Any attempt to pin down Paoli regarding his intentions was swept to one side, politely but firmly, and once back in his room and feeling the effects of good wine, Markham soon succumbed once more to the need for sleep. The bells of the church woke him, great pealing strokes that called the workers from their toil and the faithful to their evening prayers. The last of the sun had faded outside, and he thought he could hear, faintly, the sounds of sentinels calling to each other.
It was nice to lie there, warm, imagining Magdalena’s body under the same sheets, perhaps lying with her back to him, until that became too uncomfortable and he threw himself out onto the wooden floor. There was no fire in the grate and the room was chilly. So was the water in the jug, which was refreshing.
Few people can resist the sound of marching boots, and certainly no soldier. He threw on his breeches and the scarlet coat, and dashed out into the hallway. There was a shuttered window, and it opened on to the square before the National Assembly building. The torches lining the portico revealed Rannoch and his Lobsters marching towards it, packs on their backs. A shout made them halt, and once he was out of the door he was presented with a disgruntled group of men covered in dust.
‘I take it you’ve been marching all day, Sergeant?’
‘Most of it, sir,’ Rannoch replied bitterly, ‘only to find the bastards would not open the gates after sunset to let us in.’
‘Did they expect you to spend the whole night out there?’
‘They did. Under the walls, freezing our parts off. If I had possessed my own musket, I would have shot the sentry.’
Markham, suffering from some degree of guilt, noticed that all his men were eyeing the scarlet coat, the braid of which picked up the torchlight. It was Rannoch who voiced the question, which had undertones of perfectly understandable resentment.
‘Had a bit of good fortune in the promotion line, sir?’
‘A loan, Rannoch. I’m not a Foot Guards colonel, it’s just that they don’t like French coats round here.’
‘Nor British marines, it seems.’
‘Follow me. I’ll see about a billet and some food.’
At that moment Eboluh Bellamy appeared, still wearing the plum-coloured coat and yellow waistcoat. He didn’t look quite as grand as he had earlier, since his clothes were somewhat creased, and his face looked puffy and pale, if you could say that about a black man. Markham had left him at the table, very close to the port bottle, and it looked as though he’d indulged himself.
‘Holy Christ,’ said Rannoch, ‘would you look at that black bastard.’
The way his men were looking at him, Markham knew he was close to forfeiting whatever trust he’d built up these last months. The prejudice against Bellamy was widespread, his manner multiplying the feelings about his race. To men who had just spent an uncomfortable day on the road, the sight of him, clearly the worse for drink, dressed like a gent, was infuriating.
‘Bellamy,’ Markham barked, with a slight feeling of shame. ‘Get that damned kit off and rejoin the unit.’
The ‘sir’ was slow and slurred, partly by drink, but as much by confusion. What had happened to that amusing companion of the meal? Then he observed the hate emanating from the rest of the men, and that made him scurry to comply.
‘Where’s Major Lanester?’ asked Markham suddenly.
‘They couldn’t find a trace, sir. Major Lanester has disappeared.’
Markham organised food and a billet for his men, and sent a message to General Paoli requesting an immediate interview. The news of Lanester bothered him deeply, but he was at a loss to know what to do about it. He lacked both time and any knowledge of the terrain to go searching for him. But he’d ordered Rannoch to return when he was ready to do so, and give him more details of what had occurred.
Fed and warm in the general’s kitchen, Rannoch told his tale. First the scrawny carter had turned up at dawn, empty-handed. He had been about to set out himself when the Corsicans sent by Paoli turned up. Given their greater mobility it made sense to let them go to the monastery. This they did, only to find no sign of Lanester or Pavin. A search of the surroundings produced no trace either, so they’d returned to San Quilici Rocci. Rannoch, on his own initiative, knowing that his officer would want to be informed, had upped sticks and marched out.
‘Had I known what mean-spirited swine I would have to deal with, I would have stayed where I was, or at least brought those cavalrymen back with us.’
‘They didn’t even come and tell me,’ Markham replied, his mind full of images of Lanester and Pavin swinging from the branch of some tree.
‘That would be because they denied your existence, if I understood one word in ten of what they said.’
‘Did you mention Commandatore Calheri?’
‘I did. All that produced was laughter and ribaldry.’
‘I thought you didn’t understand them?’
‘The laugh produced by men slighting women is the same the world over.’
Markham’s anger on her behalf was deflected by the way Rannoch suddenly looked over his shoulder, and shot to his feet, which made his officer turn round. Paoli, dressed in civilian clothes and looking very benign, stood in the doorway smiling. It was a testimony to his presence that the Highlander, who often had to be dragged to his feet in front of most British officers, had spotted right away that this man deserved his respect.
‘Lieutenant.’
‘Sir. Allow me to introduce Sergeant Rannoch.’
Paoli stepped forward. He was a tall man, but he still had to look up into the Scotsman’s eyes. ‘You fought on the Morosaglia trail, sergeant?’
‘I did, sir!’
The General held out his hand, showing a fine sensitivity to the nature of United Kingdom politics. ‘Then I shall thank you in the British manner, and shake you by the hand.’
Rannoch grasped the outstretched limb and shook it, his eyes open more than usual, evidence of his surprise. ‘You will have brought Major Lanester to us.’
‘No, sir,’ Markham replied, before passing on Rannoch’s explanation. A cloud descended immediately over Paoli’s features, a clear indication of deep distress. It was one Markham only partially shared, but he spoke to reassure the General.
‘He was a soldier, sir, as we are, and took a soldier’s risks.’
‘That may explain a loss, Lieutenant. It does not, however alleviate it.’
‘Major Lanester may be safe, sir. Indeed he may well have decided to return to San Fiorenzo and expand upon the despatch he sent Admiral Hood.’
‘Which one was that?’ Paoli asked, absentmindedly.
‘After Cardo, sir, and what we had seen.’ That got the General’s attention, and as he continued Markham found himself looking into the old man’s penetrating blue eyes. ‘We felt that Admiral Hood should be apprised of any information we had.’
For the first time since meeting Paoli, Markham was exposed to the rod of steel that upheld that elderly frame. It was hardly surprising it was there. No man without it could have even begun to tame the Corsicans. But it stood as testimony to his skill with people that it was so well concealed.
‘You did not tell me of this?’
‘I’m sorry, General. I took it for granted that you would guess.’
‘It is my fault, Lieutenant, for not inquiring,’ Paoli replied, managing to look as though he meant it. ‘But what you and Lanester have done is a mistake. Can you tell me precisely what the Major said?’
‘No sir. I told him what I saw, he wrote the despatch and we sent it off, in a sealed packet, with three marines.’
‘How far did they have to travel?’
‘A day’s march, perhaps more than that if the terrain was rough.’
‘And they left you when?’
‘Four days ago.’
Paoli sucked in a great quantity of air, which he released slowly. ‘We must leave at once, Lieutenant.’
‘Why, sir?’
‘Because the situation is grave.’
‘You think Admiral Hood will withdraw?’
The reply, given Paoli’s habitual behaviour, was quite sharp. ‘No! I told you he was bluffing. But from what little I know of Hood he is strong-willed. He may act on that information and precipitate a crisis.’
‘Surely, sir, if he acts on what we have told him he will avert one. General Buttafuco will at least be neutralised.’
‘He will condemn an innocent man, and in doing so he will allow the true traitor to flourish.’
‘Buttafuco is innocent?’ asked Markham with disbelief.
‘If Arsenio has taken French gold, and sought to betray us, I hope God sends a plague to rid this island of all human life. I know of no man more patriotic than him.’
‘Then what was he doing talking to the French?’
‘That is not the real question, Lieutenant Markham.’
‘Well what is?’
‘I have already told you. Why were you allowed to see him doing so? Whoever arranged that will be the real traitor. How soon can your men be ready to march?’
Markham looked at Rannoch, whose opinion was likely to be more accurate than his own. As usual, in what appeared to be a crisis, the Highlander answered slowly.
‘We have no coats, your honour, and we have returned the guns and ammunition.’
‘Given those?’
‘We are ready as soon as you want to leave.’
‘Lieutenant, organise your men while I find my niece. I will get her to take you to the armoury and see you fully equipped.’
‘Do you have any British weapons there, sir?’ asked Rannoch.
‘Twenty stands of Brown Bess muskets, Sergeant, with bayonets and cartridges.’
Paoli turned to leave, but Rannoch wasn’t finished with him. ‘From which manufactuary, your honour?’
‘Birmingham.’
‘Hirst and Waller?’
‘You know your guns, Sergeant.’
‘It helps me survive, sir.’
Markham, still slightly shocked, suddenly returned to the real world. ‘Clothing, General Paoli.’
‘Will have to be Corsican, since we have no others to provide.’
‘Do we march for San Fiorenzo?’
‘No, Lieutenant. We go to Aleria, which is on the east coast.’ He could see the question in Markham’s eyes, and paused just long enough to stretch his eagerness to know. ‘In that despatch you brought, Admiral Hood offered me a ship to save time. There is a Royal Navy sloop at Aleria, waiting to take me to where I need to be.’
Paoli turned to leave, but Markham’s voice stopped him. ‘I have to know, General, would you have undertaken this journey without that despatch?’
‘I cannot say, Lieutenant.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I do not know the answer.’
They were back through the gates within two hours, Paoli ahead on his horse. Magdalena was Commandatore Calheri once more, in breeches and short dark jacket, with a carbine over her shoulders, Markham’s troops, dressed in the same uniform, marching along behind. It had been a disappointment to the marine officer when the General designated his niece’s female soldiers as his main escort, instead of the male garrison of Corte. His men, however, were as pleased as punch. Some of them had even got a smile as the two groups formed up, and harboured high hopes of turning those shy grins into something more substantial before the journey was completed.
Aleria was straight down the valley of the River Tavigiano, which twisted along a valley floor hemmed in by huge mountains, the foothills coated with the inevitable maccia. As they marched the old man was able to relive the battle they’d fought on the Morosaglia trail. The details of the action produced cries of wonder from his lips, with an inordinate amount of praise bestowed on his niece and her troopers. It was an indication of how struck the Lobsters were with the idea of rogering the lot of them that they didn’t resent this.
‘Uncle, we must move further into the forest,’ Magdalena said, on one of the frequent stops.
‘Of course, my dear.’
‘Lieutenant,’ she said stiffly, ‘please ensure that your men stay on the road.’
Markham just nodded, and watched them file down a path, looking for a place private enough to double as a latrine. ‘Why don’t we stop in the towns?’
‘Two reasons, Lieutenant,’ the old man replied. ‘I cannot enter any Corsican municipality without being afforded a reception. Given that, I have to stay and show that the hospitality is welcome. To show gratitude, in other words. Speeches are called for, drink is consumed and if I am not there till after dark, insult is taken.’
‘Which means you cannot travel fast enough?’
‘Nor discreetly enough. The camp at Cardo would know of my coming before I had gone twenty miles.’ Markham opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated. The old man gave him that knowing, sometimes infuriating smile. ‘You have something you wish to say?’
‘Yes. Bellamy was told, in no uncertain terms, that there were traitors active in Corte. What is to stop one of them using the road, which is a faster route even if it is longer, to get to Cardo before us?’
‘The gates of Corte were shut behind us, young man. The garrison, which I think you would have been happier to bring along with us …’
‘I … em …’ stuttered Markham.
‘I saw your face when they formed up. Magdalena you welcome, and I will not inquire why. But her soldiers.’
‘I didn’t know it was that obvious.’
‘If a little self-regard may be allowed, I have trained myself to observe men’s moods. I have had to hone that skill in order to survive. I think that I was the only one who noticed. Anyway, the garrison will keep those gates shut, and patrol the walls to ensure that no one leaves without declaring themselves.’
‘Is that protection enough?’
‘Probably not. I regret to say that the society of this island is not like that.’
‘Whatever possessed you, sir, to form female units?’ Markham asked.
‘We are short of men, a situation made more acute by the actions of clans like the Buonapartes. Our women are fighters, Lieutenant. Don’t ever make the mistake of seeing them as lesser mortals.’
‘Certainly not in the maccia. They use their knifes well. But in open battle?’
‘They will fight, Lieutenant. And what makes you think, anyway, that we face a battle?’
‘There were French dragoons close to here two days ago. And whatever precautions you have taken, news of your journey is bound to leak out.’
‘True. But those who might betray us will be informed that we are on our way to Ajaccio, to confront the Buonapartes.’
‘They would have watched us heading down the Tavigiano valley.’
Paoli smiled. ‘And assumed a bluff. This is a double bluff.’
Markham had to smile too. This old man might be serene and celibate, but he was also one of the most devious sods that George Markham had ever met. Not that he thought they could relax. An accidental encounter with French cavalry was always possible, the risk increasing the closer they got to the coast. When Magdalena returned he tried to engage her in conversation. But she shied away from him, her look having none of the warmth of the previous night.
‘Right,’ he barked, ‘on your feet, let’s get moving.’
The sound of Bellamy groaning, loud and clear, cheered him up a little, and putting him on point restored some of his lost prestige with his men.
‘Yelland, you go with him. Sergeant, two men to drop back, muskets loaded, fire off if anything troubles them.’
‘I think I know of just the pair,’ he replied, and the moaning from Quinlan and Ettrick that followed testified to who he’d chosen. It wasn’t the duty that bothered them so much as being separated from the two women they had their eye on.
‘That moon-faced one with the bit of a ’tache has been giving me come-on eye, and no error,’ said Ettrick. ‘So none of you sods so much as look her way, do you hear?’
‘Trust you to pick the ugliest one,’ replied Dymock.
‘You stick to your slim beauties, mate, and you’ll be glued to your right hand when it’s dark. Not like me. I’ll be cosy, and with a face like that, she’ll be grateful.’
Tully waited till they fell back before speaking. ‘Hey, Dornan, I reckon that one with that black hair on her lips has a likin’ for you.’
Dornan searched the line of women, until he located the one Tully meant. Then he smiled, and flushed when the woman responded.
‘See, what’d I tell you?’
‘Typical,’ hooted Gibbons, ‘All that mooning to Ettrick and as soon as he’s gone he’s a cuckold, the hairy strumpet.’
‘Wait till he finds out it’s a man,’ crooned Leech.
‘Will you lot belay,’ growled Halsey.
‘Just ‘cause your nuts are dried out, Corps, don’t mean ours are.’
Halsey grinned at Leech. ‘Said like a man who wants to stand two watches tonight.’
‘I take it back, Halsey,’ Leech replied. ‘You’ve got the bollocks of a bull.’
The women didn’t march like that, constantly exchanging insults. They weren’t exactly silent, but they tended to speak in low undertones, exchanging small smiles rather than broad grins and jokes. Markham was up with Paoli and his niece, still trying to rekindle some of the previous intimacy, and failing miserably. He prayed it was the presence of her troopers that made her so distant, and that she’d melt a little once they reached their bivouac.