James McGee - Rebellion

JAMES McGEE

Rebellion

Copyright

HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright © James McGee 2011

James McGee asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.

Source ISBN: 9780007320240

Ebook Edition © 2010 ISBN: 9780007320257

Version: 2016-02-15

Contents

Cover

Title Page JAMES McGEE Rebellion

Copyright Copyright HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk Copyright © James McGee 2011 James McGee asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication. Source ISBN: 9780007320240 Ebook Edition © 2010 ISBN: 9780007320257 Version: 2016-02-15

Part I PART I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Part II

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Part III

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Part IV

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Keep Reading

Historical Note

Also by James McGee

About the Publisher

PART I

Chapter 1

He heard the rattle of musket fire and ducked instinctively. The horse grunted and stumbled and for one heart-faltering second he thought it had been hit; but the animal had only lost its footing on a rock loosened by the previous night’s storm. Ahead of him, he saw Leon fighting to control his own mount as it scrambled for purchase on the treacherous, water-soaked terrain.

It was still raining, but the heavy downpour that had turned mountain stream into raging torrent and earthen track into quagmire had finally abated; transformed into a steady, and persistent drizzle. The easing of the weather, however, had not eliminated the risk of injury from a carelessly placed hoof. All he could do was hang on, trust in his steed, and pray that the ground remained firm beneath them.

Dawn had broken half an hour before but there was neither warmth to the day nor any evidence of sunrise, only a low ceiling of slate-tinted cloud. A gunmetal pall hung across the landscape, drenching the customary ochre-coloured hills in gloomy shades of grey.

Leon yelled a warning, indicating the crest of a ridge a quarter of a mile ahead and a row of figures outlined like stone statues on a balustrade; French infantry. At that range their blue jackets were unmistakable. A foraging party, he guessed. They were shouting and gesticulating wildly, waving their hats in the air. Some were crouched down and he assumed it was from those men that the shots had originated. Their cries carried like excited bird chatter and he realized they were yelling directions to the dragoons emerging at a gallop from the village behind them. He was immediately conscious of his own scarlet jacket and white breeches. Despite their grubbiness and the poor light, in contrast to Leon’s grey coat, clay-coloured trousers and black bandana, they made a tempting target. He hunched down in his saddle, tightened his grip on the reins and drove his boots into the mare’s flanks. Another fusillade sounded. It would have been a miracle if any of the musket balls had found their mark, even allowing for the downward trajectory, but it didn’t stop him spurring his horse on even faster.

There was very little cover. What there was consisted of thorn bush and sharp outcrops of rock with olive trees dotted in between which, with their trunks stunted by the wind, had the look of old men bent and wizened with age.

He risked a glance over his shoulder. The dragoons were crouched low over their horses’ necks; a couple had drawn sabres. They were not that far behind, and gaining ground rapidly. Beyond the knot of green-clad riders, he could see the village clinging like a limpet to the side of the hill. Idanha-aNova; it wasn’t much of a place – a small church with a thin, square tower rising above a spiral of whitewashed houses – but it had provided a welcome respite from the storm. They had been fed and watered by their local contact and he’d slept comfortably, until rudely awakened with the news that a French patrol was searching houses at the other end of the street, which had resulted in their frantic and undignified dash for freedom.

He looked back and hope flared in his chest as his eyes settled on the sweep of wooded slopes that had appeared through the murk. He followed Leon’s lead and turned his horse towards them. The trees would provide a guard against musket fire and grant them a chance to give their pursuers the slip, allowing them time to make their escape to a more permanent hiding place; providing the gods remained on their side.

The gods, however, appeared to have other plans.

His heart sank as he realized the wood was composed of dwarf oaks which were neither tall nor dense enough to shade them completely. The trees would probably mask their flight from the dragoons but not from the soldiers on the summit who would have the advantage of height and thus a clearer view of their passage through the thickets. But they were better than no trees at all.

Sure enough, no sooner had they reached the first line of oaks than the calls from the onlookers on the high ground intensified. Even the hoof-beats couldn’t mask the cries of the infantrymen as, stirred by the thrill of the chase being enacted below them, they encouraged their mounted compatriots to greater effort.

They reached the wood. By this time the enemy riders had closed the gap to less than three hundred yards. He felt an immediate wave of relief as the oaks closed in around them. Branches whipped at his face and snagged at his clothing as he steered his horse deeper into the trees. He could feel the dampness seeping through the lining of his jacket and the thighs of his breeches. He could feel his heart, too, beating like a drum.