AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Spain still has her agents. Portugal still holds the throne in Brazil, but Pedro is losing money and men in a war against Uruguay.”
“In other words, do what I always do. Find out who knows the secrets, who has the money and who has the dangerous ambition to disrupt trade,” Roman said.
“There’s more. Spanish subversives are attempting to destroy any sort of unity on the continent. Help get rid of Napoleon then try to destroy your own government. And that will only lead to unnecessary death and suffering. I’ll never understand it.” Bathurst’s chin nearly rested on his chest as he slowly shook his head in disgust.
“We’ve seen it before. Why are we so concerned now with what the Spanish are doing in South America? Specifically?”
“La Vibora.”
The madeira had mellowed Roman; however, a frisson of fear shook him at the mention of the infamous name. “Francisco Belgrano? He’s escaped Spain? Why didn’t someone tell me?”
Roman leaned back in his chair and sipped at his drink, mulling the distressing news. There were fanatics, both strongly nationalistic and strongly religious. Belgrano was both, and in spades.
Worse, he was Shelene’s uncle.
Roman had assisted in capturing the murderous, poisonous mercenary a few years ago. It had all started when the once-lauded guerilla had captured a convoy of French wagons with a staggering value in arms, gold and prisoners of war. He’d killed every British, Spanish and Portuguese captive, along with the French soldiers escorting the caravan. He’d expected silence from his men, but word had spread amongst ally and enemy alike. After that, Belgrano was no longer interested in fighting for Spain. He’d found a calling in warfare for profit.
Shelene’s family, both her mother and her aunt, had hidden behind their rosaries and veils, not because they supported their brother, but they believed in peace and had no idea what to do with him.
Fortunately, the War Office did.
“We have operatives in the Provinces, hunting him. You know, he will have no mercy when it comes to British subjects. Especially those who might be hunting him.”
“Your warning is unnecessary.” Belgrano held grudges but it was usually the innocent who suffered his homicidal rampages.
“Still, you should be cautious. You may be there in an unofficial capacity and Belgrano may be anywhere from Tierra Del Fuego to Venezuela, but the rumors are that he is in Buenos Aires.”
“So, in my unofficial capacity, I am to officially find Belgrano? He really is Spain’s problem, not mine. Not ours. The war is over.”
“You know his tactics best. The Spanish ambassador says that Belgrano is publicly hailed as a hero.”
“He burns their churches, kills their cattle then throws back acuartilloto buy a loaf of bread. But privately, they all know he is a menace. Such is fear,” Roman finished. Such men were common and usually ended up dead, during times of war. Few cared when they died. The concern came when the tally of innocent victims mounted.
“We would not ask this of you if you were still involved in Balkan matters. And I hesitate to say this is an opportunity exactly, due to the other circumstances…”
“But the Crown never lets a crisis go to waste.”
“Not if we can help it. And we don’t want any more English deaths. One last battle between La Vibora and the Lion of England. He is still vicious, Forrester. The years have not made him any kinder.”
“I understand.” Roman nodded, then stood. “Oh, Bathurst, there is one other thing,” he said, before expounding on his last long-overdue request which he delivered with some relief.
After a few final admonitions, Bathurst lifted his glass. “Godspeed, Forrester.”
* * * * *
The ship to Brest bobbed on the rough waves of the English Channel, but the wild beauty of the white caps and the blue-gray depths mesmerized Shelene.
When a flock of seagulls squawked and dived toward the ship, she stepped away from the rail as one gull came perilously close. Perhaps the ribbons of her bonnet, dancing in the breeze, attracted the bothersome bird.
The sailors were busy taking in the sail, the shouts like a foreign language to her. She glanced at the shore as the docks and city grew on the horizon. The large naval port, a remnant of that little Corsican tyrant’s, was easily identifiable, chiseled into the rock on each side of the Penfield River.
Roman had sent a note, apologizing that he could not attend her in person but that he was leaving for Brest on Friday and would “try” to visit before he left.
Well, she’d made other plans, because she knew Roman Forrester all too well.
“Try,” she mumbled. If he arrived, he was going to find a near empty house with two manservants storing the balance of the family possessions. Would he be disturbed by her departure? Or would he shrug and never think of her again?
In the meantime, she was going to find out what happened to her father, with or without Roman’s help. That there was a delay at all on Roman’s part, meant that once again he’d placed country above his own brother’s death.
