Rebellion. James McGee

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ outside to supervise the loading of the general’s luggage before he made his move.

      The general took a draw on his cheroot, savouring the taste. He looked like a man who was relaxed and at ease with himself. But then he could afford to be. He was a general and every other soldier within sight and earshot was his subordinate.

      “Forgive me, sir, General Souham?” He spoke in French, as he had with the concierge.

      The general’s head turned and he found himself perused through a spiral of cigar fumes. The general’s right eye searched for recognition and an indication of rank. “And who might you be?”

      Some senior staff might have shown irritation at being approached unexpectedly by a lower ranked officer. On this occasion there was only curiosity.

      “A fellow traveller, General, if you’ll permit.”

      A frown creased the scarred brow.

      It’s now or never, he thought.

      “I understand from the concierge that you’re about to board the diligence and I wondered if you’d allow me to share your coach. I’ve been on attachment to Marshal Marmont’s staff and recently arrived from Salamanca, en route to Orleans. I’d be more than happy to share any expenses.”

      The general’s right eyebrow lifted as he picked a shred of tobacco from his lip, not so much surprised by the request as intrigued.

      “Your name again? I didn’t catch it.”

      “My apologies, General. Major Hawkwood, 11th Regiment of Infantry.”

      The general’s frown deepened. His eye moved to the patch of red jacket showing through the gap in the cloak. “Really? That’s an interesting name. You’d better explain, Major.”

      “I’m an American, sir, as is my regiment. Assigned to the Imperial Forces by President Madison with the permission of Emperor Bonaparte. I’ve been serving at Marshal Marmont’s headquarters in a liaison capacity. The president is most interested in the Spanish campaign.”

      “Ah,” the general said drily, as if everything suddenly made sense. “Is he now? That’s comforting. I’m sure we’ll all sleep easier in our beds. And when you make your report to your President Madison, what will you tell him?”

      “That the Emperor probably needs all the help he can get.”

      The general stared at him. “Well, your French is excellent, Major. If you hadn’t told me, I’d have taken you for a native. But I’ll say this: it’s a damned good thing you’re a soldier and not an ambassador. Diplomacy isn’t your strong point.”

      “No, General. It’s probably why I’m still a major.”

      The corner of the general’s mouth lifted. “And how is the Marshal?”

      “He’s well, sir. Still complaining about the quality of the wine.”

      “Sounds familiar. He always did appreciate his home comforts.”

      The general’s aide appeared at the entrance. “Your baggage is loaded, sir.” The officer’s glance slid sideways.

      “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll be there shortly.” The general paused, then said, “You can inform the driver there’ll be two of us. Major Hawkwood will be joining me. He’s an American, you know; come to offer us his support.”

      “Very good, sir.” The lieutenant nodded. “You have luggage, Major?” There was no hint of suspicion or even surprise on the aide’s face, which suggested the lieutenant was well used to dealing with his general’s last-minute whims and would probably have been equally unabashed had the general introduced the newcomer as the Sultan of Rangoon.

      “I regret I was separated from my valise. I’ve made arrangements for it to be sent on. I’m carrying all I need.” He indicated the knapsack.

       If he asks for my papers, it’s all over.

      “A pity the same couldn’t be said for our Marshal Marmont,” Souham said as his lieutenant disappeared once more. “Do his cooks still travel with him?”

      He nodded. “All twelve of them, General.”

      “A hell of a way to go to war.” The general parked the cheroot in the corner of his mouth and shoved his hands in his coat pockets.

      The aide was back again, his message delivered. “The coach is ready, sir.”

      Souham nodded. “Right, thank you, Lieutenant. You can relax. Go and get yourself a drink. And mind the bastards don’t serve you from the bottom of the cask.” He turned and removed the cheroot from his lips. “Shall we, Major?”

      They left the hotel and the driver held the coach door open as he followed the general up the steps. It occurred to him, as he took his seat and the driver retracted the steps and closed the door behind him, that he hadn’t bought a ticket.

      As if reading his mind, Souham smiled. “You can spread yourself out, Major. We have the vehicle to ourselves. Rank, as they say, has its privileges.”

      He breathed a sigh of relief. It meant they weren’t likely to be disturbed until they’d reached their destination. He recalled then that Souham wasn’t only a general; he was also a count. He’d received the title after his victory at the battle of Vich; the same engagement that had cost him his eye.

      There was a jolt as the driver released the brake and then the coach moved slowly off.

      The general removed his hat and ran a hand through his thinning locks.

      “So, Major, I’ve a cousin who served with Rochambeau during your war of independence. He tells me that America is a beautiful country.”

      “Indeed it is, sir.”

      Jesus, he thought.

      He wondered how long he’d be able to maintain the charade. What he knew of America he’d gleaned only from his service in the West Indies, during conversations with American merchants in Dominica and St Christopher. He knew a little about the eastern side of the country. Everywhere else was a mystery.

      “So you’ve never been there yourself, General?” he ventured.

      Souham shook his head. “Sadly no.”

      Maybe the gods are back with me, he thought.

      A vision of the moments before his capture came into his mind. He saw the dragoon lieutenant raise the sword – his sword – and drive it home. As the light died in Leon’s eyes he felt the spark of anger deep within him; as if a tiny ember had burst into flame. Somehow, he would make them pay. He didn’t know how. But one day he would exact his revenge for the death of his friend.

      The vision faded. He realized his fists were clenched and that the general was gazing at him with a quizzical expression.

      “Forgive me, sir,” he heard himself say, while risking what he hoped was a rueful smile. “It occurred to me, not for the first time, that I’m a long way from home.”

СКАЧАТЬ