Chapter Three
Beau and his small party arrived safely at the English camp after an arduous and unpleasant journey of almost four hundred miles. He had been carrying a special licence which he handed to Sullivan. His cousin was mercifully asleep and had not yet emerged from the stationary carriage. Once she was awake he would have no further opportunity to speak to her betrothed.
'I am assuming that you have the ceremony arranged? I fear I cannot delay more than a few hours before I continue on my journey.'
The young man, looking splendid in his dress regimentals, bowed. 'Not only do I have the service organised, your grace, there will also be a wedding breakfast held in the Officers' Mess.'
'Which one of the tents would that be? Also, although it is none of my concern, where will my cousin be residing?'
'I have a splendid little house in which we will both live. I also have a cook and maid to take care of everything so Beth will not have to worry about such matters.'
'Excellent. I have grave reservations about the wisdom of allowing you to marry her whilst still on active service. However, too late to repine – I'm trusting you to keep her safe. I want your word that when she is increasing you will send her home immediately.'
The lieutenant bowed. 'You have my word, your grace. In the last letter Beth and I exchanged we discussed that very point and she would like to return to Silchester Court and reside there with you until I am able to return.'
'I would have thought she would wish to live with her mother or perhaps live with your parents – but I should be delighted to have her back.'
Their conversation was brought to a dramatic halt as Beth tumbled from the carriage squealing with excitement and threw herself into Sullivan's embrace. His cousin was led away chattering and laughing, her maid close behind, and two unfortunate soldiers ordered to stagger along with the boxes and trunks.
An officer, a major from his epaulettes, saluted and bowed. 'Your grace, it is an honour to have you here. The wedding is to take place outside the cottage in an hour from now. That will give me ample time to give you all the information that I have about the disappearance of your brother.'
Inside the tent it was no cooler than out. Beau had expected to find it immaculate, everything in its place, but the opposite was true. The place was strewn with items, but he was relieved to see they were not of a personal nature but military related. Maps, documents, notebooks, a compass, a spyglass, a sword and a pistol covered the small wooden table, the canvas bed, the stool, as well as a large part of the floor space.
Major Robertson was unabashed by the untidiness. He smiled and swept the papers from the bed and stool so they could sit down. 'Forgive the chaos, your grace, I don't have time for military precision and I can't let an orderly see what I have here.'
Beau perched on the stool before answering. 'One would assume, sir, that most orderlies would not have the ability to read and write therefore your information would remain secret.'
'Unfortunately, they will all deny being literate as this could lead to extra work, but you would be surprised at how many common soldiers can decipher enough to make them dangerous. I don't suspect them of being traitors, of wishing to sell the information to the French, but they will gossip about what they know and there are always spies somewhere in a camp this large.'
'Surely leaving the papers lying around so openly would mean that one of these spies could wander in and read them for themselves?'
'Fair point, your grace. You might not have noticed, but there are four men guarding my quarters at all times of the day and night. No one comes in here apart from myself and those I invite.'
'Then I apologise for suggesting otherwise. Now, as I must leave immediately after the wedding ceremony has taken place we had better get down to business. How long has my brother been missing and what have you done to try and find him?'
'He and his orderly were expected to rendezvous with the leader of a partisan group but they never arrived. This was in July. You must understand, sir, that we could hardly go in search of them as they were behind enemy lines. We have had to rely on the information we have been able to obtain from villagers and partisans.'
'Which is?'
'Nothing at all, I'm sorry to inform you. There's been no sighting of either of their horses or themselves. It has now been more than ten weeks since they vanished and we must assume that they are either dead or prisoners of the French.'
'I thought it was customary for the names of prisoners of war to be exchanged.'
'That is true. Their names were not on the last list we received but there is a slim possibility that they are being held by one of the roving companies who work more or less independently from their regiment.'
'Then if you would kindly show me the exact position of the proposed meeting so I can mark it on my map, I shall leave you to your work.'
'I can do better than that, your grace, I have already prepared a map and marked on it the route he might well have followed.' He handed over the paper and Beau perused it carefully.
'Thank you, this will make it easier for me to retrace his possible path.'
The major's expression was grim. 'I must tell you that I think this mission foolhardy and highly dangerous. It is only because you have three other brothers able to take over your responsibilities if you perish that convinced Wellington to give you permission to make the search.'
'I do not require anyone's permission. I am not a member of your army, take orders from no one, and have no intention of leaving this country without my brother at my side.' He stood up, folded the map, and pushed it into his pocket. 'What I am about to say might seem at odds with my appearance, but I am convinced I would know if my brother was dead. We are a close family; my siblings are equally sure I will find him alive.'
He offered his hand and the major shook it. 'I wish you godspeed and good luck, your grace, you are going to need it.'
'There is another possible explanation for his absence. He could have been severely wounded and is unable to travel. I believe that is the most likely of the three.'
The hired carriage had already departed and the wedding party was gathering outside the house. The padre was waiting with Lieutenant Sullivan and there were a dozen or so other officers milling around. The fact that there were no other women was a worry – Beth would need someone to guide her. Following the drum was not an easy path for any young lady and especially not one as pampered and volatile as his cousin.
He supposed he should have made more of an effort with his own appearance, but he had no time for such nonsense. Finding Perry was more important than a wedding.
*
Perry had been given a small house for his occupation and one of the local women and her daughter took care of the house and cooked for him. Juan, the son of the blacksmith, had become his orderly. Indeed, he had become far more than that and he considered the young man as a friend. It had been surprisingly easy adjusting to being dressed, bathed and shaved by someone else and he could only suppose that in his past life he had had a manservant taking care of his every need.
Juan had led him around the house a couple of times until Perry was certain he could make his way without accident. Here he was confident, it was outside the problems arose.
'Perry, I have a gift for you. I think this will make things easier for you to move about the village without falling flat on your face every five minutes.'
They conversed in Spanish, of course, but he was slowly teaching his friend to speak English as he thought it might well come in useful.
'A gift? How exciting – I am agog.'
There was something different about the smell of the house. He could hear someone else, or something else, breathing in the rear of the house where the kitchen was.
He snapped his fingers. 'Come here, boy, I wish to meet my new canine companion.' Immediately, a cold, damp nose was pushed into his outstretched hand. He fondled the dog's head and then ran his hands along his back, down his hindquarters and then back to his head.
'God's teeth! You are enormous. Does he have a name?'
Juan laughed. 'Zorro de Plata, but we call him Zorro.'
Silver Fox was an excellent name and it must mean the animal was grey in colour. 'Well, Zorro, are you a wolfhound or something similar?' The dog licked his hand and pressed his considerable bulk against his leg.
'He is something similar to that, a Spanish version, but he is an intelligent animal. We thought he could be your eyes.'
'Guide me? That is a novel idea, but I'm prepared to give it a go. I cannot see it working as dogs are more interested in chasing rats and rabbits than anything else.'
'Here, put this on him. I had it made especially. I have experimented and Zorro didn't allow me to fall over anything.'
Perry laughed. 'You didn't fall because you could see where you were going.'
'I kept my eyes closed…'
'This might be an intelligent animal, my friend, but I hardly think he would know the difference. However, I am delighted with my gift. I love dogs and we always had several at home.' He couldn't prevent his yell of triumph. 'My memory is coming back. That's the first thing I've remembered about my past. I had worked out that I am from a wealthy family, but only from my diction and garments. Those were deductions not memories.'
Zorro instead of running away which one might have expected had pressed himself tighter against Perry. 'Good boy, I think we are going to be firm friends.'
His yell had attracted the attention of those in the square near enough to hear. They didn't knock before entering, the front door was always ajar. They asked for permission to come in and he immediately gave it.
'Is there something wrong? We heard you shout and thought you injured,' someone enquired. He recognised the voice as belonging to an elderly matron, the village gossip.
'I am perfectly well, ma'am, my shout was because I believe I am starting to recover my memory.'
'That's all very well, young man, but until you recover your sight you're less use to us than a donkey.' She stomped off muttering to herself. His initial happiness had been crushed by her casual remark. She was right, without sight he was an unnecessary burden. Sofia had insisted the coin he had carried was more than enough to pay his way for years, but he doubted that was the case.
Juan muttered something under his breath but was careful not to say anything derogatory that could be overheard by the old lady who was no doubt lurking outside the door at this very minute.
'Don't listen to her, my friend, we're in no hurry to get rid of you as you would insist on taking your fortune away and the don is reluctant to part with it.'
'In which case, I shall remain until you change your mind. Shall we see how Zorro performs as my guide?'
He slipped the leather harness over the dog's head and fumbled with the buckles until he had it snugly fitted. 'Do I have this on correctly?'
'Perfect. You hold onto the loop between the animal's shoulders. Can you find it?'
'I have it. An ingenious contraption – let's hope it works. I can see only one snag in this experiment, as I have no idea where anything is how can I direct him? He can hardly decide for me.'
'I shall walk with you initially and ensure you don't come to grief. Where would you like to go first?'
'The tavern.'
Zorro remained with his shoulder pressed against Perry's thigh. 'In which direction must we go, Juan?'
'Across the square, then it's the third building on the right.'
He was pretty sure there was a well in the middle of the square which Juan made no mention of. He was either going to go head first into it or the hound would lead him around safely. A good test to see if this bizarre scheme worked.
At first his steps were tentative, then he lengthened his stride as he became more confident. The animal changed direction and he followed his lead. Juan slapped him on the back with rather too much enthusiasm making him stumble.
Zorro spun, snarling ferociously, and for a horrible moment he thought the dog was going to attack. 'No, boy, I don't need protecting from him.' Instantly the hackles went down and Zorro reached around and licked his hand. 'I take it we negotiated the well.'
'I truly think this is going to work. That beast understands you can't see – don't know how that can be – but he's yours now and no mistake.'
The small beerhouse, only the front room of a cottage really, served wine from their own vines which was perfectly drinkable. It was more a place for the men to congregate than somewhere to get drunk.
He recognised most of the voices, the place was already half full, and he greeted them by name. They were impressed with his new companion but when anyone tried to fuss the dog a deep growl rumbled in his throat. Perry wasn't sure if this possessiveness was going to be an asset or a hindrance in the future.
The small town, Esposito, had more than five hundred inhabitants. The houses where he was living were stone built and sturdy. He was familiar with the small square in which he resided but had not ventured anywhere else. Here they were self-sufficient and grew all their own food and raised livestock for milk, meat and leather. The younger men rode out to harry the French but were not totally committed to being partisans. They put family and food first.
He stayed for half an hour and then thought he would try and find the stables without assistance. Juan had abandoned him as he had business to attend to with Pablo and the other partisans. They were probably planning a final raid on the French before they were snowed in for the winter.
He stood outside and sniffed. The waft of horses definitely came from further ahead and he was certain he could hear the animals munching their hay.
'Come along, Zorro, I want to introduce you to my mount.' He had taught the horse to answer to a whistle, which had taken him some time, but he was certain the horse would come even if he whistled when he was away from the village.
He walked briskly towards the field and his canine companion loped along beside him. Perry whistled loudly and heard the gelding respond. The tack for his horse was always put in the same place and he was pretty sure he could find it without Sofia or Juan to help him.
'Now, Zorro, meet Marron. You must be the best of friends in future.' He released his hold on the dog and encouraged him to walk ahead. There was the sound of snuffling and licking so he hoped this meant that the two of them had formed a bond already.
All he had to do was keep his hand on the rail and follow it round to the small building in which the saddles and bridles were kept. The ones he needed hung on the first pegs on the left of the door. He carefully put the saddle over his arm and added the bridle.
There was a bar that had to be lifted in order to enter the field and to his delight Marron was standing waiting for him. The horse obediently put down his head and Perry slipped on the bridle and fastened the buckles. The small blanket went on next and then the saddle which fitted snugly across the animal's withers.
'There, the girth is tight, the stirrups are down, we are ready to go.'
With the reins hooked over his arm he led the gelding through the exit and then carefully replaced the bar. He rattled it a few times to make sure it was secure then mounted the horse. This was the first time he had attempted to go out of the village on his own. For some inexplicable reason he believed Zorro and Marron were all he needed.
Why the hound had decided immediately that he belonged with him he had no idea, but he thanked God for it. The first time since he had been brought here injured and helpless he began to feel more like himself, more able to direct his own destiny.
He laughed out loud at his grandiose thoughts. What destiny? All he knew about himself was that he came from a good home, his clothes were well made and he spoke three languages. No – he also knew that there had been more than one dog at his house.
Zorro was so tall he could touch him with his boot which gave him the confidence to push the gelding into a collected canter. The animal was running alongside, keeping pace, and he just had to pray his trust in the two animals wasn't misplaced. Horses wouldn't canter off the edge of a cliff… bile flooded his mouth. His horse had done just that. Something had frightened it and it had bolted.
Frantically he reined back, his heart hammering, his hands wet with perspiration. He had no idea where he was, which direction he was facing, and had told no one he was going out on his own. What lunatic notion had convinced him he was capable of taking care of himself?
He slithered to the ground and his knees almost buckled under him. Zorro whined and pushed his nose into his hand as if encouraging him. The horse stood patiently unbothered by the strange behaviour of its rider.
'We shall have to wait here, my boy, until they send out a search party. They will think I'm touched in the attic to have gone out on my own.'
Slowly his heart returned to normal and he was able to think logically again. A soldier didn't panic in the face of danger. A jolt for something raced through him. He had been a soldier – what the hell had he been doing out of uniform? He must be a damn spy for the English.
He slowly turned a full circle. The sun was setting and he could feel it on his left cheek – so this was the west. He had ridden directly into it, it had been on his face, so he should find his way back safely if he kept it on the back of his head. The rest he must leave to his horse and his hound.