Simon Scarrow - Young Bloods

YOUNG BLOODS

SIMON SCARROW

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Table of Contents

Simon Scarrow worked for many years as a college lecturer. His lifelong fascination with history was fuelled by the historical fiction of Bernard Cornwell, Patrick OBrian and C.S. Forester. Now, he tells the incredible story of his greatest heroes. His highly acclaimed Eagle series, featuring two centurions of the Roman armies in Europe in the first century AD, is also available from Headline. Simon Scarrow lives in Norfolk. For more information on Simon Scarrow and his novels, visit www.scarrow.fsnet.co.uk

YOUNG BLOODS

SIMON SCARROW

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To Uncle John Cox,
who is regarded with respect and affection by
all who know him

Names, dates and measurements

Many readers will be aware that the Duke of Wellington had once been Arthur Wellesley. Before that his family name was Wesley. This was changed to the more familiar Wellesley after Arthurs older brother inherited the family title. Arthur began to use the new version only after he arrived in India, an event covered in the next book in the series - The Generals.

In order to keep matters clear for readers, I have used imperial measurements for both sides of the story. With regard to dates I have not used the revolutionary calendar, since most of the French only paid it lip service and continued to use the conventional calendar.

Chapter 1

With a last look back into the dimly lit room the midwife withdrew and closed the door behind her. She turned to the figure at the other end of the hall. Poor man, she thought to herself, unconsciously drying her strong hands in the folds of her apron. There was no easy way to tell him the bad news.The child would not last the night. That was clear enough to her, having delivered more babies into the world than she could remember. He had been born at least a month before his time.There had been only a flicker of life in the child when the lady had finally squeezed it from her womb with a piercing shriek of agony, shortly after midnight. The result had been a pasty thin thing that trembled, even after the midwife had cleaned it up, cut the cord and presented it to its mother swaddled in the clean folds of an infants blanket. The lady had clasped the child to her breast, awash with relief that the long labour was over.

That was how the midwife had left her. Let her have a few hours of comfort before nature took its course and turned the miracle of birth into a tragedy.

She bustled towards the waiting man, skirt hems rustling across the floorboards, then bobbed quickly as she made her report.

Im sorry, my lord.

Sorry? He glanced beyond the midwife, towards the far door. Whats happened? Is Anne all right?

Shes fine, sir, so she is.

And the child? Has it arrived?

The midwife nodded. A boy, my lord.

For an instant Garrett Wesley smiled with relief and pride before he recalled the midwifes first words. Whats the matter, then?

The ladys well enough. But the lads in a poor way. Begging your pardon, sir, but I dont think hell last until the morning. Even if he does, then itll be a matter of days before he meets his Maker. Im so sorry, my lord.

Garrett shook his head. How can you be sure?

The midwife took a breath to restrain her anger at this slur on her professional judgement. I know the signs, sir. He aint breathing properly and his skins cold and clammy to the touch. The poor mite hasnt the strength to live.

There must be something that can be done for him. Send for a doctor.

The midwife shook her head. There isnt one in the village, nor near it neither.

Garrett stared back at her, his mind working feverishly. Dublin was where he would find the medical care he needed for his son. If they set off at once they could reach their house on Merrion Street before dusk fell, and send for the best doctor immediately. Garrett nodded to himself. The decision was made. He grasped the midwifes arm.

Get downstairs, to the stable. Tell my driver to harness the horses and make ready to travel as soon as possible.

Youre leaving? She looked back at him, wide-eyed. Surely not, sir. The ladys still very weak and needs to rest.

She can rest in the carriage on the way to Dublin.

Dublin? But, my lord, thats... The midwife frowned as she tried to imagine a distance further than she had travelled in her entire life. Thats too long a journey for your lady, sir. In her condition. She needs rest, so she does.

Shell be fine. Its the boy Im concerned for. He needs a doctor; you cant do any more for him. Now go and tell my driver to get the carriage ready.

She said nothing, but just shrugged. If the young lord wanted to put the life of his wife at risk for the sake of a puny infant that was certain to die, then that was his decision. And he would have to live with the consequences.

The midwife bobbed, scurried over to the stairs and descended with a clumping of boots. Garrett shot a last look of disdain in her direction before he turned away and hurried down the hall to the room where his wife lay. He paused for an instant outside the door, concerned for her health in the difficult journey to come. Even now he wondered if he was following the best course of action. Perhaps that midwife was right after all, and the boy would die long before they could reach a doctor skilled enough to save him. Then Anne would have suffered for nothing the discomfort of the carriages bumpy progress along the rutted road to Dublin. Worse still, it might place her health in jeopardy as well. One certain death if they stayed here. Two possible deaths if they made for Dublin. A certainty against a possibility. Put like that Garrett decided they must take the risk. He grasped the iron handle, thrust it down and pushed the door open.

The inns best room was a cramped affair of clammy plastered walls with a chest, a washstand, and a large bed above which hung a plain cross. To one side of the bed was a table and on it rested a pewter candle stand. Three half-melted candles wavered ever so faintly from the draught of the doors movement. Anne stirred beneath the folds of the covers and her eyes flickered open.

My love, she murmured, we have a son, see.

Easing herself up on the bolster she nodded gently to the bundle in the crook of the other arm.

I know. Garrett forced himself to smile back. The midwife told me.

He crossed to the bed and lowered himself to his knees beside his wife, taking her spare hand in both of his.

Where has she gone?

To give word for our carriage to be readied.

Readied? Annes gaze flickered towards the shutters, but there was no fringe of light around the edges. Its still dark. Besides, my love, Im tired. So very tired. I must rest. Surely we can spare a day here?

No. The child needs a doctor.

A doctor? Anne looked confused. She removed her hand from her husbands grasp and carefully drew back a fold of the soft linen cloth wrapped round the baby. In the warm glow of the candles Garrett saw the puffy features of the infant - eyes closed and lips still. Only the rhythmic flaring of the tiny nostrils indicated any sign of life. Anne stroked a finger across the wrinkled forehead. Why a doctor?

Hes weak and needs the proper attention as soon as possible. The only place we can be sure of that is Dublin.

Anne frowned. But thats a days journey from here. At least.

Which is why Ive given orders to ready the carriage.We must leave at once.

But, Garrett