Love Under Fire Read online

  “Merci bien, madame! Merci! Merci!” Elvina cried.

  She and Lord Wye hurried back to the safety of their tool shed.

  The bread was not fresh, but it tasted like ambrosia. The potatoes seemed to Elvina to be as delicious as the first strawberries of the year.

  They ate slowly, not talking, savouring every bite.

  And when they had finished, Elvina gave a little sigh of satisfaction.

  “That’s better,” she said. “But you are so big. It is very little for a man.”

  “Tomorrow we will find something better,” Lord Wye said.

  There was not much conviction in his tone.

  “The baggage carts have arrived,” Elvina said confidently. “The Marshal cannot let his Army starve.”

  “It would be irony indeed if to escape imprisonment we were to die of starvation,” Lord Wye pointed out.

  “We will not do that,” Elvina answered. “Tomorrow I will beg again before we start the march to Roncesvalles. Now let’s sleep. But first – turn your back as I take off my wet gown. It will dry before the morning.”

  “What are you going to wear?” he enquired.

  “Can I have the blanket from your pack?” she suggested.

  “It is as wet as I am.”

  She looked round the tool shed. In a corner she saw something lying on a shelf. She pulled it down.

  It was a long piece of sacking such as a gardener might use to collect leaves. It smelt of the earth and, when she shook it, some withered roots fell to the floor, but at least it was dry.

  “Here is a beautiful nightgown,” she laughed. “Now turn your back, my Lord.”

  He did as he was told and she slipped off her gown and hung it up from the roof so that it could drip on to the floor.

  “The Duke of Wellington’s letters are safe,” she said, “but the ink may have run.”

  “They will be a bit out of date by the time we get home,” Lord Wye said gloomily. “Perhaps it would be best to destroy them.”

  “Not when I have carried them so far,” Elvina answered.

  She felt suddenly gay and almost happy. They were out of the rain, they had eaten. Although the tool shed was dark, with only a light coming through the dirty windows from the glow outside, they were at least alone and sheltered from the crowds.

  “We have not long to sleep,” Elvina said. “Did you hear the Officer saying that we were to be ready to leave at – four o’clock in the morning?”

  “Soult is driving his men hard,” Lord Wye remarked. “If only we could get a word through to Wellington of the condition they are in.”

  “It may also be the same for the British Army,” Elvina suggested practically.

  “I cannot believe they are in the mess that this rabble has got itself into,” Lord Wye said contemptuously.

  Elvina wrapped herself in the sacking and sat down on the floor.

  “You can turn round now,” she told him.

  Lord Wye rose to his feet and started to take off his coat.

  “You are wet,” Elvina remarked. “I suppose we could not make a fire and get our clothes dry?”

  “It is too difficult in this ramshackle place,” he answered. “We should burn it down and then there would be nothing for it but the rain. Listen to it now on the roof.”

  It seemed as if it would never stop raining, beating down relentlessly.

  “No, I suppose you are right. I expect we shall both have colds and that will be extremely unpleasant.”

  “I have a sore throat already,” Lord Wye grumbled. “I cannot think why you are not dead, with what you have been through.”

  “I am tough.”

  “You don’t look it,” he answered.

  He suddenly put out his hands towards her.

  “Only a child,” he said, “and yet you have the courage of a lion and the strength of ten men. As I told you last night, this is an adventure, but, God knows, I feel scared at times.”

  Elvina put her hands out to him as he sat down beside her on the floor.

  “It is getting dark,” he said, “and I can hardly see you, but I know that you are there and it matters a lot. Are you glad of that?”

  Elvina felt a sudden constriction in her heart because of the almost caressing note in his voice and the strength of his fingers on hers and the fact that he was very near to her. Quite unexpectedly she felt shy.

  “Of – of course I am – glad,” she answered and it was difficult to force the words between her lips.

  Lord Wye released her hands and rolled onto his back, moving his shoulders amongst the leaves to make himself comfortable.

  “Funny little imp!” he chuckled. “Kiss me goodnight.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  For Elvina the next three days passed in a kind of nightmare in which she marched and slept and marched again until she was past thinking of anything except the effort of putting one foot in front of the other.

  At times she felt that she could go no farther and that she must drop out as so many of the soldiers were doing.

  She passed them lying in crumpled heaps on the mountainside, their eyes closed in the sleep of utter exhaustion that no longer could be denied.

  Only the fact that Lord Wye was beside her kept her going. She clung to him and he pulled her along the rough stony roads where Marshal Soult’s columns, strung out like heavily moving snakes, had no room to deploy.

  “I will carry you,” he said more than once, but she shook her head.

  “If you are well enough to carry me,” she whispered, “you will be well enough to face the English in the front line.”

  Actually, while Elvina scented danger around them all the time, those who marched beside them had little thought except for their own misery and discomfort.

  The men cursed and many of the women wept, yet still they went on, climbing all the time towards the summit of the mountains where they had learned that by now the British had their outposts.

  Elvina, with her aching legs and bleeding feet, had no interest in the strategy that she knew Lord Wye was considering.

  Despite his habitual look of semi-consciousness he was taking in every detail of the mountainous terrain and missing nothing of the conversation around them.

  The Officers, obviously under Marshal Soult’s orders, galloped up and down the lines trying to infuse some enthusiasm into the troops.

  “We shall be in Roncesvalles by tomorrow!” they shouted. “There will be food there, food and wine and women! Get a move on if you want to enjoy yourselves.”

  Their exhortations, all too familiar to the veterans, did little to relieve the general gloom and, when in the morning of the third day they were told to be ready to attack, there were only more grumbles than before and if possible less enthusiasm.

  Officers ordered and bullied men at the rear of the columns into going forward. Scattering stones behind his horse, one galloped up to where Lord Wye and Elvina were resting.

  “Get up to the front?” he called out roughly.

  Lord Wye made no answer, merely sitting looking stupid, his musket held limply in his hands.

  “It’s no use, monsieur,” Elvina said shrilly, speaking with a defiance that she had heard other women use. “He is still dazed and it’s my belief the British bullet is still lodged in his head. The surgeons in the hospital had no more sense or knowledge than a new born babe.”

  Without wasting further words on what he sensed was a hopeless case, the Officer whirled his horse round and galloped on to find further stragglers.

  “What do we do now?” Elvina asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lord Wye answered, raising his head to search the top of the mountains.

  It was incredibly tantalising to think that the British were so near and yet the whole front line of Marshal Soult’s Army lay between them and the British outpost holding the Maya Pass.

  Early in the afternoon heavy fire from the guns that had been dragged by the oxen into position seemed to shake the whole mountain.<
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  As the first order to fire came, Elvina involuntarily threw herself against Lord Wye and clung to him, expecting the whole ground beneath them to dissolve in fire and smoke.

  He held her tightly and then after a few minutes of the bombardment she raised her head.

  “What is – happening?” she asked tremulously.

  “It’s difficult to see for the smoke,” he replied.

  The French had the initiative, but the British were prepared to answer back. Cannonballs began to fall among the forward line of troops and then some further back, falling amongst the peasants carrying the ammunition who promptly ran for their lives.

  It was quite obvious from the noise itself that the British guns were outmatched, but still they went on firing although it was evident that nothing was to be achieved by mere gunfire.

  The French guns now ceased firing and the order was given to advance. With their muskets raised the French infantry moved forward over the rocky ground.

  From where Lord Wye and Elvina were resting amongst a crowd of women, baggage carts and peasants, it was easy to see what was happening along the whole mountainside.

  Puffs of smoke were followed by the roar of the British cannon. The first line of the advancing troops fell. The remainder closed their ranks and went forward climbing steadily towards the summit.

  “The British infantry are holding their fire,” Lord Wye cried excitedly.

  “Be careful,” Elvina said.

  She put a warning hand on his arm, for she had seen a woman turn her head as he spoke.

  “The French troops are good and steady,” Lord Wye whispered. “Let’s pray our own are better.”

  The French columns had almost reached the top and now, amidst the fusillade of shot, they began to fall. Even above the noise of the gunfire they could hear the Officers yelling at the men, encouraging and exhorting them.

  The advance continued despite the casualties. Men toppled over, but the ranks closed until suddenly the front line began to waver.

  It was so strange to watch that one could hardly believe it was happening to real people, to flesh and blood.

  A sudden hesitation on the part of the blue line, a wave of men falling to the ground in front of their advancing comrades, another line down and yet another.

  And now the steadiness had gone, the attack had failed.

  Soult’s men were in retreat! They came back leaving two long lines of their dead and wounded stretched out upon the ground.

  They came stumbling to where their womenfolk were waiting for them, some of them blinded by smoke, many bleeding in the head and arms. Many returned only to fall dying or dead even as they reached safety.

  Elvina closed her eyes. She had always known that war was horrible, cruel and bestial, but she had not imagined that it could be like this.

  She felt suddenly that she was going to faint as a man, his face shattered beyond recognition, collapsed in the road almost at their feet. She felt Lord Wye’s hand come up and cover her eyes.

  “Don’t look,” he murmured.

  It was perhaps his kindness that broke the tension. She felt the tears running down her cheeks and could only gasp,

  “It’s horrible! Those men. Those poor men!”

  “Think of our own soldiers!” Lord Wye suggested.

  The Officers were rallying the troops. General d’Erlon, who commanded this particular section of the line, was having a hurried consultation only a short distance away from where Lord Wye sat holding Elvina in his arms.

  “We have to take the pass,” they heard him say. “The Marshal’s orders. Tell the gunners to start again and keep going and get the men into some sort of order.”

  “There are quite a lot of casualties, mon General,” one of his Lieutenants ventured.

  “Would you lose Spain for a few casualties?” General d’Erlon asked sharply.

  Some of the wounded dragged themselves to safety while others lay where they had fallen.

  “Are they going to do it – all over again?” Elvina asked.

  Striving to control her tears, trying not to look at the wounded who, bleeding and with shattered limbs, were being carried past them to the wooden wagons which would take them back to St. Jean Pied de Port.

  Lord Wye did not answer and after a moment she raised herself within his encircling arm and looked to see what was occupying his attention.

  “Is that smoke on the mountaintop?” she asked.

  “I thought at first it was cloud,” Lord Wye said. “But, by God, it is around us too. It is fog. Fog in July! Are there any limits to this extraordinary weather?”

  By five o’clock that afternoon the fog was so dense that it was impossible to see more than a few feet around them. The attacks were called off and the soldiers were told to bivouac where they stood.

  Lord Wye suddenly stood up.

  “Come with me,” he said to Elvina.

  “Where to?” she enquired.

  He took her by the hand and a squeeze on her fingers told her that he wanted her to ask no questions. They moved across the road and keeping to the right started walking over the scrub and heather.

  “Where are you going?” someone asked out of the greyness.

  “Is this the way to the food carts?” Elvina enquired quickly.

  “Hélas! You will be fortunate indeed if you find a food cart,” came the answer. “They never come anywhere where it’s dangerous.” '

  They moved on, still keeping to the right of the troops, Elvina thought, climbing all the time.

  Soon they knew that they were in what had been the battlefield of a few hours earlier, for they came upon several dead men and heard people moving near them, although the fog seemed impenetrable.

  Several dead soldiers had already been stripped of everything valuable and Elvina knew that the scavengers were at work.

  These were the peasants, who were always on the field of battle before the firing had ceased and about whom many terrible stories were told.

  Lord Wye gave her no time to worry about either the dead or the wounded.

  Picking his way over the fallen bodies, he pulled Elvina with him until, standing on a stone, she gave a little whimper of pain.

  It was then he bent down and picked her up in his arms.

  “No – it’s dangerous,” she said hastily.

  “Not in this fog,” he answered. “We may be shot by our own side, but it is a chance we have to take.”

  “I can walk,” she told him.

  “You have walked far enough,” he answered. “Put your arms around my neck.”

  She obeyed him and realised how strong he was and how easily he could carry her up the steep climb to the top of the mountain.

  All the time he was bearing right, stopping every now and then to listen. It seemed to Elvina that everything about them was uncannily quiet.

  There was only the damp cold fog and the beating of her own heart and Lord Wye’s.

  He was frightened too she thought. She could hear his heart throbbing beneath her breast, and suddenly she realised that she was no longer afraid, only content because he held her so close, because now at this moment the battle, the wounded and the long exhausting march seemed far away and forgotten.

  It was just the two of them alone, lost in a No Man’s Land between two opposing forces.

  ‘Either side might open fire on us,’ Elvina told herself, but thought, even so, that all her fears had left her.

  She knew then, and it came as no surprise, that she loved the man who held her. She had known it, she thought, when she had bent to kiss him in that dark tool shed in St. Jean Pied de Port.

  Later, while he slept, wrapped in the piece of sacking which smelt of the earth, she had lain awake.

  ‘I am happy!’ she thought and was astonished at how happy she was.

  She knew now it was because he had been there beside her and once again she was ecstatically happy because he held her and because she felt safe.

  No human beings coul
d be in a more dangerous situation than they were at the moment, but nothing mattered except for Lord Wye’s nearness and the haven in his arms.

  ‘I love him!’

  She almost said the words aloud and with a little sinking of her heart remembered that, if they reached safety, they would no longer be two people together surrounded by the enemy.

  Lord Wye would be with his friends again, a Nobleman, a member of the Royal Household, and she – what would she be to him?

  She had grown used to thinking of him as her own possession.

  “Give this to your man,” a woman had said, offering her a titbit from their meagre rations.

  “Get your man out of the way!” the muleteers had shouted when a bullock cart wanted to pass them.

  Soon he would no longer need her protection. The fear of the future made her tighten her arms around Lord Wye’s neck. He bent his head suddenly and laid his cheek against hers.

  “It’s all right, child,” he said soothingly.

  ‘I am not afraid,’ she wanted to tell him, but the words died in her throat for the sudden joy that shot through her at the touch of his cheek and the sound of his voice.

  She wanted to turn her face a little and touch his lips with hers. She wanted to draw him even closer and then felt herself blush at the very audacity of her feelings.

  Quite suddenly he put her down on the ground.

  “What is – happening?” she asked.

  “We crawl from here,” he whispered. “And don’t say anything. We must be near the British posts.”

  They went down on their hands and knees. Lord Wye kept hold of Elvina’s hand, drawing her beside him up over the rough stones and clumps of heather.

  She felt soon that her knees were bleeding and she could hear her skirt tearing as it was caught on a dried stick or a piece of bramble.

  Quite suddenly there was the sound of voices.

  Lord Wye raised his head and Elvina listened too.

  There was no mistaking what they heard.

  Although they could not quite distinguish the words, the tone was British.

  “Help!” Lord Wye shouted in English. “Help!”

  There was silence and he shouted again.

  “Help!”