Duty And Duplicity; Book 5 Of Poacher's ProgressChapter 3: Death Of A Poet free porn video
During the following months I applied myself diligently and exclusively to the training program, making sure I kept Leopold, Duke of Chianti, fully informed. I put from my mind the boxing of Shelley, the well-being and whereabouts of my sister, and thoughts of following the trail of White Lady, which might lead me to Eloise de La Zouche.
I had informed John Stafford that Cadiz was the first point of entry of White Lady into Europe, and explained how the sacks were transferred, and that high officials in Spain and the Spanish South American colonies appeared to be complicit in the smuggling. The fact Marseilles received a far greater number of sacks of White Lady than Barcelona or Naples indicated the French port being the major distributor into Europe, with Barcelona merely a subsidiary route into northern Spain and southwestern France. The major target of the Naples based enterprise would appear to be those on the Grand Tour.
I hoped the information given to John Stafford would lead to the throttling of the supply of White Lady into Europe, but with wealthy, important, and venal men at the helm of the business, I knew it was a Forlorn Hope.
I admit to being quietly pleased at the progress the Greeks made. Muskets could be loaded, fired then reloaded, well within the time allowed for soldiers in the British Army. The Souliotes, who traditionally used blades rather than muskets, improved their marksmanship with all the powder and shot expended, and passed on their expertise with knives to the volunteers.
The British NCOs had taken my warning to heart, and their drinking and fornicating were carried out, in moderation, in the many brothels and taverns situated in the dock area of Livorno.
Capitano Ponti had vetoed my idea of facilities available only to the Greek volunteers and training team. He took a percentage of the earnings from all the whorehouses in the town, and did not want to favour one proprietor over another. Occasionally fights would break out between the locals, visiting seamen, and the volunteer Greeks, in the brothels and taverns, but the gendarmerie were quickly on the scene, and no fatalities of Livornesi, or those from Fortezza Nuova, ensued from these encounters.
“Forgive me, Colonel, if you regard my remarks insubordinate, but I think you should take some time away from your desk, and the training program.” Otto said one morning.
I looked up in surprise. I had not heard him enter the office, so engrossed had I been in writing a report for Duke Leopold concerning the company of Greek volunteers who completed their training at the end of June and had returned to Greece. It was now the beginning of July, and the third group of Greek volunteers were beginning their eight weeks of training. The numbers of volunteers in the current group were slightly less than in the first two contingents, and no Souliotes were among them.
Whether this was due to no more Souliotes joining the war of independence, or they thought themselves capable enough to slit throats of Turks without further training, I cannot say.
The calibre of the Greeks of the current group was also of a lower quality. They were not the bubbling revolutionaries of the first two groups, who wanted to change the world, starting with Greece. Instead I recognised the expression of those forced by the prospect of starvation, or the threat of something worse, to take the King’s Shilling — I do not know the comparable Greek expression — ‘take the Patriarch’s Drachma’ perhaps?
I leaned back in my chair and gazed up at a slightly embarrassed looking Otto. “You have spent as much time at your labours as I have. Suppose you take some time off, and when you return I too will take a break.”
He smiled. “That is most generous, sir. Livia is eager to show me the treasures of Firenze – we could spend a week visiting the city.”
Livia was a young widow who owned a trattoria in the main piazza of Livorno. Otto was spending a deal of time with her, and frequently ate at her establishment — and you may take that in whatever context you wish.
“A week? Take a month’s furlough, starting from today. I do not expect to see you until the beginning of August. On your return I shall take furlough, leaving you to see to the final month’s training of the Greek volunteers.”
He saluted, grinning broadly, and then spun on his heel to make his way to tell his amante they had a month of dalliance together.
A day after Otto and Livia’s departure to Firenze I rode to Pisa.
Lieutenants Eliot and Hughes were quite capable of being left in charge for a day or two. In fact, when it came to the actual training I was surplus to requirements.
As I rode along the Via Aurelia, my thoughts strayed to Otto and his lover, Livia. She was an olive skinned, sloe-eyed, raven-haired, beauty with a voluptuous figure, and I would wager a nature to match.
I imagined Otto and she would be writhing in a sweating love knot of passion every night they spent in Firenze. I had not had a woman for six months, and was quite unconcerned at the lack, which was rather disconcerting when you consider it.
I was en route to Arthur Wilson’s hotel, hoping he would have a room for me as it was now the high season for the Grand Tour. Happily, a room was available, and he and I spent a pleasant evening talking, where I broached the subject of Shelley, thinking it high time I arranged for reassigning the pernicious poet as no one from the Relocation Bureau had yet made an appearance.
“He and Byron have left Pisa. “ Arthur announced. “They had outstayed their welcome. Some time ago, the back end of March to be more precise, there was another brawl between the Shelley/Byron cabal and a member of the Royal Light Horse. This time the cavalryman was badly injured, and as a result two of Byron’s entourage were banished from Tuscany. It was only a matter of time before the two English poets would have suffered the same indignity, so they took themselves off in early April.”
I was perturbed my quarry had flown. “Do you know where they have gone?”
Arthur shrugged his shoulders to indicate his ignorance.
“I could find out, if you are particularly interested in their whereabouts.”
I quickly dissuaded him of that opinion. “No, it was merely idle curiosity. “
I hurriedly went onto another subject, hoping I had not piqued Arthur’s curiosity by my apparent interest in Shelley.
Next morning. as I made way through the Piazza dei Cavalieri, heading for the southern gate and the road to Livorno, my attention was drawn to a scuffle-taking place in one corner of the square. A student from the university of Pisa, dressed in the traditional gown and felt hat, was being assaulted by at least three toughs, one armed with a cudgel, which he was about to land on the student’s head. I jabbed my heels into my horse, which quickly trotted across the square towards the fracas.
“Leave him be, you cowards! Three hulking brutes against one student is not a fair fight.” Unfortunately I was not in uniform — the Ducal Bodyguard have a fearsome reputation for swift and painful punishment for those disturbing the Ducal Peace, even if the Grand Duke was now back in Firenze, and the sight of the uniform would have sent the bullyboys packing. The cudgel-bearing thug – obviously the ringleader — swore at me.
“What’s it to you, bastardo.”
I wasted no words, and just rode at him. The horse’s shoulder bowled the thug over, who went down under the hooves screaming in fear. By now I had taken my feet from the stirrups, and kicked another tough in the face, breaking his prominent nose. Meantime the student had retrieved the cudgel from the downed thug and thwacked the third bully across his back, sending him tumbling face down onto the paved square. The man under my horse managed to roll free, then got to his feet and took to his heels, closely followed by the broken nosed and bleeding man. The third man crawled away, spitting blood and teeth.
“Thank you, Sir. You saved my wallet, and probably my life.” The student came to the side of my horse and offered his hand up to me.
“I am Giacomo Pellegrini; I am indebted to you.”
I slid of the horse and shook his hand.
“Elijah Greenaway, and I am glad to have been of assistance.”
Until now the conversation had been in Italian. Mine had improved a great deal since arriving in Livorno, but my accent showed I was not Italian born. Giacomo spoke in English.
“I judge by your accent, Mister Greenaway, you are English?”
“Yes; and wish I was as skilled in the Italian tongue as you are in mine.”
He flushed in pride. “I am an ardent student of the great William Shakespeare. One day I hope to travel to Stratford up on the Avon, and stand in mute homage at the great man’s birthplace. Have you been there, sir?”
Shakespeare, it seemed, has a greater reputation in Pisa than in England.
“To my shame I have not. But I shall pay a visit when next in England.”
Giacomo Pellegrini had been making his way to Pisa’s southern gate in the hope of persuading any waggoner bound for Livorno to allow him to ride with them. I offered him a seat behind me, which he accepted, and we made our way to Livorno along the Via Aurelia. We stopped midway to rest the double burdened horse, and to take refreshments.
“Why were you attacked? I thought Pisa to be free of footpads and the like.” I said.
“Students of the university are not much liked by the youths of the town. They accuse us of stealing their girlfriends with our clever ways, our superior knowledge, and our wealth.” Giacomo shrugged. “I have never had the good fortune to steal a girl away from anyone, so I suspect the satchel I was carrying drew their eyes, thinking it stuffed with Florins, but it holds only a change of shirt and a sheaf of notes. I am on my way home to Lerici; my father is a fisherman, and his vessel will be docked in Livorno overnight, waiting for me to join him. Thanks to you I will be aboard this afternoon, and he will catch the offshore evening breeze needed to clear the harbour. My father will be glad to have another pair of hands for hauling in the nets.”
I dropped Giacomo by the Old Fortress, and he again thanked me for what I had done.
“Consider it as my act of deference to Mister William Shakespeare.”
I heard his laughter as I rode back to Fortezza Nuova.
July 8th 1822. Fortezza Nuova, Livorno.
I cursed, and threw down my quill in exasperation. The figures for the powder and ball expended by the previous group of Greek trainees did not tally. I was about to call for Otto, who usually attended to the figures, when I remembered he had accompanied Livia to Firenze a week ago, and would be galloping her gustily at every opportunity.
The fortress was as quiet as a grave. The latest batch of volunteers were being toughened up, and they and their instructors, including Hughes and Eliot, were on a gruelling route march to Pandoiano, via Colognol.
I had an overpowering urge get from my stifling office and take a walk, to which I cravenly capitulated. Within twenty minutes of having flown my cage of an office I was strolling towards the Old Fortress, free as a bird and without a care in the world.
I wore my recently purchased civilian clothes, tailored in the Italian style, allowing me to blend in with the local populace, and with my now at least adequate Italian, gauge with accuracy the authentic thoughts and opinions of the local population.
Emely
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