IF ROBERT had given any indication that he was pleased to see her, Olivia would have run into his arms and confessed her love for him. Instead she stood on the dusty road, her feet a little apart, and stared at him. Was he blind? Could he not see how delighted she was to see him? Had nothing changed? He had not altered in looks and was as handsome as ever; his hazel eyes looked straight into hers, but where before there had been humour, now there was mistrust, and where before his mouth had smiled, now it was set in a hard line of intransigence. His temple, close to the thin red scar on his forehead, twitched a little and she wondered if the injury gave him any pain. She laughed shakily when he spoke her name. ‘So you do remember me.’
‘Remember you?’ He was puzzled.
‘The injury to your head. You were having trouble remembering things.’
He wanted to say, How could I ever forget you? How could I forget the woman who made me want to live again, gave me the will to fight again, made me love her and want her above all things, and then left me? But the words would not come and instead he said, ‘My memory is perfect.’
‘Good. You look well.’
‘I am. And you?’
‘Very well, thank you.’ She could not believe they were having this conversation; it was so trite, so inconsequential, when there were a thousand questions she wanted to ask him and a million things she wanted to tell him. Could they not even talk to each other any more? Had they lost even the comradeship of soldiers fighting for the same cause? She laughed suddenly and startled him, so deep in thought he had been. ‘I must not keep you from your duties.’ She could hear his comrades calling to him, though she did not take her eyes from his face. ‘Am I to assume I am your prisoner?’
‘Of course not!’
‘What are you going to do with me, then?’
‘I? Nothing. You are free to go where you wish, except…’
‘Except?’
‘Except to rejoin the French column.’
‘What makes you think I should want to do that?’
‘You seemed to be quite content to be with them until now.’
‘Oh.’ He had seen her with Rufus Whitely. ‘I was a prisoner.’
‘It certainly did not look like that to me. You were being more than civil to him.’
‘That was only…’
She did not finish. Coming up behind him was the runaway wagon with a grinning Portuguese partisan sitting on the driving seat and two more standing in the vehicle behind him. ‘We caught them!’ he yelled, waving the whip. ‘Come and see!’
‘Ask Captain Whitely,’ she said. ‘Ask him if I was his prisoner.’
Robert forced his eyes away from hers and turned towards the wagon, striding up to it as it drew to a halt. The vehicle had been captured by three partisans who had broken off the main engagement to go after it. They had Jeanne and Rufus Whitely securely tied up with the rope which had once bound Olivia.
‘It’s crammed with booty,’ one of the captors said. ‘Come and see.’ He dived into the back and returned with his hands full of jewellery. ‘Look! We could buy a big gun and boxes and boxes of ammunition with these. And food for our people.’
Robert ignored the riches and pushed past him to haul Rufus out on to the road. ‘This one,’ he said, his voice so calm that it terrified Olivia. ‘This one dies. But before we send him off to hell I have a few questions I want answered.’ He pushed the trembling man in front of him to the circle of wagons, where everyone else was gathered. ‘Anyone who wants to see what we do to traitors, let them gather round,’ he said in English.
The partisans looked from one to the other and the few voltigeurs who had survived to surrender trembled. They could not understand what the big man said, but they could see he was more than normally angry. He turned to Olivia. ‘You speak Portuguese; translate that.’
‘What are you going to do?’ She had followed the two Englishmen into the circle, afraid for Rufus, but even more fearful for Robert. She was sure that he was about to do something he would regret for the rest of his life.
‘Translate!’ he commanded. ‘Tell them everything I say.’
‘Very well.’ She turned to the assembled company to do as he asked.
‘Tell them that anyone who betrays his country and cheats his friends should be shot. Tell them that this man is an English traitor and…’
‘But Robert, he is not a traitor. He swore he had been sent by Wellington.’
‘And you believed him? Was that why you were so willing to travel with him?’
‘It is true, Lynmount,’ Rufus said. ‘The Peer did send me. Do you suppose I would come into this Godforsaken part of the country if I hadn’t been ordered to?’
‘You are a liar and a cheat…’
‘So I am a liar and a cheat.’ Rufus appeared calm, but a nerve twitched in his throat. ‘That does not make me a traitor.’
Olivia began to translate for the benefit of the partisans, but Robert interrupted her. ‘You do not need to tell them his feeble excuses.’
‘They have a right to know both sides.’
‘That is true,’ Martin Davaco said. ‘And this is neither the time nor the place to hold a trial. The French rearguard may come back at any moment to find out what has happened to their supply wagons and we cannot be caught in the open. Back to São Jorge, everyone. We will convene a court there and the schoolmaster will preside. He will know how to do it properly.’
‘What about the other prisoners?’ someone asked him.
‘Shoot them.’
‘But you cannot do that,’ Olivia protested. ‘They surrendered.’
‘I shall tell you something, senhora,’ he said, taking her arm and leading her away from where his men were lining up the prisoners, including Jeanne. ‘Masséna refuses to recognise us, the Ordenanza, as fighting men. He calls us bandits and criminals. When our men are caught they are not treated as prisoners of war and he has refused to exchange a single one. They are tortured before they die.’ He laughed harshly. ‘As an example to the rest of us.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘If these prisoners cannot be exchanged, why should we keep them in idleness, eating our food? We have little enough of that.’
‘But…’
‘You would have us set them free to go on killing our people?’
‘No…’
‘Then what else is there to do? They must die.’ As he spoke a volley of shots rang out and echoed round the hills. ‘Now we must go. Their friends will find them and bury them. Come.’
Olivia dared not look back, knowing what she would see if she did. She found Pegasus and climbed on his back, wishing she could be anywhere but where she was, with an angry Robert, a sullen Rufus and a crowd of barbarous partisans who had gathered up everything worth carrying and loaded it on to the mules they had taken from the shafts. Wagons were useless to them; they travelled over narrow mountain tracks and eschewed the roads. Robert set Rufus on one of the mules, tied his hands behind his back and put a noose about his neck. Holding the rope’s end in his hand, he mounted Thor.
‘Robert, you can’t take him like that,’ she protested. ‘If the mule stumbles, he will be strangled. And besides, it is so undignified.’
‘Undignified!’ He slapped the beast to make it start. ‘Why do you think he should be allowed his dignity?’
‘He is an Englishman, and whatever your quarrel with him you should not forget that. And I believe he is loyal to his country.’
He turned to look at her and then wished he had not. In another minute he would have softened enough to do as she asked and he dared not risk it. He turned from her to look straight ahead at the cloud-capped mountain and the path that wound across its slopes, now in sun, now in shadow, to São Jorge. ‘He has addled your wits with his caresses,’ he said. ‘You do not recognise lies when you hear them.’
‘I do not recognise you any more. What happened to the man I knew, the one whose only wish was to regain his claws and vindicate himself? If you did wrong, you have paid the price. There is no need to go on punishing yourself…’
‘I am doing no such thing. It is the traitor who has to be punished.’
‘And having done that, having executed him without trial, what will you do if you discover, when we return to our own lines, that what he says is true, that he is a loyal Englishman and an important agent? Will you be able to live with yourself?’
He knew that she was right but he was not yet ready to admit it; he could see no further than his present fury.
They arrived in the village just as the setting sun touched the mountain peaks and turned them to a glorious and breathtaking gold. São Jorge consisted of a single street surrounded on one side by mountain slopes on whose sparse vegetation a few sheep and goats grazed, and on the other by pine woods and a stand of poplar. There was a handful of dwellings, built of stone and wood, with the living quarters, reached by outside stairs, above the stables and working areas. There was a town hall, a schoolhouse and a church.
The inhabitants, warned of their coming by a look-out, crowded round them, happy to see them safely returned. The booty they had captured was piled up in the schoolroom for all to admire and tales were told of the encounter which lost nothing in the telling. ‘The Englishman brought us luck,’ they said, crowding round Robert and patting him on the back.
Olivia slipped away to be by herself. No one noticed her going. The night was peaceful, the French were camped many miles to the south and nothing stirred, except a colony of bats in the church steeple, who swooped in and out of a hole in the eaves. She walked to the end of the street to stand looking out across the dark mountains to the north. Somewhere over those peaks was a green and pleasant land that was neither too hot nor too cold — her homeland — and she wished she were there.
She tilted her head to look up at the sky, twinkling with stars, the same stars she had watched with Tom the night he had proposed, the same which had lit the sky at Oporto and Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida. They shone on friend and enemy alike. For more than two years she had been wandering from one battlefield to another, enduring blistering heat and icy winds, ill-fed and ill-clothed, and for what? So that she could lose a husband who was no more than a boy, another who was one of her country’s enemies, and, worst of all, the man she loved.
To be so near him and yet so far, to speak to him and yet be unable to penetrate the wall he had built about himself, was purgatory. He had kissed her, sometimes in anger, sometimes with gentleness and sensitivity, but he had never been indifferent to her. There had always been a certain something between them, a thread of mutual respect, a passion even, that was there if never acknowledged, which ran through everything they did and said. But now even that had snapped under the strain; he was as much lost to her as if he had died along with Tom and Philippe.
She could hear sounds of revelry coming from the schoolhouse; they were celebrating their victory as if they had won the war. The war was not won yet. Her own private war was not won either. But, by heaven, neither was it lost. She would fight, she would not give up; there was too much at stake. She turned and walked slowly back to the centre of the village.
On the way she heard her name being called softly and turned to see Rufus Whitely chained to the church railings, like a puppy who could not be trusted to behave indoors. He smiled when he saw her; it did not make her feel any better about anything. ‘Well, my dear, what now?’ he asked.
‘They are going to try you tomorrow.’
‘I have already been tried and found guilty. Only the execution is to come.’
‘No. They are not barbarians.’
‘Oh, but they are. Did they give those poor fellows on the road a chance?’
‘There was a reason for that.’
‘Oh, I know the reasons.’ He laughed. ‘And I do not blame them for killing Frenchmen, but I am an Englishman, one of their allies.’
She smiled crookedly. ‘That is what the trial will be about — to discover the truth.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I do not know what to think. Robert…’
‘Robert Lynmount is an embittered and jealous man; there is no hope that he will be impartial. And his new friends are so enamoured of him, they will lap up everything he says.’
‘Why do you hate him so?’
‘My feelings do not come into it, but his certainly do. Olivia, you are the only person who can help me. I must get back to my regiment. I have important intelligence…’
‘I cannot help you.’
‘Yes, you can. Untie me, for a start.’
‘You will not cover a hundred yards before they shoot you down. There is a guard.’
‘Not now, later, when they are all asleep. I doubt they will leave me here all night. Come and find me.’
‘They will come after you. Why not put your faith in these people and Robert’s good sense? I will talk to him again.’
‘He is past listening to anyone.’
‘I must try.’
‘And if you fail? And if the battle is lost, even the war itself, because intelligence did not reach the commander in time, what then?’
‘I will not fail.’
It was an awesome responsibility and one she did not relish, especially considering she still had lingering doubts, but there was only one way forward and that was for all three to go back to the British lines, to stand side by side before Viscount Wellington and let him be the judge.
‘If you fail,’ he said as she began to walk away, ‘then you must set me free, whatever the cost.’ He paused and gave a short bark of a laugh. ‘And because you will never be forgiven for it you will have to come with me. I shall look forward to that.’
She stopped, a retort on her lips, then changed her mind and continued on towards the schoolhouse without speaking. He was right; she would never be forgiven if she went against Robert’s wishes and helped Rufus to escape. But if the unofficial court found him guilty, could she stand by and let them execute him? Whitely had mentioned cost; did he have any idea of what the cost to her would be if she helped him to regain his liberty? To be Robert’s enemy, never to ride side by side with him or laugh with him again, was an unbearable thought, but if Robert was wrong about Captain Whitely…
Martin Davaco and a companion passed her, shouldering carbines, calling a cheerful ‘Boa noite, senhora. The captain will show you to your lodging.’
‘Thank you,’ she said and turned to watch them as they went to where Rufus was chained and marched him into the church, where she assumed he would be spending the night. He went willingly enough and she supposed he was putting his faith in her. She turned from him and saw Robert standing at the door of the schoolhouse watching her; the building behind him was in darkness.
‘Where is everyone?’ she asked as she approached, her voice brittle with the effort of sounding normal.
‘Gone to their beds, all except the sentries and a patrol.’
‘Patrol?’
‘The war goes on,’ he said. ‘One small victory is not the end; we must be forever vigilant.’
‘You include yourself in that?’
‘Of course. I have joined them.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ he repeated, as if asking himself the question. ‘Because they asked me to and their invitation was not one I could easily refuse. And because they are doing something useful and I need to be of service. I hardly expect you to understand that.’
‘I do. Of course I do. But I should have thought you could have been of greater service elsewhere.’
‘Where else would I be appreciated as I am here? Where else would my past be so unimportant? Where else can I be myself?’
She took a deep breath; now was not the time to draw back. ‘Where else can you hide, you mean.’
‘I am not hiding. Why should I hide?’
She laughed suddenly and the old imp of mischief sounded again in her voice and reminded him of when they had first met, a few weeks, a lifetime ago. ‘Had you forgotten a certain pompous colonel you hoodwinked? He would love to know where you are.’
He grinned. ‘He is facing the other way. He thinks he is marching on Lisbon.’
‘And is he?’
‘No. He will be stopped long before that.’
‘By whom? By Wellington? But is Wellington expecting him? And even if he is, does he know from which direction? Does he know how big the army is he faces?’
‘I fancy he does. He has reliable intelligence…’
‘Provided by Captain Whitely, you mean?’
She was driving a hard bargain and he was not even sure what it was, but she knew how to hit where it hurt. ‘No. Anything he sent would be false and, for all your defence of the man, you know, in your heart of hearts, that is true.’
‘You can have no idea what is in my heart of hearts,’ she said, fighting back tears. ‘Or you would trust me…’
‘My dear Olivia…’
‘I am not your dear anything,’ she put in before he could go on. ‘I am not anyone’s dear.’
‘My apologies, ma’am.’ He bowed a stiff acknowledgement. ‘I was about to say that I did not mistrust you. I simply think that you are misguided and have fallen prey to a few flattering words.’
‘Who has flattered me? You never have.’
‘I referred to Captain Rufus Whitely.’
‘Why should I believe either of you? I am convinced this whole situation has been caused by your rivalry over one girl; none of it would have happened otherwise.’
He smiled. ‘You could well be right. On reflection, I am sure you are right.’
She did not stop to ponder on why he had agreed so readily; she had the initiative and she meant to keep it. ‘And it is still going on. You are both putting your personal feelings before the good of your country and that simply will not do.’ She paused to look into his eyes, surprised that he had given her no argument; there was even a twinkle of amusement in them. ‘Save your personal vendetta until after the war is won; it is more important that Viscount Wellington has accurate information.’
‘And you have appointed yourself my conscience, is that it? You are determined to make me feel guilty.’
‘If that is what it takes to make you see sense, then yes.’
He took her shoulders in his hands and leaned back to look at her, laughing. ‘Oh, my dear, you are wonderful.’
Taken by surprise, she could only stare at him.
‘Don’t look so astonished,’ he said, gently now. ‘I cannot fight you; there are no weapons against the truth. You are right, as you so often are, but I cannot release him.’
His nearness and the softness of his voice were almost making her forget the cause of their dissension. In another minute she would be in his arms and all would be lost. ‘Why not?’
He sighed. ‘Have you not listened to a word I have said? He will take the opportunity to run back to his French friends.’
‘But…’
‘We will return to the British lines if that is what you want,’ he said.
‘You mean it?’ She could not conceal her delight.
‘Yes. We go together, all three, but Rufus Whitely goes in shackles.’
‘Very well,’ she said, realising that she had won a minor battle if not a complete victory, and the compromise would have to serve. ‘When do we start?’
‘Tomorrow, at first light.’ He paused. ‘You know it will not be easy? We have to pass through or round the French army and there will be times when we might have to fight our way out.’
She laughed. ‘When have I ever ducked a fight? Just give me a good rifle and a strong horse under me, that is all I ask. I thrive on difficulties.’
‘Said like a true soldier,’ he said, taking her arm and leading her towards one of the houses where lights still showed in the upper windows. ‘Martin Davaco’s wife has offered you a room for the night and you must not keep her from her bed.’
‘What about you?’
His chuckle of amusement made her feel suddenly carefree; as if a load had been lifted from her shoulders. His anger had dissipated and, though she did not think they would ever regain their old closeness, they could at least be friends, and it was no good wishing for more.
‘The idea of our sharing a room as we did in Ciudad Rodrigo would horrify the good people of São Jorge,’ he said. ‘They would fetch the priest from his bed to put matters right.’
‘It horrified Father Peredo too.’ She smiled. ‘He seemed to think we should do something about it.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I told him that we were companions, fellow soldiers, no more.’
‘Oh.’ He was silent for a moment, digesting this. ‘And did that satisfy him?’
‘I don’t know. I did not ask.’
He stopped outside the house and turned towards her, putting a hand on her arm. ‘Olivia, I have compromised you and for that I am more than sorry. If, at any time…if you should wish…’
She brushed his hand off and put her foot on the bottom step. ‘There is no need for you to do that,’ she said, her voice breaking with the strain. ‘I can live with what I have done; I feel no guilt.’ She did not wait for him to reply, but ran up the steps and knocked on the door, not daring to look behind her.
He had been about to propose to her and she had stopped him! She had had to stop him. He would have been asking for all the wrong reasons and she would have been weak enough to accept him. She had been married twice before and both times for the wrong reasons; she could not let it happen again. She would not. The spectre of the unknown Juana haunted her.
If her hostess noticed the unshed tears glistening in her eyes, she kept it to herself. She made her guest welcome and showed her into a tiny room at the back of the house which looked out on to the mountains, and left her to sleep.
Sleep was almost impossible and Olivia was up as soon as it was light enough to see without a candle, washed and dressed in her old green skirt and blouse, topped by the now more than shabby blue coat, and made her way to the kitchen. Senhora Davaco was already up and about, putting together a parcel of food and a skin of wine for their journey. Olivia breakfasted on bread and honey and goat’s milk, thanked her hostess and joined the two men in the road outside the church.
They were already mounted. Robert rode Thor and had Pegasus saddled and ready for her, with a rifle in a sling on her saddle. Rufus Whitely, she noted with relief, had been provided with a piebald horse and would not have to suffer the ignominy of riding into the British camp on a mule. He was bound with his upper arms tight to his chest, but his hands were free enough for him to hold the pommel of his saddle. Robert had the reins in his own hand. Both men seemed cheerful, as if relieved that their dilemma had been resolved, though they did not speak to each other. Robert and Olivia shook hands with those villagers who had come into the road to see them off, then turned their mounts to the south and the valley of the Mondego River.
Not wanting to overtire the horses, they did not hurry. The day was bright and, once they had left the upper slopes, warm. Olivia was pensive; she was still thinking of the night before and Robert’s sudden change of plan and his equally sudden attempt to propose. Had he thought she had been asking him to marry her when she told him about Father Peredo’s comment? She had not meant that at all; she had simply been pleased that he was his old self and wanted to make him smile.
They skirted round the towns because the French had left small garrisons in them in order to police the population and keep their supply lines open, but Robert had been given the names of Portuguese patriots who would shelter them and help them on their way.
Two days later, the harsh outlines of the rocky peaks receded behind them and they found themselves journeying down on to a rolling plain covered with cork oak and eucalyptus and aromatic shrubs, white cystus and rosemary, thyme and lavender, interspersed with the broom which made the landscape look as though an artist had spilled a pot of yellow paint across a canvas. There were olive groves and cherry, pear and plum orchards and here and there, on south-facing slopes, terraces of vines, but every single one had been stripped of its fruit, and many were scorched by field fires.
Once in the valley, they crossed the Mondego River, keeping a careful watch for stray French skirmishers, avoiding the main roads and using the tracks made by goatherds and shepherds when they drove their animals from the lower pastures up to the mountains in the summer and down again in the winter. But now there were no herds, no flocks and every village they came to was deserted. There were no people, no dogs, no cats, no chickens even, and all the crops had been destroyed. The countryside, which should have been teeming with abundant produce, was barren. There was nothing to sustain a company, let alone an army. Olivia was glad of the several days’ food they had been provided with.
‘They are fools,’ Rufus mumbled, ‘to do all this at the whim of a general and not even one of their own.’
‘Whim?’ she repeated. ‘They obviously do not think it is a whim. They trust Wellington.’
‘And where is he, then?’
It was a good question. Wellington had moved even further back and she began to wonder if they might, after all, have to go all the way to Lisbon to find him. The prospect was not a cheerful one. Apart from the depressing thought that he did not mean to defend the country which relied on him so totally, she was more than exasperated by the two men, who said not a word to each other and addressed all their remarks through her. Many more days of it and she would explode.
They began climbing again towards Gouveia where Robert had expected to come upon the British and Portuguese army, but they had seen no one but an ageing goatherd in the straw cloak which seemed to be the uniform of his trade; they might have been the only people in the world.
At midday, almost a week after they left São Jorge, they stopped beside a stream to eat. There was very little food left and they had been supplementing their diet with small game, but Robert was reluctant to use what little ammunition they had in case they needed it to defend themselves, and they had to make do with hard bread and goat’s milk cheese. As soon as they had finished eating, he secured Rufus to a tree on the bank and picked up his rifle.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked. She was always apprehensive when he left, as he often did to reconnoitre, knowing he trusted her to guard their prisoner while he was gone. It was all the more difficult because she did not look on Rufus as a prisoner.
‘To find the French. I need to know exactly where they are.’ He looked across at Rufus. The man seemed resigned to his fate, unmoving, staring into the water as it flowed over its rocky bed. ‘Keep an eye on him. The nearer we come to his friends, the more likely he is to want to join them.’
Rufus looked up at her as Robert left, and smiled. ‘How can you be sure he will not be the one to leave us? He did not want to make this journey, did he?’
‘You know perfectly well why that was.’
‘Do I?’
‘You know he was cashiered. He feels the disgrace very keenly.’ She sat down a foot or two from him. ‘Captain Whitely, what happened? You know, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me, please.’
He smiled and she felt a shiver of apprehension and began to wonder if she really did want to know after all.
‘We were in Lisbon, waiting for orders,’ he said. ‘And there was this senhorita…’
‘Juana.’
‘Yes, Juana.’ He smiled as if he could see the beautiful Portuguese girl in his mind’s eye. ‘Robert and I were rivals, always had been, right from boyhood, though, unlike the Honourable Robert, I was not blind to the kind of girl she was. He was besotted by her, would not listen to a word against her. He spent every off-duty moment with her and her family, taking them food and clothing and buying her presents.’ He paused and grinned crookedly. ‘He could afford to because, unlike me, he comes from a wealthy family.’
Every word he spoke wrenched at her heart. That the cool, self-possessed Robert should feel such passion for someone else hurt her and hurt badly, but she had to go on listening. She wanted to understand. Sitting, with a pistol under her hand, on the banks of a stream somewhere in the Serra da Estrela, she was transported to the teeming city of Lisbon where, in spite of the war, there was still a civilised social life to be had with concerts, balls, visits to the theatre and shopping excursions. She could see it all. She looked up suddenly when she heard him laugh.
‘When Robert was on duty, then I met the lovely lady…’
‘Did Robert know that?’
‘Not at first. He need never have found out, but the silly bitch told him, threw it in his face and laughed at him.’ He grinned. ‘She had two brothers — rogues, they were, but he believed them when they said they were poor and hungry…’
‘They were not?’
‘Not they! Juana was a past master at persuading people to give her presents and her brothers ran a very good business selling the surplus. She was no more than a clever little whore…’
‘But were you not taken in too?’
‘Only at the beginning. Then I caught one of the brothers selling a brooch I knew Robert had given Juana and taxed him with it.’ His smile of self-satisfaction sickened Olivia. ‘He told me what they were doing, made me an offer too good to refuse. We joined forces and built up quite a profitable enterprise.’
‘From gifts?’ She was astonished.
‘Not entirely. Soldiers who had loot for sale found with us a ready market.’ He sighed. ‘’Tis a pity I lost the booty in Jeanne’s wagon.’
‘And Robert knew nothing about it?’
‘Love is blind, my dear, isn’t that what they say?’
‘And the army authorities, did they not know what was going on?’
‘Oh, they had an idea, but it was a question of catching the culprits red-handed. Then I found out they were getting too close for comfort; I had to do something about it.’ He paused, but she did not interrupt and he went on. ‘One day, when I knew the brothers were going to collect a consignment of flour…’
‘Bought and paid for by the army,’ she said sharply.
‘As you say. They were going to intercept it on the road. I felt it my duty to tell Captain Lynmount exactly where and when.’ He laughed harshly. ‘He rode out alone to stop them. I knew the chivalrous fool would not inform on them because of Juana.’
‘But you did.’ She could see it all now. Poor Robert. Poor, dear Robert.
‘It was my duty. He was caught carrying one of the sacks of flour.’
‘But surely he explained?’
‘The prosecution said he was taking it to the brothers’ wagon, while he maintained he had been removing it to return to the store. No one believed him. They knew how he felt about Juana, you see.’ He paused to watch her; she was looking down at the ground, unwilling to meet his eyes, but he knew she believed him. ‘He thought she knew nothing of what her brothers were about. Not until she laughed in his face and told him the truth did he realise what had happened, but he had been court-martialled by that time and was awaiting sentence.’ He stopped speaking, though his words still hung in the air, tormenting her.
She felt her hand tighten on the pistol. Nothing would have given her greater satisfaction at that moment than shooting him. She lifted the weapon and weighed it in her hand.
‘Would that be wise?’ he asked mildly.
She looked up at him, her eyes full of a dull hate. ‘What has wisdom to do with how I feel?’
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘But don’t you want to get his name cleared? I am the only one who can do that.’
‘Juana?’
‘In Salamanca.’
‘Her brothers?’
‘In gaol.’
‘But you wouldn’t. Would you?’ There was almost a plea in her question.
‘I might.’
‘For what consideration?’
‘I will think of something. But until then you need me alive.’
‘Alive!’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Alive but not necessarily well. I could…’
‘Tut, tut,’ he said. ‘For a lady, and an English lady at that, you sound more like one of those barbarous guerrilla friends of yours. That is the sort of thing Don Miguel Santandos would say.’
‘Don Santandos?’ She put the weapon on the ground beside her and noticed that her hands were trembling.
‘He is an even greater threat to me than you are,’ he said. ‘He will not listen to reason as you do. You and Robert Lynmount are my protectors as well as my gaolers.’
‘You!’ she said suddenly. ‘You were the one who betrayed the guerrillas to Colonel Clavier. It was you who was responsible for the death of Miguel’s wife.’ She stopped speaking and stared at him with loathing. The air was still, as if a storm was brewing; a cloud drifted across the sun and cast a shadow over the water. The old goatherd they had seen earlier was making his way slowly along the riverbank towards them, hobbling with the aid of a staff. ‘Robert was right all along,’ she said. ‘You are a traitor.’
‘I prefer to be on the winning side,’ he said, then laughed. ‘The pay was better too, especially when I produced the design of your father’s rockets.’
She laughed, but her voice was cracked and it did not sound like her at all. ‘They were a failure.’
‘No matter. The French did not know that. And I thought what I did would please Juana, particularly after her brothers were imprisoned by the British authorities.’ He sighed. ‘I should have known better.’
She smiled. He had not escaped Juana’s treachery either, but she could feel no sympathy for him. The sun came out from behind the cloud and their two forms were mirrored in the water again, sitting side by side as they had sat side by side on the tailboard of Jeanne’s wagon. How could she have been such a fool as to believe all his lies? Everything he had ever said was a lie. ‘You were never a British agent,’ she said. ‘There was no special assignment from Viscount Wellington…’
‘There you are wrong,’ he said blandly. ‘That I was sent by Viscount Wellington was the truth.’ He laughed suddenly and frightened a kingfisher hovering over the water; it abandoned its dive for fish and flew off, a flash of red and green. ‘He sent me to find Captain Lynmount.’
‘To find Robert?’
‘Yes, ironic, isn’t it? I was to fetch him back and tell him all was forgiven, his lordship needed him. You see, my dear, Robert Lynmount is one of the Peer’s best scouts, and as most of the others have been killed or captured he is needed, disgrace or no disgrace.’ He looked up idly at the goatherd, who was now only a few paces from them, and then down into the water. ‘I do believe there is a trout down there. I could fancy a bit of fish for supper.’
‘If you think I will release you on so flimsy an excuse, you are mistaken,’ she said. ‘Once I might have done, but not now. Whatever sympathy I felt for you has gone and I marvel at Robert’s restraint in letting you live.’
‘He did it for you, my dear.’ He sighed melodramatically. ‘The man will never learn not to trust the fair sex. He believes in their essential goodness, Juana notwithstanding.’
‘And I am glad that he does.’
‘Even if it means he still loves her?’
She did not want to answer that one and turned away to gaze along the path from which she expected Robert to appear. That she loved him she did not doubt, but neither did she doubt that all his thoughts and longings were tied up with the Portuguese girl, in spite of the way she had treated him. Men, she decided, could be even more perverse than women when it came to giving their affections to the wrong people.
‘Look!’ Whitely’s voice, coming in the middle of her reverie, made her jump. She turned to see him attempting to point at the water, though his bonds made it impossible. ‘There is a trout down there, under that rock. You could almost catch it with bare hands. It’s a beauty too.’
Curious in spite of herself, she leaned over the bank to look. She could see nothing in the water but their two reflections and then they were joined by a third. The goatherd was standing behind them. In horrified surprise, she saw his bent form stand up straight and her mind registered how young and tall he was as he raised his staff above his head with both hands. Then there was nothing but darkness.
She came to her senses with Robert leaning over her, calling her name in what seemed something akin to panic. He had a water-soaked cloth in his hand and was bathing her forehead. She smiled weakly. ‘Has he gone?’
‘Yes.’ He breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. ‘I should never have left you alone with him.’ He paused to smooth her hair from her brow with gentle fingers. ‘How do you feel? You’ve been out cold for an age.’
She lifted a hand gingerly and winced as she felt the bump on her head. ‘A little dizzy, as if I’d drunk too much champagne.’
He smiled ruefully. ‘Fine chance of that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I was a fool.’
‘How did he escape? Did you…?’
‘No, I did not.’ Her denial sounded more like her old, resilient, unquenchable self. ‘There was a goatherd, though I do not think he was a real goatherd, after all. He seemed old at first but then he stood up straight. I saw him in the water…’
‘He was in the river?’
‘No, silly, I saw his reflection behind mine. He had a stick.’
‘Why didn’t you shoot him? You had a pistol.’ He did not sound angry. He ought to have been furious that she had been so easily duped into relaxing her guard.
She grinned. ‘You said I would be useless as a soldier, didn’t you? That first day…’
‘I did not know what I was talking about,’ he said, smiling down at her in a way that made her feel even more light-headed. It was not only the blow which had shaken her wits but his obvious concern for her and the knowledge that she now knew the truth about him, knew why he had been hurt, why he behaved the way he did, why he had found it so difficult to trust her and why his claws were important to him. What she could not understand was his continuing love of Juana.
She sat up gingerly. She was still on the riverbank, the sun still shone and the water still rippled over the stones and she wondered idly if there really had been a trout. The rope which had bound Rufus lay on the grass where it had been carelessly thrown and Robert’s horse cropped the grass near by. There was no sign of the piebald or her own mount. ‘Pegasus?’ she said.
‘Gone, I’m afraid.’
She grinned suddenly. ‘I hope he throws the traitorous devil.’
He laughed. ‘You seem to have changed your mind about the man.’
‘He told me what happened in Lisbon. I am sorry, Robert.’
‘Sorry?’
‘About everything. About Juana.’
‘It is of no consequence.’ He did not want to talk about it; no man liked to admit that he had been a fool. When he had ridden up and seen Olivia lying sprawled on the grass with her head covered in blood, he had thought she was dead and, for one awful moment, his heart had stopped. Everything else faded into insignificance as he realised what she meant to him — more than Juana, more than honour even, more than life itself. He had hurled himself from his horse and gathered her into his arms, calling her name with a voice broken by emotion. His relief on finding she was not dead had overwhelmed him, and now that she seemed to be fully restored to her senses, except for that bump on the head, he was angry. His anger was not with her, but with himself and with that coward, Rufus Whitely. She had done nothing to harm the fellow, had even defended him; it was because of her he was still alive.
But he would not live much longer. Rufus would pay with his life, but not at his hands. It was not up to him to dispense justice; Olivia had convinced him of that, though he had hardly needed convincing. He would fetch him back for trial. ‘Are you well enough to go on?’
He stood up to help her to her feet. She seemed to have recovered, but he knew from experience what a blow to the head could do. ‘Perhaps you should rest awhile. Tomorrow…’
‘No, Robert,’ she said firmly. ‘We cannot spare the time and I am quite recovered. Thor can carry us both.’
‘I must get after the traitor,’ he said, picking up the pistol and handing it back to her. The rope he wound round his waist. ‘I must catch him before he gets back to Colonel Clavier with what he knows about the allied positions.’
‘I am quite ready.’
‘Not you.’ He stood up beside her. ‘I go alone.’
‘Oh, not that old chestnut,’ she said, sighing. ‘Don’t you know me better than that? I belong with you.’
‘True,’ he said smiling. ‘But I need you alive and safe. We are near the British lines now and I want you to go on alone.’
‘I will not.’
He smiled. ‘Are you giving me an argument, Olivia?’
‘Yes.’
‘But if I tell you that it is vital that the Peer knows from which direction the French are coming? Judging by what I have seen, he is not expecting them from Viseu, or we would have come across the rearguard by now. My guess is he is deploying his forces to meet them much further south and east. Who is there to tell him this but you?’ He could see her struggling with herself. The old Olivia who wanted to rush in and do battle with him was fighting the Olivia who knew a soldier’s duty was to obey, and she saw herself as a soldier. At least, he thought she did. He smiled. ‘Duty calls us in different directions, my dear.’
She smiled impishly. ‘Still looking for those claws, Robert?’
‘If you like. Will you go?’
She sighed. ‘If I must, but I go under protest. I am not at all sure you can manage without me.’
He laughed. ‘Nor I, but I shall have to try. Now, you take Thor. Keep to the byways, avoid any trouble.’ He paused to grin at her, remembering her prowess with a gun. ‘No sniping at anything, however easy the target, do you hear?’
‘I hear.’
He handed her a rough map. ‘This shows the French route and where you might expect to find Viscount Wellington. Make sure you go direct to him. No one else will do.’
She stood to attention and saluted him. ‘Yes, sir!’
He laughed to cover the fact that he wanted to take her in his arms and tell her the whole idea was mad and he would not let her go, but he could see no alternative. Later, when it was all over, he would come back to her, when he had been vindicated and his father had accepted him back into the family, when he had something to offer her; then was the time to speak. He led her to his horse, where he stopped and held out his clasped hands for her foot. ‘Up you go, then.’
She mounted and turned the horse, looking down into his face as if to etch it in her memory. ‘Don’t you do anything foolish, either,’ she said, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Claws are not important.’
He took her hand and turned it over to kiss the palm. ‘Mine are.’ He did not wait for her to answer, but slapped the horse’s rump and set it cantering off. ‘I’ll see you in England,’ he called after her. He watched her until she was out of sight, then he picked up his haversack and rifle, slung them over his shoulders and set off in the opposite direction.