at dealing with the guerrillas. Is that the case?’
‘Sir?’
‘I did hear that you worked with them last year to liberate a sizeable sum from the coffers of the French and that most of this was passed on to the duke to pay the men. Is that correct?’
‘Yes, sir, we did manage to take a deal of silver from Marshal Soult’s baggage train in the rout from Oporto.’
‘Well done.’ He paused. ‘I also heard that some of that money was never recovered.’
Keane said nothing.
‘Sorry, captain. Were you not aware of that?’
‘I’m sure, sir that we did not recover the entire amount. And I know that the guerrillas made off with some.’
‘The guerrillas? No one else?’
Keane blanched. ‘No one else, sir. Are you suggesting that I… ?’
‘Merely a rumour I had heard, Keane. No more than that. Among the staff. Fair game, I’d say. Wouldn’t you, Keane? Spoils of war?’
‘I couldn’t comment on that, sir. The duke might not agree with you.’
Craufurd looked down and played with his sword knot. ‘Nor he might, Keane. There was something else, wasn’t there? Someone died. An officer.’
Keane felt suddenly alarmed. Surely Craufurd could not know about his killing of Blackwood. Only Morris, Grant and the duke knew the truth of that day. He managed to steady his nerve.
‘Sir? I don’t follow you.’
‘A duel. You killed someone in a duel, did you not? A fellow officer?’
A faint smile touched Keane’s face and he breathed again. ‘You seem well acquainted with me, sir. Is that how I’m known among the staff, sir?’
Craufurd laughed. ‘Touché. No, captain, it is not how you are known. Although your predilection for cards and pretty women precedes you. Principally you are known as the hero of Oporto and quite the rising star. You have the duke’s ear. He likes to have himself surrounded by bright young men. If you keep your nose clean and don’t do anything stupid, you’ll advance far.’
Keane wondered how Craufurd could know that he and his men had appropriated a quantity of the French silver. A quantity which had bought him not only the boots but the soft cotton shirt he now wore beneath his uniform jacket. And he also wondered whether that was all he knew. Whether he might be aware of the identity of Blackwood’s killer and, if so, whether the fact meant anything to him.
Fastening on his sword, which in his haste he had not done, he saluted the general. ‘If you will excuse me, sir, I’ll take my leave. I must find my men and make ready to leave for Don Sanchez.’
‘Yes, of course, you must go by all means, but remember what I have said. Oh, and one thing more, Keane. The French will be aiming for Almeida now. The duke craves further knowledge about how they will advance. Do not disappoint him, Keane. On any count. Nor me.’
5
According to Wellington’s note, Don Sanchez had left his base near Richioso and crossed the border into Portugal, and was now based at San Pedro, an old citadel town built around a central tower and the remains of a palace. Even in this time of crisis, for the Spanish officer to lead his company quite independently into Portugal and occupy such a place, redolent with history of the border wars between the two peoples, was, thought Keane, a presumptuous action. Not only did it count on the hospitality of the Portuguese; it also took for granted that the British would necessarily want or need to work with him. Presumptuous perhaps, he thought, but it was also undeniably good strategy. The man was shrewd, of that there was no doubt.
Once Sanchez was in Portugal it would be hard to get rid of him, and so he had come to the British for better or worse. And it was Keane’s job to find out which.
From such a position Sanchez would be able to keep an eye on the fortress of Almeida in the valley below and the surrounding area and to eventually establish contact with Wellington at Celorico, which lay directly to the west. The plan was to attach Sanchez
‘Sir?’
‘I did hear that you worked with them last year to liberate a sizeable sum from the coffers of the French and that most of this was passed on to the duke to pay the men. Is that correct?’
‘Yes, sir, we did manage to take a deal of silver from Marshal Soult’s baggage train in the rout from Oporto.’
‘Well done.’ He paused. ‘I also heard that some of that money was never recovered.’
Keane said nothing.
‘Sorry, captain. Were you not aware of that?’
‘I’m sure, sir that we did not recover the entire amount. And I know that the guerrillas made off with some.’
‘The guerrillas? No one else?’
Keane blanched. ‘No one else, sir. Are you suggesting that I… ?’
‘Merely a rumour I had heard, Keane. No more than that. Among the staff. Fair game, I’d say. Wouldn’t you, Keane? Spoils of war?’
‘I couldn’t comment on that, sir. The duke might not agree with you.’
Craufurd looked down and played with his sword knot. ‘Nor he might, Keane. There was something else, wasn’t there? Someone died. An officer.’
Keane felt suddenly alarmed. Surely Craufurd could not know about his killing of Blackwood. Only Morris, Grant and the duke knew the truth of that day. He managed to steady his nerve.
‘Sir? I don’t follow you.’
‘A duel. You killed someone in a duel, did you not? A fellow officer?’
A faint smile touched Keane’s face and he breathed again. ‘You seem well acquainted with me, sir. Is that how I’m known among the staff, sir?’
Craufurd laughed. ‘Touché. No, captain, it is not how you are known. Although your predilection for cards and pretty women precedes you. Principally you are known as the hero of Oporto and quite the rising star. You have the duke’s ear. He likes to have himself surrounded by bright young men. If you keep your nose clean and don’t do anything stupid, you’ll advance far.’
Keane wondered how Craufurd could know that he and his men had appropriated a quantity of the French silver. A quantity which had bought him not only the boots but the soft cotton shirt he now wore beneath his uniform jacket. And he also wondered whether that was all he knew. Whether he might be aware of the identity of Blackwood’s killer and, if so, whether the fact meant anything to him.
Fastening on his sword, which in his haste he had not done, he saluted the general. ‘If you will excuse me, sir, I’ll take my leave. I must find my men and make ready to leave for Don Sanchez.’
‘Yes, of course, you must go by all means, but remember what I have said. Oh, and one thing more, Keane. The French will be aiming for Almeida now. The duke craves further knowledge about how they will advance. Do not disappoint him, Keane. On any count. Nor me.’
5
According to Wellington’s note, Don Sanchez had left his base near Richioso and crossed the border into Portugal, and was now based at San Pedro, an old citadel town built around a central tower and the remains of a palace. Even in this time of crisis, for the Spanish officer to lead his company quite independently into Portugal and occupy such a place, redolent with history of the border wars between the two peoples, was, thought Keane, a presumptuous action. Not only did it count on the hospitality of the Portuguese; it also took for granted that the British would necessarily want or need to work with him. Presumptuous perhaps, he thought, but it was also undeniably good strategy. The man was shrewd, of that there was no doubt.
Once Sanchez was in Portugal it would be hard to get rid of him, and so he had come to the British for better or worse. And it was Keane’s job to find out which.
From such a position Sanchez would be able to keep an eye on the fortress of Almeida in the valley below and the surrounding area and to eventually establish contact with Wellington at Celorico, which lay directly to the west. The plan was to attach Sanchez
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