‘I’ve had far too much to do, Dan. I’ve been so busy that I’ve barely had time to wipe the shit off my arse, let alone shave the whiskers off my chin. Down here in the ranks, we have to toil. It’s only officers like you who know what leisure is.’
‘We know what it is, Henry, we just don’t have any of it.’
‘Your life is much softer than ours,’ insisted Welbeck. ‘There’s no argument about that. Most of our officers wouldn’t last a week in the ranks.’
‘I did,’ Daniel reminded him. ‘I survived for years.’
‘You’re the exception to the rule, Dan.’
‘I daren’t ask what rule that might be. But it’s odd that you should have grown a beard. That’s exactly what I came to talk about.’
‘What — me not shaving?’
‘No, Henry. I’ve brought news about the men who burnt down those farms.’
‘It’s about time!’ muttered Welbeck.
‘There’s been a lot of work to do,’ explained Daniel. ‘But I think we’ve made progress. When I suggested that they might be deserters, His Grace called for details of everyone who’d fled from their colours. There were far too many of them, I can tell you.’
‘Desertion has always been our bane and always will be.’
‘While those details were being gathered in and collated, I spoke to the one reliable witness we had.’
‘Witness?’
‘He’s a lad of ten named Jules.’
Daniel described the visit he’d made to the farm and talked about the difficulty he’d encountered in persuading the boy to speak. Without the farmer’s help, Daniel would have got nothing from him but truculence. Welbeck was sympathetic.
‘You can’t blame him,’ he said, quietly. ‘It was a terrible ordeal to go through. In his shoes, I’d feel much the same — that everybody in a British uniform has supped with the Devil.’
‘He’ll never forgive us, Henry. Nor will the farmer who took him in. The only way to appease them is to catch the villains responsible.’
‘Catch them and skin them alive.’
‘They’ll get their deserts, don’t worry.’
‘So what’s this about a beard?’
‘It’s a red beard, to be exact,’ said Daniel, ‘and there aren’t too many of those. It belonged to the leader of this marauding band. We trawled through the lists of deserters from the cavalry regiments and we eventually found out his name.’
‘What is it — Beelzebub?’
‘No, Henry, it’s Matthew Searle.’
Welbeck scratched his whiskers. ‘Now where have I heard that name before?’ he said, racking his brains.
‘Searle fits the description given by the boy. I’ve spoken to one of the officers in his regiment and he remembered the man well. Searle was something of a menace, it seems. He was always trying to stir up trouble among the other troopers. He was punished a number of times for insubordination and being drunk on duty.’
‘They should have let me cut him down to size.’
‘In every sense, he was an unsavoury character,’ continued Daniel, ‘yet not without his virtues. He was strong and fearless. He fought well in battle and could ride a horse as if he’d been born astride one. Also, he had the instincts of a leader. Had he not been so perverse, he could easily have been promoted.’
‘What was the name again?’
‘Matthew Searle.’
‘I remember now,’ said Welbeck, snapping his fingers. ‘It’s all coming back to me. I used to have a slimy little snake of a man who always wished he’d joined the cavalry instead of the infantry. That’s what his cousin had done. He kept on and on about him. I’m sure that the cousin’s name was Matthew Searle — though he never mentioned a red beard.’
‘Who was this fellow?’
‘A good-for-nothing named Edwin Lock.’
‘Is he still with us?’
‘Not any more, Dan — he deserted months ago.’
‘Can you remember the precise time?’
‘Why?’
‘It may be that he joined up with his cousin.’
‘That’s very unlikely,’ said Welbeck, sceptically. ‘Edwin Lock was bone idle. He was only ever interested in whoring, drinking or doing both at the same time. Lock was a shoemaker by trade. I doubt if he’d know which end of the horse the manure came out of. Besides,’ he went on, ‘he was in a regiment of foot. Where could he get a horse from?’
‘There’s no mystery about that, Henry.’
‘Isn’t there?’
‘It was one of the many ways that Searle endeared himself to the regiment he left behind him,’ explained Daniel. ‘He didn’t merely take to his heels. He stole some of their finest horses as well.’
Inclement weather delayed the attack for day after day and the men became restive. They ate well and drank as much as they wished but they grew tired of being cooped up in the farmhouse. Edwin Lock once again acted as their spokesman. He found Searle in the kitchen.
‘It can’t go on like this, Matt,’ he complained. ‘We’re fed up.’
‘Do you think I like being holed up here?’ snarled Searle.
‘It’s a fine day at last. Why don’t we go right now?’
‘I give the orders, Edwin.’
‘Yes, that’s another thing.’
‘What is?’
‘They’ve been muttering,’ said Lock, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that nobody was within earshot. ‘They feel that you throw your weight around too much.’
‘Somebody has to be in charge.’
‘But why does that someone have to be you?’
Lock let out a yelp as he was grabbed by the throat, lifted into the air and banged against a wall. When Searle released him, his cousin slumped to the floor, rubbing his neck disconsolately.
‘Does that answer your question?’ challenged Searle.
‘It’s not what I said,’ bleated Lock. ‘I spoke up for you. I always do — and not because we’re kinfolk. You planned everything. If it wasn’t for you, we’d still be in the army, having our ears chewed off and our arses kicked. It was you that got us out of there, Matt.’
‘I’m glad that someone remembers that.’
‘You can always count on me.’
‘Who was it?’
‘Eh?’
‘Give me a name, Edwin. Who was it who thinks he ought to take over from me? Was it Hugh Davey or Gregory Pyle?’
‘It was neither of them.’
‘Who was it then?’ demanded Searle, grabbing him by the neck to pull him upright. ‘If we have a traitor in our midst, name him.’
‘He’s not really a traitor,’ said Lock, wishing that he’d never broached the subject. ‘Ianto just said that he’d have done things differently. There’s nothing more to it than that.’
‘Ianto Morgan, is it?’ said Searle. ‘I might have known it.’
‘He’s like the rest of us, Matt — itching for a woman.’
‘Then maybe it’s time I cured his itch.’
Searle marched out of the house and into the yard where the other men were sitting in a group, smoking pipes and drinking from tankards. When they saw Searle rolling up his sleeves, they tensed. Ianto Morgan was a short, thickset, bald-headed Welshman with a dark complexion. Searle confronted him.
‘So you want to replace me, do you, Ianto?’ said Searle.
‘Not me, Matt,’ replied Morgan with an ingratiating grin.
‘What about the rest of you? Do any of you think he’s a better man than I am?’ They all shook their heads in denial. ‘Then I’ll show you what happens to anyone who questions my leadership.’ He crooked a finger. ‘Get up, Ianto.’
‘Why?’ said the Welshman. ‘I’m comfortable here.’
‘Get up and fight, you bastard!’
‘Ianto didn’t mean to upset you, Matt,’ said Lock, trying to intercede and earning a clip around the ear from his cousin. ‘We’re all friends here, aren’t we?’
Searle ignored him. ‘Come on, Ianto,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to settle this once and for all.’
‘There’s nothing to settle, Matt,’ argued Morgan.
‘You’re too much of a coward, are you?’
The Welshman’s eyes flashed. ‘Very well,’ he said, starting to get up. ‘If it’s a fight you’re after, then you can have one.’
But he had no intention of slugging it out with the other man. Searle was bigger, stronger and much younger than Morgan. His fists would pummel the Welshman into submission. Morgan’s only chance lay in using a weapon. As he rose to his feet, therefore, he let one hand slip to the dagger in his belt. It was the last action of his life. Leaping forward, Searle knocked him unconscious with a vicious uppercut, caught the body as it fell, got a firm grip on Morgan’s head then twisted it hard and broke his neck. The others recoiled in horror at the awesome crack. Edwin Lock began to gibber.