Williams sat on a stone and looked out into the night. There was a large fire on the hill across the valley and little black figures capered around it like the warriors of some savage tribe from Africa or America. They were Portuguese peasants, but had shown themselves barbaric enough as they emerged when the fighting was over to strip the French dead and wounded. More than a few injured men were knifed as they lay, and the redcoats had been sickened by the display, but unable to protect the enemy casualties as they were ordered back to the ridge they had occupied before the battle. Hanley said that it was all the French could expect after the way they had behaved in Portugal and Spain, but even he had blanched at some of the sights.
‘I don’t understand it,’ said Williams finally. ‘The French were at our mercy and yet we sit here and do nothing.’
‘Not up to Caesar, I’ll agree,’ said Pringle with a grin. ‘But generals are generals. The story is that Wellesley was all for it, but Burrard suspected there might be more French out there.’ It was said that Sir Hew Dalrymple had now arrived from Gibraltar to take over from Sir Harry, so that the army had its third commander in as many days. ‘Who knows, he could be right.’
‘You do not actually believe that, do you?’ asked Hanley.
‘Well, no, of course not, but I am just trying to show you how a responsible lieutenant should behave. No croaking.’
‘It has not quite sunk in yet. I’ll be glad of the extra pay, though.’ Hanley had been made lieutenant. He was the senior ensign and so due for promotion, and all the casualties had created many vacancies.
‘Ah yes, we lieutenants live as kings.’
‘You may be a captain soon,’ said Williams.
‘Maybe.’ Pringle was determined not to take anything for granted. He had the years of experience and seniority, but someone might still purchase over his head, and in any event he was not keen on leaving the Grenadier Company. ‘Anyway, now that you have been an officer for a grand total of five hours, we should be asking you how it feels, Ensign Williams.’
‘Not that different really.’
‘Can’t you manage a little more exuberance?’
‘Hurrah!’ said Williams flatly.
‘Why did MacAndrews say he’d shoot you himself if you did not take it this time?’ asked Hanley.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Not really, but the story might have passed the time.’
Williams reached down to touch the sword that lay beside him. His promotion had not yet truly sunk in, but the officer’s weapon reassured him that he had not imagined the whole thing. He was now an ensign, and even if he had spent enough time in the ranks to know how scornfully most soldiers thought of these most junior rs, he could sense the excitement within him. It was a pity that he had not been able to keep the sword he had taken from the French artillery officer. When the man offered his parole, there was no choice but to return to him this symbol of his honour.
Dobson had presented him with this blade just over an hour ago. The veteran had taken it from Denilov – it was the bundle he had so mysteriously carried back to camp.
‘Told you you’d be an officer, Pug,’ he had said, his face split into one of the widest grins Williams had ever seen. The old soldier seemed truly delighted. Then he had snapped to attention and delivered a salute which would not have disgraced a sergeant major of the Guards. ‘Congratulations, Mr Williams, sir,’ he said with the greatest formality.
Williams smiled at the memory and gently eased the sword from its scabbard. The hilt was ornate, with a crest which he guessed was from the Russian’s family. The blade was curved, and grenadier officers were supposed to carry a straight sword, but it was so perfectly balanced that even his inexperienced eyed could tell that it was an excellent weapon.
The gift meant one less expense in the next few days as he purchased the uniform and equipment of an officer. Hopefully his share of the money Dobson had taken from the Russian officer would allow him to buy the rest. Soon there would be macabre auctions, as the property of fallen officers was sold so that the profits could be sent to their next of kin, and Williams knew that he would have to take part in these ghoulish affairs. Dobson had helped him in so many ways, and it simply no longer seemed to matter that he had probably killed Redman. Williams worried that his sense of morality was being eroded, but was too tired, and still too happy, to give it much thought.
There was the sound of violent retching and they all looked up as Hatch stumbled past. He was obviously quite drunk. He glared for a moment at Williams, sitting there in the remnants of his torn jacket. Hatch was trying desperately to remember something, but his senses were gone for the moment. It was important, he knew that much, and yet it stubbornly eluded him. Perhaps it would return in time.
‘You look like a beggar,’ he said, and lurched off into the darkness.
‘He’s got a point,’ said Pringle. There was a polite cough and they all sprang to their feet. Jane MacAndrews stood on the edge of the light from their small fire. A soldier waited behind her, and they recognised Truscott’s servant, Private Knowles.
‘How is Mr Truscott?’ asked Williams, for once clear and confident in his speech to the girl.
‘He is asleep. They have taken his arm, unfortunately, but the surgeon says he has an even chance.’ The girl had seen Truscott being carried to the makeshift hospital after the battle and had held his other hand throughout the operation, managing somehow to ignore the ghastly grating of saw on bone. Then she had sat with him alongside Knowles until he drifted into sleep. Her face looked drawn and her eyes were dull.
‘Thank you from all of us,’ said Pringle. ‘I know how much help you will have been.’
‘I did nothing.’ She sighed. ‘The poor, poor boy.’
‘It will have been a huge comfort.’ Hanley tried to lighten the mood. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if half the regiment shoots themselves just to hold your hand.’
Jane smiled dutifully, but then her happiness became genuine. ‘I hear congratulations are in order. I am proud of you all. Especially you, Mr ams.’
Williams beamed, and then dropped down on one knee and grasped the girl’s hand. Pringle and Hanley stepped back a few paces to give him room.
‘Miss MacAndrews, praise from you is sweeter than any reward.’ The words came out fluently, confident at last. ‘I must tell you that I hold you in the very highest esteem. Indeed, that I . . .’ For the first time he hesitated, amazed at his own boldness. ‘I love you.’ He kissed her gloved hand lightly. There were traces of blood on the glove.
Jane’s expression was fond, but overwhelmed by weariness. ‘That is truly kind of you, Mr Williams. I am genuinely touched.’ He remained with his head bowed over her hand which he clasped tightly.
‘I am not in a position to ask for anything,’ he continued. ‘Not yet, but perhaps one day?’ Then he relapsed into silence and once again pressed his lips to her hand.
‘Well, at the very least we shall be friends, as I have said before, and I suspect the firmest of friends,’ said the girl after some time had passed. ‘Now I am tired. May I perhaps have my hand back?’ Williams looked up worshipfully and she dazzled him with a smile.
‘Is that it?’ whispered Pringle into Hanley’s ear.
‘Don’t mock. That was probably the same as a night of passion for us. Bills is an odd cove.’
‘Well, I suppose it is a day for things to end unexpectedly.’