A Stranger at Castonbury(15)

Maybe the only living being left on the planet.

There were no sounds, no birds singing or wind sweeping through the trees. Once this place had been filled with voices, laughter, the cries of the injured, the barked orders of a military operation. The ghosts of such sounds in his mind made the silence even heavier.

Jamie tilted back his head to stare up into the sky. He could smell the dusty scent of the air, the faint, acrid remains of fire. The echoes of the violence that had happened here.

And Catalina had been caught in it. His numbness was shattered by a spasm of pure, raw pain at the thought of what must have happened here. The fear and panic, the sense of being trapped amid fire and ruin with nowhere to run. No one to help her, because he had gone.

‘Catalina,’ he whispered, his heart shattered at the thought of her being afraid. Had she thought of him in that moment, just as he had pictured only her face when he was sure he was drowning? Had she called out his name?

Jamie walked slowly across the blasted, blackened patch of earth, not seeing it how it was now, abandoned and ruined, but how it was that day he first saw Catalina. Her smile, her face like a beautiful, exotic flower, a haven of peace and loveliness in a mad world. She had given him something he had never known before—stillness, a place to belong. She had made him think of things he had never dared to before, like a future, a home. With her, he had imagined even the grand halls of Castonbury could be that home, if she was there.

And then in only a moment that was all gone.

He remembered her hurt, pale face when she found out about the nature of his secret work. The doubts that lingered in her eyes when they parted. He had foolishly imagined he would have time to make all that right later, to make everything up to her.

Jamie reached up and pressed his hand over the ring he wore on a chain around his neck under his shirt, against his heart. Cawley had said this ring, Catalina’s ring, had been found here among the dead. Yet some stubborn hope had clung to Jamie—what if she had somehow miraculously got away?

Cawley had said a farmer found the ring, and that was what had brought Jamie here. He had discovered the name of the farmer and come back to the camp in the wild, far-fetched notion that he could find this man and make him tell more details of the day when the camp was destroyed. If he knew more, maybe he could find Catalina’s body and put her properly to rest.

Or he might find her. At night, in his fever dreams when he was ill, he saw just such a thing. Catalina, alive again, smiling at him, holding out her arms to him. Telling him it had all been a terrible mistake.

But as he looked at the darkened earth, he saw just how wild a hope that was. Surely no one had survived such an onslaught.

He climbed to the top of a steep slope into which the backside of the camp had been built. It led down to the river on the other side, and to fields beyond. They, too, were deserted, everyone having fled before the advancing armies. But Jamie glimpsed one tiny spot of life, an old woman walking by the river, swathed in shawls even in the hot day. She was checking fishing nets laid out in the river.

Jamie made his way slowly down the other side of the hill, careful to make sure the woman saw him approach so he would not frighten her. She didn’t run away, but went very still, her eyes dark and wary in her sunken, wrinkled face.

‘Señora, I only came to ask a few questions here,’ Jamie said in Spanish.

The woman slowly nodded, and he asked her about the destruction of the camp. She didn’t know much; she had been staying with her daughter in another village, and had only returned to her home here with her son after the armies had gone.

‘What do you seek here, young man?’ she asked. ‘There is nothing left, not for anyone.’

‘I want to find out what happened to my wife,’ Jamie answered honestly. ‘She was a nurse at the English camp here. I was told a farmer saw what happened, and found her wedding ring.’

The woman nodded, her face softening at his stark words. ‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘Perhaps my son can help. He was here that day, I am sure he’s the one you’re looking for.’

She led him over a low, crumbling stone wall and through a blasted field. A man was working there, bent and careworn as he tried to eke out some kind of meal from the ruined ground. Even though the woman said he was her son, he looked as old as she did. But his eyes also turned kind when the woman explained why Jamie was there.

‘I did see the camp after the French left,’ he said, leaning on his rake with a haunted look in his eyes. ‘I wanted to see if I could help, but there was nothing left to do but bury the dead.’