Honour Be Damned (17 page)

‘We don’t have the luxury of time, Markham.’

‘We don’t have the strength to take on a superior force, sir, and might I remind you we are deep in enemy territory. Logic demands that we avoid contact for that reason alone. We have no idea how long it will be before that cavalryman we observed returns.’

Germain raised his voice, his tone deliberately commanding, aware that Aramon and de Puy were approaching, their chins still wet from the water they’d consumed.

‘Nor can we be sure he will. We must get to our destination today if we are to have any chance of success.’

Markham knew success meant different things to all present. For him, despite any temptation in the financial line, it had become paramount to get his men safely back to the ship. Aramon and de Puy, he surmised, would consider the recovery of the Avignon treasure as success. But Germain would only be happy when it was safe in his cabin, under lock and key, while he wrote the despatch that told how he’d achieved it.

‘Yelland’s coming,’ said Halsey, softly.

The youngster jogged up, trailing his musket, as usual whistling tunelessly. He reported to Markham, which produced a frown on Germain’s face.

‘I went on a few hundred yards before I spotted you’d stopped, sir.’

‘And?’ asked Markham wearily. Yelland was never very exact in his reports. Distance, in this case, since it could be vital, needed to be accurate. But he would not rebuke him in front of the others.

‘There are some buildings up ahead, with a square church spire in the middle.’

‘That is Mouans Sartoux’ said de Puy.

‘There’s a roadblock at the edge, and a whole heap of wagons and folks behind it.’

‘How large is the piquet?’

‘Two soldiers, that I could see.’

Germain obviously expected Markham to react immediately, to produce the right solution without thinking. His marine officer refused to oblige him. Instead he remained still, looking at the ground, thinking.

‘Well?’

‘We have a problem, sir.’

‘We have several, Markham, not least the fact, which I have already had occasion to point out to you, that we have scant time for rumination.’

‘We can assume that there are more than two men on that roadblock ahead of us. What we don’t know is how many. Nor do we know where they are billeted.’

‘If we take the two?’

‘The others will surely appear when we do,’ said de Puy. ‘A file of soldiers marching on them is bound to bring them out.’

‘Yes. And it was my intention to leave you here and go on as the sole prisoner, in a repeat of the charade I played at dawn.’

‘So?’

‘Quite possibly we can overwhelm them, Monsignor. But what then?’

‘Then I fail to see what the problem is.’

It was de Puy who spoke. ‘I think the good lieutenant is wondering what will happen, regardless of the risk from that horseman, when all those people held up in Mouans Sartoux spill down the road towards the coast.’

‘That’s right, monsieur. What will they say, the officers of that
army, when they hear that one body of their own troops attacked another. And can we do it without any of them finding out that we are not French at all?’

‘You think they will send men to investigate?’ asked Germain.

‘I would. Informed that the enemy had a force operating at my rear, I’d detach a couple of regiments to find and neutralise them. At the very least, I’d alert every officer in the area to their presence. That will make it impossible to get back aboard
Syilphide
.’

‘So?’

Markham was studying the map again, his finger tracing the route to Notre Dame de Vacluse. ‘How much open country is there around the village, Yelland.’

‘Plenty your honour. Forest thins out about a mile from the edge. And the its all fields of corn an’ that sort of thing.’

‘Then that’s our route. We have to make our way across those fields and onto the ridge well to the west of Mouans Sartoux.’

‘They will see us.’

‘Yes,’ Markham replied. ‘But they won’t know who were are. And I am hoping that being ordered to keep the road closed, they will stay with their duty and take no steps to investigate.’

I
t was impossible not to look over their shoulder as they traversed the slope. The cultivation had a feudal appearance, individual strips planted with whatever crop the owner or tenant thought most profitable. Occasionally tall stalks of maize hid them. But when they emerged into plain view again, head and shoulders above the rows of grape-filled vines, or trudging though a strip of purple lavender, every eye was drawn to look at the roadblock outside the village. They knew that they too were under examination. There were a dozen soldiers at the roadblock now, and some had been seen pointing. But none had come in pursuit. Markham had been right. They were not going to disobey their orders. It was therefore just bad luck that the man who’d issued them arrived before the party made it back into the woods.

Not that they knew he was there to start with. It was the firing of a musket that alerted them. That and the sight of the horseman galloping up the road. They looked to the roadblock for a reaction, only to observe that there were many more troopers on duty now than had been there previously. There was also a certain amount of commotion. Markham, with the aid of his field telescope could just make the figure out in the throng, a small officer gesticulating wildly.

The reaction was immediate. Half of the French soldiers, some fifty men, even before the mounted man reported, set off in pursuit. A smaller party was sent down the route from which they’d come. No doubt a messenger was already on his way, calling for reinforcements from the main body further up the Grasse road.

‘Captain Germain, I suggest that once we are out of sight again, Monsignor Aramon takes the ladies and his servants away in a line that keeps them hidden.’

‘And you?’ demanded Aramon, giving Germain no chance to reply.

‘We will try to draw the enemy after us. As soon as get we back
in to wooded country we will try to lose them and meet you at Vacluse.’

‘No. We must stay together.’

‘I don’t think we are going to have much choice,’ said Rannoch.

He was pointing up towards the top of the hill, to the bushes where the open field finished. A unit of cavalry, a dozen in number, had emerged from the woods some five hundred yards ahead of them, the very forest in which Markham had planned to find sanctuary. He looked first at the next patch of maize. He could reach that and take some form of cover in it. But height would give a horse soldier a great advantage in that. Then he examined the rows of thick, heavily laden vines, set to follow the contours of the slope in a way that maximised the sunlight, with a crop on them nearly ready to be picked. The cavalry could not come right at them through those without losing momentum. But given time they could deploy between them, which would give them a clear field in which to charge. It would also present his Lobsters, well trained in musketry, a lane down which to fire at an individual horseman.

Yet they must be confused, unaware that the troops in front of them were not friendly. That wouldn’t last long. Even a dimwit, to Markham the natural state of most cavalry officers, would see that they were being pursued, and would react accordingly, at the very least moving to apprehend them. Yet the worst option of all was that they should stay still, and bar access to the safety of the forest.

‘Sergeant Rannoch.’

‘Sir,’ he replied punctiliously, standing as he was next to Captain Germain.

‘Let’s get out of these damned coats. I would want the enemy to know exactly who it is they are faced with. And let’s have a bit of confusion until they are closer.’

‘That will only bring them down on us,’ said Germain.

‘Which is precisely my intention, sir.’

‘We would do best to avoid them.’

‘That is impossible. They are mounted and we are not.’

The reaction to the sight of a dozen red coats was immediate. The horses, no doubt because of the excitement of their riders, began to prance in circles, and had to be hauled back into line. Then they began to move downhill, trampling whatever crops stood in their way, easy at a walk, less so at high speed. Markham had his eyes on the mounts, trying to assess their condition.

Were they light horse or heavy? Had they been out on patrol for a long time, or were they sleek and fresh? He wanted the latter, since a tired horse was more biddable to its rider than a fresh,
oat-fed
mount. Being Irish, he’d grown up with the beasts, and had often hunted, or raced them at the local steeplechases. In Russia, he had served alongside Don Cossacks and learned a great deal more about equine lore. Ponies were better in rough country, horses less so. They might not be bright, but they were very selfish. Not many of the creatures, even trained, would plunge at high speed through vegetation. They’d either try to circumvent it, or jump it.

‘Monsieur de Puy. Would you take care of the rest of the party?’

The Frenchman looked surprised, but to Markham it was just a way of saving them all from a repeat of the Monsignor’s previous insistence that de Puy must be kept safe.

‘I would suggest that you make you way into the next patch of maize and continue to ascend towards the woods. You should be able to make it even if we are in difficulties. I would ask you to provide fire if we are withdrawing towards you.’

‘And if not?’

‘If my men can’t hold them there is little point in useless sacrifice. So I would suggest that you show no arms that will bring retribution down on your head. The decision as to what to do next, is one that can only be taken when the circumstances are better known.’

Ghislane Moulins was right behind him, and she met
Markham’s
eyes. Seeing a hint of angry frustration, he favoured her with his most reassuring smile. The Frenchman saw both the smile and, after a swift glance, the look. To Markham’s way of thinking, neither did much to please him. He excelled himself with the level of gloom he displayed. Ghislane meanwhile had turned her gaze onto Bellamy, at the same time laying a hand on Renate’s wrist, to mouth
bon
chance.

Markham didn’t quite know why that annoyed him, but it did. It wasn’t competition, since Bellamy was clearly smitten with Renate. Probably it was just the Negro, who had honed annoying people to a fine art.

‘If everything works out, Mademoiselle, we might even salvage you a horse to ride, which will at least relieve you of the need to walk.’

That got him her full attention again. ‘I think we need you, monsieur, more than I need a horse.’

‘Ghislane!’ snapped Aramon, who was already chivvying his servants to get them started. ‘You are too free with your sentiments!’

‘Sure, a pretty woman could never be that.’

Markham grinned so widely that Aramon came near to bursting a blood vessel, then turned to issue orders to his Lobsters. To aim for the men, where possible, not the animals, and if chance presented itself to take the bridle of any horse that was loose. The distance was closing, only four hundred yards now. But Markham was delighted to observe that the French commander was moving crab wise, not straight towards them, an indication that he intended to attack down the vine rows.

‘Infantry against cavalry, Lieutenant,’ said de Puy, behind his back. ‘In what is almost open country that is not wise.’

‘I confess to some ignorance,’ added Germain, ‘but I think the Comte correct.’

Three hundred and fifty yards now, still well beyond musket range. And what would the Frenchmen see, a group of redcoats not yet prepared to receive their charge.

‘The way he is deploying is in exactly the fashion I wish,’ Markham replied, with a confidence that was part contrived. ‘And you have yet to see my men fire their muskets in a disciplined way, gentlemen. Besides, there is no choice. I must draw them away from the woods or no one will have a chance to get clear.’

‘That infantry from Mouans Sartoux represents another threat which must be dealt with.’

‘True. And if the man commanding the cavalry had any sense he’d wait till they are able to affect the outcome of the action.’

Markham was just about to allude to the endemic stupidity of horse soldiers, when he recalled that de Puy had served in King Louis’s cavalry. So he quickly bit back the words.

‘No doubt it is his first sight of a red coat, and he wants the glory of taking us for himself.’

‘A worthy aim,’ de Puy replied, without irony, turning away to muster his charges.

That surprised Markham, busy checking on his men. He’d reckoned de Puy more intelligent than that. But he remembered that if horses could be stupid that was as nothing to what became of some people when they got on their backs.

‘Do you wish to stay with us, sir?’ Markham asked Germain.

A jolt went through Germain’s body. He must have suddenly realised that his marine officer had made at least a dozen decisions without consulting him, and was now asking him what he intended to do. Aramon, his servants and the ladies had followed de Puy towards the clump of maize, leaving the naval officer high and dry.

‘I’ve already told you, Markham, that I’m not sure I approve of your intentions.’

‘With the enemy three hundred yards distant, sir, I think it’s too late to question them.’

‘Since I am in command, I do so nevertheless.’

That finally cracked Markham’s self control. Germain was now being stupid as well as obtuse. His voice was harsh, his tone loud enough to be heard by every one of his men.

‘Then you won’t mind, since no one but a fool would have brought us to this, if I decline to listen.’ Germain’s jaw moved, but no words emerged. ‘You are welcome, sir, to take up a position alongside us. Any one of my men will explain what it is we are about to do. If you follow what they tell you, perhaps you may stay alive.’

Bellamy should not have spoken then. But with his usual lack of timing he did, the cultured tone of his voice, plus its deep reassuring timbre, adding insult to injury. That he did so with a Latin tag compounded the sin tenfold.

‘Medio
tutissimus
ibis,
sir.’

‘What?’

Bellamy completely missed the anger. Nor, smiling broadly, was he aware on his part of the least hint of condescension.

‘A paraphrase in translation, sir, I grant you. Not exactly what Ovid wrote in
Metamorphoses.
I merely infer that you’d be safer in the middle.’

Germain, sure he was the butt of a joke, exploded. ‘Damn you if your heart isn’t as black as your face, you ignorant ape.’

Markham had no time for a shocked response from the Negro, probably more upset by the charge of ignorance than the reference to his skin colour. He shouted at him to get in position. The French cavalry had begun to swing round, in a line directly between the approaching infantry and his Lobsters, each
horseman
pushing through until he had a row to himself, a clear run at these pitiful, disorganised Englishmen. They had to cover less than
two hundred yards, against what looked like a enemy still in the throws of panic, and they felt completely safe until half that distance had been covered.

So when they took the first volley at one hundred and fifty yards, when they’d only broken into a trot, and were still sitting upright in their saddles, it came as a surprise, none greater than the fact that two of their men went down. Their commander had no more than a second to do what was sensible, to rally his men and withdraw until the infantry arrived. But he evidently failed to act, since four of his men immediately charged.

It was the age-old problem with horse soldiers, a complete absence of brains, the intelligence necessary to stop a horse from moving forward and regrouping. In almost every battle in which Markham had taken part, the cavalry had only put in a proper contribution when the action was nearing its end. Launched before that, they were impossible to recall, and were often more of a hindrance than a help.

These men were doubly cursed, trapped in between the vines, and committed to covering a distance that would take them nearly half a minute. That meant they might face at least two more volleys of musket fire, before riding down the bayonets that would be the last line of defence. Standing upright on the left of the line of Lobsters, and excepting the usual ham-fisted pair, Markham was proud of them.

The oncoming horses were ignored as each man went about his reloading procedure. Rammer out, barrel swiped, cartridge torn and powder inserted followed by the ball; rammer re-used then housed, hammer cocked, the last drop of powder emptied into the now exposed pan. Then it was present, to take aim through the sights at two tons of oncoming enemy. No panic-firing, but a certainty of the aim before the heavy trigger was pulled, releasing the lock. The flints struck, the pan flashed and the fire ignited the powder in the barrel, sending a well-fitted ball towards what each man could see of the now crouching cavalrymen.

Despite Markham’s plea that they be spared, the horses naturally took the brunt, a couple staggering and falling, though not from the shots Rannoch was firing. Being the fastest man to reload Markham had ever seen he got off a third shot at his horseman with twenty yards to spare. Then Rannoch did what he’d been ordered. He stepped right between the vines to let the
animal thunder past, the rider glassy eyed and mortally wounded as something in his brain made him hang onto the reins.

Rannoch ignored that, raising his musket to fire at the man who threatened to ride down Dornan, caught in the midst of reloading. Bellamy, even slower, had only got off one round, and was jabbing at his opponent, who’d been forced to slow down by the realisation that he was one of only four men still upright in the saddle. If the Negro had been any use, he would have probably withdrawn to safety. But faced with those huge eyes, which hinted at terror, and the feeble nature of Bellamy’s attack, he came on. He could not know, as he died on Germain’s sword, that the man he faced lacked any of the instincts that would have caused him to kill, except those generated by pure chance.

The other three got clear, taking with them two of the horses. They were in a frenzy and had broken though the vine rows. Another animal had bolted past so quickly that it was now too distant a prospect to catch. And with the infantry now jogging towards them rather than marching, there was little time to gather in the other four animals that had participated in the second phase of the attack.