Absorbed as he had been in Charles’s duel with the Viking, Thomas had not observed progress elsewhere. By the time he looked about, the ground was strewn with the bodies of their attackers mingled with a few of their own, and the battle was over. Any who had escaped the swinging swords and hacking machetes had run for their lives. It was time to count the cost and tend to the wounded, who were already being carried into the house by their colleagues.
‘Well, that presented no great difficulty,’ observed Charles, wiping his sword on his leg. ‘A poorly trained lot, although with an interesting new tactic of advancing along the ground. Might have worked against muskets, but not sharp blades.’
Adam looked about. ‘Irish and slaves, I’d say,’ and seeing Charles’s victim, as large in death as in life and still holding his long-handled axe, ‘and a Viking or two, it seems. What an unholy trinity.’
‘A stupid Viking fortunately,’ replied Charles, ‘or I might have been his dinner. The Vikings did eat their victims, didn’t they? Or was it the Huns? Damned if I can remember.’
‘Neither, I think,’ said Adam. ‘Now we’d better deal with this mess before the dogs arrive.’ He threw up his hands. ‘My God. Mary. She was hit.’
Followed by Charles, he ran to the house. There they found the women and children on their feet, milling about wondering what to do next, and a very pale Mary sitting in a chair in the corner, guarded by Thomas and Patrick who would not let anyone near their patient.
‘My, my. Two more gentlemen to see me. I must be wounded more often.’
Adam turned to Patrick. ‘Patrick, how bad is Miss Lyte’s wound?’
‘A musket ball passed through her thigh, sir. I’ve cleaned and dressed it and Miss Lyte has taken a little brandy.’
‘Her thigh, eh? Wish I’d been here to do the cleaning and dressing.’
‘That would have been a comfort, Charles, but I gather you were otherwise engaged.’
Adam needed reassurance. ‘Are you sure it didn’t touch the bone, Patrick? And the shot has gone right through?’
‘Quite sure, sir. I removed two pieces of her skirt from the wound. There was no sign of bone but we must watch for poison. Now she should rest. I will clear everyone out.’
‘Good. And please make sure the wounded are taken care of. I’ll come and help in a moment.’
When he had left, Charles said, ‘I do hope Patrick was discreet in his attentions. It must have been embarrassing for you, my dear.’
‘Tush, Charles Carrington. It had to be done and that’s that. Don’t be such an old woman.’
Charles smiled broadly. ‘I know. Merely jealous.’
‘Good,’ said Mary, the brandy bringing colour back to her cheeks. ‘Now, gentlemen, before I go to lie down please give me an account of the affair. I’m sorry that Thomas and I were unable to put our excellent training to good use but I suppose that’s the way of soldiering. You may start from the point at which I was hit. I observed the earlier exchanges.’
Adam described what he called ‘the worms’ advance’ and the swift work of black platoon, and praised red and green platoons for their steadiness under fire.
‘And you, Charles?’ asked Mary. ‘What did you make of it?’
‘Our troops, as Adam said, gave a good account of themselves and I doubt we need worry ourselves about any more attacks from that quarter. And if there is another, we have plenty of provisions.’
‘And yourself? You were in the thick of it, I’m sure.’
‘As a matter of fact, my dear, I did very little. Hardly needed at all. More of a strategic role, I fancy. Barely wetted my sword.’
‘Or swords, Charles.’ Adam had seen him dispose of the Viking. ‘And you are too modest. That axeman could have caused trouble.’
‘Axeman?’ Mary looked at him enquiringly. ‘I do hope he didn’t inconvenience you.’
‘Oh, not at all, my dear. He was a clumsy oaf.’
‘But not too clumsy to have made a hole in your breeches, I see. I couldn’t but notice it when you turned around. Quite large, I fear, and rather revealing. Perhaps a gentleman should wear undergarments in battle. They might save his blushes.’ Mary smiled but her voice was weak.
Charles, who’d had no idea that part of his backside was on public view, went bright crimson, and retreated briskly towards the wall.
‘Now, Charles,’ laughed Adam, ‘nothing to be ashamed of. It could have happened to anyone and I’m sure you didn’t turn your back on the enemy. Have you counted the casualties?’ he asked when Patrick reappeared.
‘I have, sir. We found eighteen of the enemy dead. No wounded.’
‘None?’
‘None. Black platoon did not care to take prisoners.’
Adam blanched, but, breeches forgotten, Charles was much cheered by this news. ‘Eighteen dead, eh? Out of no more than twice that number. A good day’s work. Unnecessary violence I deplore, but when necessary it should be swift and decisive.’
‘Of our own men, two are dead – the man hit in the head and the sentry – and we have seven wounded. Two from wood splinters, two hit by musket balls and three with slashes from blades. One may lose an arm, another a leg. The others will heal,’ said Patrick.
‘We were fortunate, then. I will arrange for our men to be buried properly and we will dispose of the other bodies. I will come and see the wounded when I have attended to Mary.’
‘One more thing, sir,’ added Patrick. ‘One of the dead is Daniel, the orphan who went missing last month. He must have run off to join them.’
‘I am sorry to hear it,’ said Mary. ‘He was no more than a boy.’
‘And I,’ agreed Adam, ‘but it might have been Daniel who led them to us. Now, Mary, I shall take you to your bed and you are to stay there until I say otherwise.’ He picked up his sister very gently and carried her to her bedroom.
Charles, squeezed into a borrowed pair of breeches, assisted Patrick and Thomas with the wounded. Bottles of rum were circulating freely. Already, jokes were being told and stories exchanged. How extraordinary, thought Thomas, listening to them: no more than an hour passed and brushes with death reduced to ribald humour and vain boasting.
The two dead men had been taken to the small graveyard beside the servants’ quarters. Of the wounded, a shin bone had been shattered and an arm badly gashed. The two men struck by flying splinters had suffered the murderous things being pulled out, one from his upper arm, the other from his stomach. The others – one musket ball and two slashes – were not serious. Adam knew that they had escaped lightly.
‘Their women will stay with the slaves, Mr Lyte,’ said Patrick, ‘and I will take care of the others. I fear we shall need Mr Sprot.’
‘I will find him when I ride to Bridgetown to inform the governor of the attack.’
‘You should post sentries, Adam, and keep the women and children here,’ advised Charles. ‘They may come back.’
‘Oh come now, Charles,’ exclaimed Adam, ‘surely we’ve seen the last of them. We gave them a good hiding and they won’t want another.’
‘I daresay. But we don’t know how many more of them there may be. Better to take no chances.’
‘Very well. We’ll post sentries and keep the women and children here tonight. But breakfast first and I’ll do the cooking.’
Half an hour later, the three men were seated around the Lytes’ table with plates of bread, eggs, cold chicken and mutton chops, and big wooden tankards of beer. Adam was a cook with a generous eye to quantity if not quality. ‘I wish the silly girl hadn’t disobeyed my orders and run out to the wounded men,’ he said when they had finished. ‘Couldn’t you have stopped her?’
‘I was too slow. And there was much going on to hold my attention elsewhere,’ replied Charles.
‘She’s a courageous lady,’ Thomas said quietly.