An Ill Wind by David Donachie Read Free Book Online Page A

last time.’
    Pearce smiled. ‘You’re not frightened of a few Frenchmen, are you?’
    ‘No, by Jesus, it is you who scares me.’
    Close enough for the laugh that induced to be seen and heard by the man they were approaching, it got a raised eyebrow added to a look of curiosity in the dark eyes. Pearce reckoned from what he could see of the fellow’s olive skin colour that he was a citizen of the southern part of France. And he was young, younger than he appeared from a distance. Stopping well away from him, he spoke in French to name himself and his rank, noticing as he did so that another French officerhad come forward to stand a few paces behind what had to be his superior, albeit he looked to be the younger of the two.
    ‘Why have you come under that flag?’
    ‘To whom am I speaking?’
    ‘Does it matter?’
    Arrogant little sod, Pearce thought, but he did not let that thought colour his speech: he kept his tone neutral, while also registering that the fellow had a strange accent to an ear schooled in Paris. ‘It helps to know.’
    ‘It may help you, monsieur.’
    Pearce looked past the diminutive fellow to the other, older officer, and received for his pains a look of utter disdain. ‘Well, we have come to prevent a useless effusion of blood.’
    ‘Yours.’
    ‘Not only ours, monsieur,’ Pearce replied, jerking his head towards the spit of land he had just crossed, flat and featureless. ‘Your men cannot cross that without suffering many casualties.’
    ‘From your cannon?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I might destroy them before they are obliged to even leave their positions.’
    ‘You will have noticed, monsieur, that the position has been reinforced. I brought forward a party of soldiers last night, I presume you saw our torches. Each has a musket and is well trained to use it.’
    That got a sneer. ‘Are they prepared to die where they stand?’
    Suddenly Pearce recalled what Driffield had said about the way the French artillery commander was naming his batteries. He dropped his pleasant manner and spoke in a determined tone. ‘It is not only your country who can produce men without fear. They will stand if I say they will stand, and so will I.’
    ‘So you are a brave man, Lieutenant Pearce?’
    ‘I know how to do my duty, monsieur.’
    Short-arse, as Michael had continued to name him, turned to talk quietly to his older confrère, which gave the Irishman a chance to ask how they were faring. Pearce, not knowing if they could be overheard, or if either of these French officers spoke English, just shook his head, this as the smaller fellow turned back to speak to him.
    ‘And you propose?’
    ‘Our position was constructed to defend the Ile St Mandrier and the hospital upon it.’
    That point raised a smile on what was actually quite a handsome face. ‘Not to mention the approach to Toulon harbour from the south-west.’
    True as that was, Pearce ignored it. ‘As of this moment we are awaiting the arrival of a transport to remove the wounded from the hospital and, as soon as that is complete, my instructions are to follow them aboard and abandon the place.’
    Suddenly a loud cheer came from the British redoubtand Pearce, looking towards it, could see a nipper with his arm in a sling running towards them. He obviously had a message and there could only be one that could cause such excitement. Pearce waved at him to go back to safety.
    ‘I think that moment may have arrived, monsieur,’ he said, facing the Frenchman once more.
    ‘My colleague here, eager for glory, wishes to drive you into the sea.’
    Pearce looked past the speaker to the other officer, taller and grizzly-looking, who had in his eye the glare of the revolutionary fanatic. ‘Then tell him that I will ensure every musket is trained on him as soon as he gets within range. I am sure his tombstone will tell those who gaze upon it he died a glorious death. You and I will know it was a foolish and unnecessary one.’
    The head dropped and