Honour Be Damned (12 page)

‘Into the yard, Halsey, and don’t turn round.’

The whole party swung to the left, ignoring the catcalls of the passing soldiers who’d talked to Markham. As soon as they passed, he shut the gate, to avoid the prying eyes of those who followed. Looking around, he saw the devastation that had been visited on what was once a reasonable manor house. It wasn’t fresh, the damage to this once thriving property. But it was obvious; the heraldic device that had once decorated the lintel above the gaping main door was chipped away. Smoke stains blacked the stonework above the windows, which were without glass, consumed in the flames that had gutted the interior.

The farmyard itself was littered with the detritus of a passing army, proof that when the columns did halt, this was a space they occupied. Even destroyed the building provided shelter, and perhaps enough remaining wood to make a fire.

‘Into the house,’ he ordered.

The smell that hit them was overpowering. This place had been used as a latrine as well as a protective roof, and it was necessary to wade through the pile of human waste that stood as testimony to an army too lazy to dig or even walk very far. With the roof gone, as well as all the intervening floors, the heavy downpour had come straight through to the ground, to mingle and spread the ordure.

That eased as they went further in, moving silently in single file
through spaces that had once been doorways, Markham searching for an exit to the rear. There had to be one, and if they could get out through it and move without being seen they had every chance of getting well away from danger. He found it, another gaping hole that led onto what had once been a formal garden and was now just a mass of weeds. At least here, in the rear portions of the property, the floors were clear of human filth, if you excluded discarded clothing and the remains of their meals.

‘I think we should stop for a moment.’ said Germain,
solicitously
. ‘The lady must be fatigued.’

‘I’d like to get these greatcoats off,’ said Rannoch, ‘and to do something about fresh flints and dry powder.’

Stopping so close to a marching army was not a notion that appealed to Markham much. But he had no real idea if there were more ahead of him than behind, and after his most recent experiences he felt he had ridden his luck more than enough for one day. It was a question of balancing risks and advantages, yet his assent had more to do with Rannoch’s request than Germain’s. Without weapons that could fire they were toothless. Besides any threats they might face, with time precious, they needed to establish exactly which way they were going.

‘Red coats off as well, Sergeant,’ Markham replied. ‘Roll them inside your greatcoats. Put a man to the front of the house to keep an eye on those Frenchmen.’ Then he called over to de Puy. ‘Monsieur le Comte, a look at your map, if you please.’

Germain joined them, while Aramon fussed over his chests, berated his servants, and said a few kind words to his charge. Not that de Puy’s map would tell them much, since in its detail it didn’t include the coastal strip. And here, at the rear of the manor house, the trees hid the hills from view.

‘This place will not remain secure,’ said de Puy, pulling the parchment from his coat pocket.

It was reassuring to see de Puy behaving like the soldier he was, instead of some doleful lackey to Aramon. He knew as well as Markham that as soon as the marching column halted, men would use the front part of the building in a like manner to their predecessors. But some would wander further, in the hope that the men who’d already stripped the place of all its valuables had missed something.

‘We have a piquet out front,’ Markham replied. ‘And anyone
coming in will do so at a walk. But I do agree one of our first tasks is to find a safe exit.’

He called to Rannoch, now busy supervising the return to usefulness of the marine muskets. One he’d finished, the Highlander split his men into two and sent them down either side of the ruined garden, stepping round the smashed statuary that littered the pathways.

‘We know we’re in the arc of the Golfe Juan,’ said Markham, pointing at the now open map. ‘What we don’t want is to be scrabbling about looking for a route. We need a decent view of the landmarks to fix our position. We also need a reconnaissance to make sure we don’t walk into more enemy forces.’

‘It is true that it is a habit I have no wish to acquire.’

‘Once enough for you?’

‘Most certainly. Might I suggest, Lieutenant, that I too discard my uniform coat, and go out to where I can get a clear view of the highlands to the north.’ He looked over Markham’s shoulder, his eyes narrowing as Aramon approached.

‘I’m sure, given the outline, I can tell you were we are.’

‘Make sure you take a weapon with you, a pistol or a musket.’

‘A sword would suit me better if I need to kill anyone.’

‘It would do little to alert us, however, monsieur. I will need to get out of here very quickly if there’s trouble.’

‘What is proposed?’ Aramon demanded.

‘Someone else must go!’

The cleric insisted on this before the explanation was finished, reinforcing a suspicion that had first occurred to Markham in Germain’s cabin. Aramon had tried to hold out on the captain, doling out information bit by bit. But he was a victim himself. Only de Puy knew exactly where to look for whatever it was he’d escorted from Avignon.

The thought didn’t please Markham, since it hinted at some kind of bargain. Which begged the obvious question as to why any arrangement was necessary. It was too much to consider, too many questions to resolve, and he had a decision to make.

‘We are not overburdened with map readers,’ he said.

‘I cannot see why we just do not head straight inland. That is where we must go to find the church of Notre Dame, is it not?’

Markham was angry, and his voice was loaded with sarcasm. ‘Of course, let’s blunder right up the hillside. If we get lost we can stop a local peasant and ask for directions. He will say nothing
about the presence of a high church dignitary, not to his wife or his own priest. Nor will he think it curious that eighteen souls, a dozen of them armed and British, are seeking Notre Dame de Vacluse.’

‘If he is a son of the church, I can command his silence.’

‘You may be prepared to trust your life to that, Monsignor Aramon, I am not. I have seen too many men swear fidelity on the Holy Cross, only to go on and betray everything they profess to believe in. The Comte is French, and without his uniform coat, his hat and his wig, not a person to be remarked on. And he knows better than any one of us in which direction we must go, need I add, unobserved.’

‘I shall say farewell to you when this is over, Lieutenant, without a qualm. Though it shames me to admit it, I cannot imagine I will even bring myself to pray for your soul.’

Markham grinned, which he was happy to see upset the Monsignor. ‘Sure that’s a relief. With the benefit of your good offices I’d be confined to hell, for certain.’

‘You do not require any assistance from me,’ Aramon snapped.

‘I could go,’ said Germain.

‘No, Captain,’ said de Puy, pulling off his hat and wig, to reveal the dark, sweat soaked hair underneath. ‘It only makes sense if I go. Only I have any hope of recognising the landmarks.’

‘Then if I may be permitted a word alone,’ said Aramon.

His voice, for the first time that Markham could remember, carried a hint of desperation. That brought forth a grin. He couldn’t help himself, confirmed in his impression that whatever de Puy had brought from Avignon, he’d kept the location to himself. That was only odd if you had no knowledge of the cleric’s personality. Presumably, de Puy was just as interested in recognition as Germain, and did not want his own efforts to safeguard the valuables of Avignon to suffer from Aramon’s overweening vanity. It would be just like the Monsignor to claim all the credit himself, reducing de Puy’s role to that of mere helper. In fact, if he’d been open, Markham suspected the French officer would not be here now.

They were alone for some time, talking quietly, with many a hand gesture. Aramon gave some evidence of impatience, while de Puy stiffened once or twice, probably because the insensitive cleric had delivered some crass insult. Finally they concluded, though it seemed neither man was happy, returning to the main group with
faces set stiff. De Puy went to talk to Ghislane Moulins, while Aramon demanded writing materials from his servants.

‘What were they about, Markham,’ whispered Germain.

‘Sure, they were formulating a plan, sir, to slit our throats and make off with the treasure.’

It was a cheap jibe to play on Germain. He was gullible enough, and made even more so by necessity. The blood drained from his thin face, and Markham had to make amends quickly by uttering soothing words, moving away to talk to Rannoch, who had just returned from his search. Germain moved over towards Aramon, who promptly turned his back on the naval officer so that he could not see what the cleric was writing.

‘There is a walled garden, with some outbuildings,’ said Rannoch. ‘They too have been smashed and looted, with scarce a single article unbroken. But they are roofed, and, better still, have windows that open on to a track that runs up the side of the property. It is much safer than this. We can get out that way if we are threatened.’

‘Good.’

He followed that with a quick explanation of what he’d heard on the road about Fouquert, slightly non-plussed at the lack of reaction. Rannoch, if anything, hated the Frenchman more than Markham. The news that the murderous bastard had fallen victim to his own excess should have produced a huge grin instead of the enquiring look he was receiving now.

‘I take it you’ve left the men in the outbuildings?’

‘I have,’ Rannoch replied, his voice as slow as measured as his officer had ever heard it. ‘I thought it best, since, some of them are getting a touch excited.’

‘Why?’ asked Markham, trying to sound nonchalant.

‘Men left in ignorance are likely to speculate. That can lead to some very fanciful notions.’

‘For instance?’

‘There was talk aboard ship of gold and silver and of jewels the size of an eagle’s egg. I paid no heed myself.’

He was hardly surprised that what should have been a secret was open speculation. Ships were not good places to try and retain a confidence. Sailors had the ability to hear any conversation through solid planking. And with servants aboard, including the Negro maid, hiding anything of value, be it an object or an idea, became near impossible. The mere presence of such a party aboard
would have set every man to questioning, the whole pieced together by patchwork gossip. It might not be the whole truth, but it would be close enough.

‘I’ve never known a fighting man who wasn’t forever dreaming of untold wealth, Sergeant. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps them going.’

Markham was stalling and Rannoch knew it. ‘I might, like you, have to order them to die. My mind would be eased if you were to tell me what we are about.’

That made Markham feel guilty. He knew he could trust this man, yet he had chosen not to confide in him. To his credit, the information was not his to share. And his men, including Rannoch, should go without question to where they were ordered. But in the eighteen months they’d been together, he’d made a habit of explaining his intentions to them, not something most officers cared to do. More than that, he’d discussed most of his actions with Rannoch before implementing them, many of his decisions influenced by the Highlander’s experience and good sense. In return, when he had made a sudden choice in the heat of battle, he’d been rewarded with unquestioning obedience.

And there was another nagging suspicion; that Rannoch would think he’d not taken him into his confidence lest that good sense he so prized was used to dissuade him from participating in the whole enterprise. The Highlander could have no idea how hard he’d tried to change Germain’s mind. And was there a grain of truth in that? Was he, deep down, just feigning reluctance? Try as he might, with his memory full of bailiffs and avaricious relatives, he’d been unable to avoid his own dreams.

‘The Comte de Puy,’ he said softly, ‘was forced to abandon something very valuable in the hills behind here. Captain Germain has ordered us ashore to recover it.’

‘With half the French army here to stop us. It was not wise to land with all those troops nearby.’

Markham was annoyed. Rannoch had a point. But what really stung was the way the Highlander’s slow, gentle tone seemed to deepen the rebuke.

‘I expected traffic, Rannoch, but not that much.’

‘I always had you as one to avoid surprises.’ Markham opened his mouth to remind Rannoch who was the officer, but his sergeant continued without pause. ‘This valuable property we are after, it is not the French gentleman’s?’

‘No.’

‘That goat of a priest?’

‘Not him either. It was en route to Rome, which is where he wants to take it.’

‘And Captain Germain decided to aid him.’

‘Partly,’ Markham replied, dropping his voice even lower. ‘It is the captain’s intention, once the goods are recovered, to deliver them up to Admiral Hood, and to let him decide where they go.’

‘Does the priest know this?’

‘He might suspect, but that matters little. If he has any choice but to try and get it aboard
Syilphide
, I can’t think of it. He can hardly take a land route to Italy with a whole French army in the way.’

‘He and the count did not seem friendly when I came back.’

‘My guess is that only de Puy knows precisely where it is, and he is not willing to tell Aramon.’

‘So we have two Frenchmen who don’t trust each other. They are being aided in their quest by a naval captain and all his marines. And they have good reason not to trust us.’ Markham couldn’t really say anything, since the analysis was as faultless as the conclusion. ‘Something tells me that even with a glory-hungry fool like Captain Germain, we would be safer aboard the ship.’

‘Which is why I came along, Rannoch. It is my intention to keep you alive.’

‘Your pistol, if you please?’ said de Puy, from just behind the sergeant.