibly steeling himself. “My shoulder, tell me the truth, is it permanently damaged?”

“Oh dear, I had hoped to avoid that question for a while.” Pulling a wry face, Miriam sat down on the side of the solid wooden bed, built by Joshua Cresques in his woodworking rôle. She kept Felix’s hand in hers. “Though I cannot be sure as yet, there is a very good chance that it will heal completely. The chief reason I stayed is that I know how to help stop it stiffening. For the present it must be kept completely still, but in a few days we shall begin to exercise it gently. I warn you, it will hurt abominably.”

“I shall do anything you tell me to.” His gaze held hers. “Anything.”

Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Miriam hastily stood up and smoothed her skirts, a futile effort since she had spent the night fully dressed. Joshua came in.

“Mam’selle Hannah sent me to give monsieur a hand,” he announced. “She said as you’re to go down and young Simeon will help if need be.”

“You will be very careful not to move his shoulder?”

“I knows what I’m about, mam’selle. Off with you now. This here is man’s work.”

Blushing, Miriam fled.

Below, Hannah made her sit down and eat. The Abravanels were off about their chores, except for Simeon who was at his books awaiting a summons from above. Aaron kept dashing in to see if it was time to take Uncle Felix’s breakfast upstairs.

Joshua came down without having needed Simeon’s assistance, to the boy’s disappointment.

“I’ll just go and see that Felix is comfortable,” Miriam said, finishing her coffee, “and remind him to keep his arm still.”

“That you won’t, child. You look like you haven’t slept in a month of Sundays. Off you go with m’sieur Joshua, for his wife’s a-waiting on you with a nice warm bed. I’ll make the lad as comfortable as may be, and I daresay I can control him just as well as you can.”

Suddenly irresistibly sleepy, Miriam obeyed. Trudging to the next cottage at Joshua’s side, she recalled with a smile a time not much more than a week since when Hannah shrank from presuming to sit down to dinner with his lordship.

When she returned, much refreshed, to the Abravanels’ cottage in the middle of the afternoon, she found a hive of activity similar to that she had left at the Cresques’. Preparations for the Sabbath were underway, with cooking and cleaning and heating of water for bathing. After asking Esther if there was anything she could do to help, she escaped to Felix’s room. The bustle below was audible, and Hannah was explaining it to Felix as she mended a frayed seam.

She put the sewing into Miriam’s hands. “I promised to teach Rachel how to make those German honey-cakes your uncle used to like,” she said, and departed.