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  Drunk as he was, and by then they were all very drunk, Williams found his wine shop when they reached Caldas. To call the process by which they got off their horses dismounting would be a gross exaggeration. However, all reached the ground without injury, and that was a considerable accomplishment. When all were standing—more or less—and dusted off, they surged forward toward the door. Here, Captain Williams and Robert collided. Each staggered back and turned toward the other with grave politeness to bow—a somewhat perilous activity that required deep concentration—and to beg pardon, and each began to gesture the other forward, but Captain Williams aborted his gracious gesture and stared at Robert with a puzzled frown.

  “You’re not shupposed to be here,” he said thickly.

  “I’m not?” Robert asked uncertainly. “Where’m I shupposed to be?”

  But the answer had escaped Williams’s mind. They turned to their companions and explained the problem to them. After some deep thought all agreed that Robert had been supposed to leave them at some point, but they had no idea where. Finally Burghersh asked where they currently were. If they knew that, he pointed out gravely, it might be easier to decide where Robert was supposed to be. Then one of the others had the brilliant idea of inquiring in the wine shop. This suggestion obtained instant approval, but it seemed only polite to order some wine before asking questions.

  The arrival of the bottle temporarily diverted them from the less immediate problem of determining their location. Having sampled the wine and found it very good, they decided they wished to order more.

  “The trouble ish,” Burghersh said, each word very carefully enunciated, “I don’t believe m’ father’sh vin-vintner carriesh thish.”

  “Silly thing anyway,” Robert remarked, with even more care, having noted that Burghersh’s speech was not all that it should be and resolved that, being older, he would control his tongue better “Why sh-send an order to England? Wine’s right here. Order it here.”

  “Where’sh here?” Burghersh asked. “Need the direcsh-direction t’ shend an order.”

  “Right.” Robert nodded approval of this perceptive point. Vaguely he heard Burghersh calling to someone and asking where they were. It seemed silly. After all, they were here. Why ask about it?

  A moment later he felt his shoulder being shaken. “It’sh weird,” Burghersh said apologetically. “Don’t shpeak English here, only Portuguese. You shpeak it, don’t you? Ash them where to shend an order for wine.”

  That was entirely too complex a question for Robert to compose in his present condition, however he did remember that none of the others spoke Portuguese and one must, of course, do one’s best to oblige a friend. The compromise he reached was simply to ask where they were. Indulgently, the wine shop owner replied that they were in Caldas.

  “Caldash!” Robert exclaimed, the name having struck a chord in his muddled memory. “Merry’sh in Caldash.”

  “There,” Captain Williams remarked with enormous satisfaction. “I shaid you weren’t sh-supposed to be here. You were shupposed to tell Mishush Moreton about the battle. Doeshn’t matter, though. The girl’sh not here, either. You can shtay.”

  “No. Can’t,” Robert said, reminded of his purpose and determined to carry it out. “Merry’ll be worried. Ish very late.”

  “Right,” Williams agreed. “Sh-sweet woman. Mushn’t worry. Take you home now. Come back and fish-finish the wine.”

  This, however, was easier said than done since no one, including Robert, could remember how to get to Esmeralda’s lodgings. The situation was resolved by Burghersh, who suggested with rare perspicacity—considering his condition—that, owing to the fact that he lived in the town, the wine shop owner might know. Restraining his mirth at the mangling of his language when Robert asked for directions, and realizing that Robert was probably incapable of understanding them, much less following them, the man suggested that he provide a guide.

  Esmeralda had descended from the church tower in San Mahmed in considerable doubt as to what her next move should be. From what Dom Aleixo had told her, she would be able to make out mass movements from Amiais, but no individual figures. Was it worthwhile to take the chance that Robert would hear of this crazy excursion to watch maneuvers she would not even understand? But that was not completely true, Esmeralda admitted. She had understood that the French had withdrawn.

  Perhaps the battle was over? As she and Carlos walked toward the wine shop to reclaim Luisa and Boa Viagem, Esmeralda voiced this hope. Carlos’s laugh was answer enough when her own common sense agreed completely that it could not be so. More likely, she thought, it was only more pickets that had been driven off. The real action would take place farther away in the ring of hills she could see in the distance.

  As Esmeralda mounted with the help of a bench Carlos dragged from the wine shop, she was still in some doubt as to what to do.

  Then, as Carlos scrambled to Luisa’s back, he pointed to a narrow lane at the side of the shop.

  “This goes to Amiais, Senhora Moreton,” he said, his eyes gleaming with expectation.

  It can do no harm just to look, Esmeralda told herself. She was much calmer than she had been all the previous day, which was the advantage of doing something, even if that something was rather pointless. Besides, there could be no risk at all because both the French and English armies were moving away and would be farther from her when she was at Amiais than they had been when she had been in San Mahmed. She nodded, and they set off for Amiais.

  Although the people of the tiny village were very excited because the Portuguese units of the British force had passed right by the town earlier in the day, Esmeralda found no sign of either army anywhere in the vicinity of Amiais. But when she mentioned that she had a spyglass and might be able to see what was happening if she were high enough, a woman with a house on the edge of town a little way up the hillside eagerly offered her a place from which to look. However, all she could report was that a march was underway. She was then offered refreshment, bread and cheese, melons, figs, grapes, with milk or wine. While they were eating, a distant, dull thudding began. At first no one paid much attention, for the sound was certainly not threatening. After a few minutes, however, the regularity of the thuds impressed themselves on Esmeralda, and she jumped to her feet with a gasp. That was the sound of cannon.

  She rushed up to the loft and leveled her glass through the tiny window. Sure enough, there was smoke rising in the air, but a shoulder of the Roliça hill hid the actual position of the guns. Desperately Esmeralda adjusted the glass, but she had no idea where to aim it, and it took her more than half an hour before she made out the patches of red that were probably whole brigades. Still, she watched eagerly, but more and more of the red coats disappeared into the brush and trees on the rising slopes of the farther hills, and no matter how carefully she swept the area within her view she could not catch the smallest glimpse of Sir Arthur or his dark-coated staff.

  Her frustration increased. It was ridiculous to go on staring at virtually nothing. Either she should go back to Caldas or find a closer vantage point. As she moved impatiently, the glass swung left, showing her the slope of Roliça hill. She stared at it blankly at first, then with more attention. Perhaps she would be able to see better from Roliça. Even as the thought formed, Esmeralda knew it was unwise. She was not worried about the French. She could see they were retreating, and Robert had said the British would win, so it must be so. What worried Esmeralda was that there might be some British units in and around the town and someone might recognize her.

  Frustration was a stronger emotion in Esmeralda than caution, and although she had been strongly reassured by seeing Robert safely in the rear throughout the early action, she had a desire to catch at least one more glimpse of him. If she could see him once more, still in the quiet group that surrounded Sir Arthur, she would be convinced he was in no danger and go back to Caldas. That compromise eased her conscience, and to further assure herself th
at she was acting reasonably, she carefully examined the area between Amiais and Roliça hill with her glass. She could see nothing aside from a country cart or two and a few tiny moving specks in the tilled fields, which was reassuring. Surely the people of San Mahmed would not be out tending their fields if there was danger.

  Her departure was regarded with alarm, the woman of the house asking fearfully if the British were running away.

  “Of course not,” Esmeralda replied rather indignantly. “They are advancing,” she averred with conviction, although she had not really seen anything to support her statement. “They are now too far away to see properly. I am going to ride across to Roliça.”

  As she said it she felt uncertain again, but Carlos’s whoop of joy and the village woman’s smiling nod—both of which, of course, were based on her own previous statement—reassured her. Nor was there anything besides the mounting heat to shake her confidence as they rode back toward San Mahmed. There were farm carts on the road, and people waved in a friendly way from the melon patches. Here, with the bulk of Roliça hill between them and the action, even the sound of the artillery could not be detected, and it really seemed as if any conflict was very far away.

  When they were south of the village, Esmeralda asked a passing woman about the road to Roliça. She pointed it out to them and described the route with a smile that held neither doubt nor fear. Esmeralda rode on, satisfied, thinking that if she could not see from the town itself, she might find a way to the top of the hill. Intrigued by the idea, she examined what she could see of the slopes.

  They did not look excessively rugged, and when she and Carlos reached the place where the hill bulged northeast toward the path, Esmeralda knew that the village was just around the bend. There was the shining trickle of a stream, which often meant a gentle slope, so she suggested that Carlos take Luisa, who was more surefooted than Boa Viagem, across to the hillside and see whether it might be safe to climb, while she continued slowly by the path. She thought she would be able to parallel Carlos’s course, but there was a little wood into which he disappeared. Still, he could not get lost. Esmeralda continued around a bend in the path, her attention more engaged with the hill than the road.

  “Halte!”

  The harsh command startled Esmeralda so much that she cried out and jerked hard on Boa Viagem’s reins. Equally startled by the sudden shouts and rough pull on her mouth, the mare rose on her hind legs and then backed away. Simultaneously, a French soldier leapt up from the side of the road where he had taken cover, displaying a musket. Esmeralda screamed again, but it was less the sight of the gun that frightened her than the fact that half the man’s face was covered with a brown crust of drying blood.

  “Halte-là! Descende de cheval!” the man shrieked, lifting the gun as if to aim.

  Although she knew no French, the soldier’s meaning was unmistakable. What was more, the blood, the uniform, and the gun all indicated that the soldier had been left behind. He wanted her horse so that he could return to his own army. The revelation came in a flash and was followed by another equally swift, that he would not dare fire while Boa Viagem was moving up and down, because there was a far greater chance of his hitting the horse than hitting the rider. Moreover, Esmeralda was far more afraid of losing her horse and having Robert find out what she had been doing—a real and immediate terror—than she was of death, which was a concept that somehow had little reality with regard to herself.

  Immediately Esmeralda screamed again, much louder than her first startled cries, kicked Boa Viagem as hard as she could, and at the same time pulled back on the reins. Completely confused by the kicks that meant go forward and the jerking at her mouth that meant go back, and frightened by the loud shouts and wild gestures of the man ahead and the piercing shrieks of Esmeralda on her back, the mare reared wildly, began to plunge forward, was violently checked, backed and reared again.

  The soldier shouted some more incomprehensible gibberish and began to run forward. Esmeralda promptly uttered a whole series of ear-splitting yells and beat her reins back and forth across the mare’s shoulders, kicking wildly at her ribs. Since the restraining pressure on her mouth was gone, Boa Viagem began to charge ahead, but her direct path was blocked by the threatening form of the gesticulating soldier. Too mad now to turn aside, the mare reared once more, flourishing her hooves in an instinctive defensive gesture. The Frenchman staggered backward, tripped, and fell, discharging his musket harmlessly in the air.

  Esmeralda promptly stopped shrieking. She realized that as long as he could not grab her or the horse, the soldier was no threat until he could load his gun again. By then she hoped she would be well out of range—except that Boa Viagem was so frightened that Esmeralda was not able to turn her and dash away. She could have let the mare bolt ahead toward Roliça, but she did not dare do that because she was afraid there would be other stragglers, perhaps many more, even a band of them who might surround her.

  Suddenly there was the sound of oncoming hooves. Inspired by terror, Esmeralda wrenched the mare’s head around by sheer force and began to kick, beat, and scream again. Boa Viagem struggled then yielded, leaping over the Frenchman, who was desperately trying to roll away from her dancing hooves, and galloping back down the path toward San Mahmed. In the next moment, Esmeralda heard a harsh shriek of terror, which cut off abruptly only to be succeeded by a shrill yell of triumph.

  “Oh my God,” Esmeralda cried. “Carlos! That was Carlos!”

  Desperately she struggled to check her flight. She had to go back and see how badly Carlos was hurt. Surely the soldier would not have killed a little boy. Finally, sobbing with grief and remorse, she was able to stop the mare and turn her but before she could start back she heard Luisa coming. Esmeralda sat paralyzed for an instant, but then Luisa burst around the turn of the road. Esmeralda gasped and raised her reins to bring Boa Viagem around, but she did not complete the movement.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Once the offer of the wine shop owner to send a guide with Robert and his friends was comprehended, it was accepted with gratitude. After regaining their feet, with difficulty and assistance, they set off. Fortunately the distance was not great, and the night air was cool enough to restore a modicum of sobriety so that no one fell by the wayside and all of them remembered their purpose was to get Robert back to his wife. They were not very noisy, but Molly, restless with worry, heard them discussing how to get into the house without waking the whole neighborhood and leapt from her bed.

  She got the door open just as Robert raised his hand to knock. His reflexes being somewhat disordered, he made the motions of knocking anyway, barely missing hitting Molly in the face. This unbalanced him so that he staggered right past Molly into the house. Poor Molly was so startled by this seemingly threatening gesture from Captain Moreton, who had always been as pleasant a gentleman as anyone could wish to serve, that she jumped aside with a startled gasp. She also recognized the smell of wine on him as he went by. Her breath drew in again, and she hunched her shoulders defensively.

  Molly had had personal experience with a generally good-tempered man who turned nasty on drink. She cast a single glance after Robert, but she had no intention of going near him or drawing his attention for any reason. In fact, she swung around to the door, thinking she would be better off spending the night in the stable with Carlos. This movement brought her face to face with Lord Burghersh, who had just come carefully up the two stairs that led to the entryway.

  Both of them recoiled a trifle. Burghersh would have fallen down the stairs, except that Captain Williams was close enough behind to steady him. However, Lord Burghersh was scarcely aware of his friend’s support. Having been startled by Molly, all of his attention was fixed on her. For the moment he did not recognize her. He blinked owlishly, realizing there was something very wrong. Servants who came to the door did not, in his experience, dress in the kind of shapeless object in which Molly was wrapped.

  “Me lord,” Mo
lly whimpered, “no!” She had smelled him also and seen the dark forms ranged behind him. Horrible tales of the cruel and violent excesses of gentlemen had been whispered around her home village.

  The English words had made a definite impact on Lord Burghersh. He was still drunk enough that his balance was uncertain, but the exercise and cool air had brought him to a moderate rationality. He peered more closely and saw that the servant who had opened the door was Mrs. Moreton’s maid—not improperly dressed, but wrapped in a blanket.

  “Good God,” he said, “is it so late that you were in bed?”

  The voice was thick, but far from being threatening there was a note of apology in it, and his lordship stood quietly, except for swaying a little, not reaching to grab her or trying to push his way in. Molly took hold of her courage.

  “’Tis viry late,” she said, trying to speak firmly but unable to hide the quaver of her voice.

  “Didn’t mean to frighten you, Molly,” he said, smiling broadly. “We won! There’s nothing to be afraid of. Didn’t realize it was so late. We…we’ve been celebrating.”

  “Oh, Oi’m thit glad, me lord!”

  Molly was glad, but she still didn’t want to let them in the house, and she didn’t want to stay in it herself, either. As soon as her worst terror subsided, she heard Robert’s feet going uncertainly up the stairs. Now she expected momentarily to hear sounds she did not want to hear, but she could not think of a way to get rid of Robert’s friends or to escape from them. Thus, the quaver of her voice and the tense rigidity of her body were not much reduced.