An Infamous Army (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 4)

The Colonel gave up the bridle. ‘Yes. Rub him down well, Cherry!’ The faint crackle of musketry fire in the distance came to his ears. ‘What’s all this popping?’

Cherry gave a grunt. ‘Proper spiteful they’ve been all evening. Pickets, they tell me. “Well,” I said, “we didn’t do such in Spain, that’s all I know.’’’

The Colonel turned away and entered the inn. An orderly informed him that the Duke was still up, and he went into a room in the front of the house to make his report.

The Duke was seated at a table, with De Lancey at his elbow, looking over a map of the country. Lord Fitzroy occupied a chair on one side of the fire, and was placidly writing on his knee. He looked up as the Colonel came in, and smiled.

‘Hallo, Audley!’ said his lordship. ‘What’s the news in Brussels?’

‘There’s been a good deal of panic, sir. The news of our retreat sent hundreds off to Antwerp,’ replied the Colonel, handing over the letters he had brought.

‘Ah, I daresay! Road bad?’

‘Yes, sir, and needs clearing. In places it’s choked with baggage and overturned carts. I spoke to one of our own drivers, and it seems the Belgian cavalry upset everything in their way when they galloped to Brussels.’

‘I’ll have it cleared first thing,’ De Lancey said. ‘It’s the fault of these rascally Flemish drivers! There’s no depending on them.’

Sir Colin Campbell came into the room, and upon seeing Audley remarked that there was some cold pie to be had; the Duke nodded dismissal, and the Colonel went off to a room upstairs which was occupied by Gordon and Colonel Canning. A fire had been lit in the grate, and several wet garments were drying in front of it. Occasionally it belched forth a puff of acrid woodsmoke, which mingled with the blue smoke of the two officers’ cigars, and made the atmosphere in the small apartment extremely thick. Gordon was lying on a mattress in his shirtsleeves, with his hands linked behind his head; and Canning was sprawling in an ancient armchair by the fire, critically inspecting a crumpled coat which was hung over a chair back to dry.

‘Welcome to our humble quarters!’ said Canning. ‘Don’t be afraid! You’ll soon get used to the smoke.’

‘What a reek!’ said Audley. ‘Why the devil don’t you open the window?’

‘A careful reconnaissance,’ Gordon informed him, ‘has revealed the fact that the window is not made to open. What are you concealing under your cloak?’

The Colonel grinned, and produced his bottles of champagne, which he set down on the table.

‘Canning, tell the orderly downstairs to get hold of some glasses!’ said Gordon, sitting up. ‘Hi, Charles, don’t put that wet cloak of yours anywhere near my coat!’

Canning hitched the coat off the chair back, and tossed it to its owner. ‘It’s dry. We have a very nice billet here, Charles. Try this chair! I daren’t sit in it any longer for fear of being too sore to sit in the saddle tomorrow.’

Colonel Audley spread his cloak over the chair back, sat down on the edge of the truckle bed against the wall, and began to pull off his muddied boots. ‘I’m going to sleep,’ he replied. ‘In fact, I rather think that I’m asleep already. Where’s Slender Billy?’

‘At Abeiche. Horses at L’Espinettes.’

The Colonel wiped his hands on a large handkerchief, took off his coat, and stretched himself full length on the patchwork quilt. ‘What do they stuff their mattresses with here?’ he enquired. ‘Turnips?’

‘We rather suspect mangel-worzels,’ replied Canning. ‘Did you hear the pickets enjoying themselves when you came in?’

‘Damned fools!’ said Audley. ‘What’s the sense of it?’

‘There ain’t any, but if the feeling in our lines and the French lines tonight is anything to go by we’re in for a nasty affair tomorrow.’

‘Well, I don’t approve of it,’ said Gordon, raising himself on his elbow to throw the stub of his cigar into the fire. ‘We used to manage things much better in Spain. Do you remember those fellows of ours who used to leave a bowl out with a piece of money in it every night for the French vedettes to take in exchange for cognac? Now, that’s what I call a proper, friendly way of conducting a war.’

‘There wasn’t anything very friendly about our fellows the night the Fren

ch took the money without filling the bowl,’ Audley remarked. ‘Have the French all come up?’

‘Can’t say,’ replied Canning. ‘There’s been a good deal of artillery arriving on their side, judging from the rumbling I heard when I was on the field half an hour ago. Queer thing: our fellows have lit campfires, as usual, but there isn’t one to be seen in the French lines.’

‘Poor devils!’ said Audley, and shut his eyes.

Downstairs, the Duke was also stretched on his bed, having dropped asleep with that faculty he possessed of snatching rest anywhere and at any time. At three o’clock Lord Fitzroy woke him with the intelligence that Baron Müffling had come over from his quarters with a despatch from Marshal Blücher at Wavre.

The Duke sat up, and swung his legs to the ground. ‘What’s the time? Three o’clock? Time to get up. How’s the weather?’

‘Clearing a little, sir.’