FullReads

At the end of the valley the road curved over some rising ground before winding down into another wider valley beyond. We called a halt when we came to the top; for there, right in front of us, at the distance of about three miles, was a scattered, grey town, with a single enormous building upon the flank of the mountain which overlooked it. We could not doubt that we were at last in sight of the Abbey that held the gang of rascals whom we had come to disperse. It was only now, I think, that we fully understood what a task lay in front of us, for the place was a veritable fortress, and it was evident that cavalry should never have been sent out upon such an errand.

‘That’s got nothing to do with us,’ said the Bart; Wellington and Massena can settle that between them.’

‘Courage!’ I answered. ‘Pire took Leipzig with fifty hussars.’

‘Had they been dragoons,’ said the Bart, laughing, ‘he would have had Berlin. But you are senior officer; give us a lead, and we’ll see who will be the first to flinch.’

‘Well,’ said I, ‘whatever we do must be done at once, for my orders are to be on my way to Abrantes by tomorrow night. But we must have some information first, and here is someone who should be able to give it to us.’

There was a square, whitewashed house standing by the roadside, which appeared, from the bush hanging over the door, to be one of those wayside tabernas which are provided for the muleteers. A lantern was hung in the porch, and by its light we saw two men, the one in the brown habit of a Capuchin monk, and the other girt with an apron, which showed him to be the landlord. They were conversing together so earnestly that we were upon them before they were aware of us. The innkeeper turned to fly, but one of the Englishmen seized him by the hair, and held him tight.

‘For mercy’s sake, spare me,’ he yelled. ‘My house has been gutted by the French and harried by the English, and my feet have been burned by the brigands. I swear by the Virgin that I have neither money nor food in my inn, and the good Father Abbot, who is starving upon my doorstep, will be witness to it.’

‘Indeed, sir,’ said the Capuchin, in excellent French, ‘what this worthy man says is very true. He is one of the many victims to these cruel wars, although his loss is but a feather-weight compared to mine. Let him go,’ he added, in English, to the trooper, ‘he is too weak to fly, even if he desired to.’

In the light of the lantern I saw that this monk was a magnificent man, dark and bearded, with the eyes of a hawk, and so tall that his cowl came up to Rataplan’s ears. He wore the look of one who had been through much suffering, but he carried himself like a king, and we could form some opinion of his learning when we each heard him talk our own language as fluently as if he were born to it.

‘You have nothing to fear,’ said I, to the trembling innkeeper. ‘As to you, father, you are, if I am not mistaken, the very man who can give us the information which we require.’

‘All that I have is at your service, my son. But,’ he added, with a wan smile, ‘my Lenten fare is always somewhat meagre, and this year it has been such that I must ask you for a crust of bread if I am to have the strength to answer your questions.’

We bore two days’ rations in our haversacks, so that he soon had the little he asked for. It was dreadful to see the wolfish way in which he seized the piece of dried goat’s flesh which I was able to offer him.