All in Scarlet Uniform (Napoleonic War 4) (10 page)

‘Some of that was the Junta,’ said Baynes. ‘After so many defeats they were screaming at the generals to attack.’ He turned to Hanley. ‘Politicians are prone to blaming the army when it fails to make their imprudent schemes work. And then they expect the army to give them a miracle to clear the mess up.’

‘Well, they got their grand attacks, and lost more than twenty thousand men to no purpose,’ Murray added brutally. ‘What’s left of the armies are a wreck.’ He gave a grim laugh. ‘That’s what comes of letting politicians give the orders.’

‘Those politicians have paid a high price,’ said Baynes, ‘at least by their standards. Let us hope that the new Regency Council proves more competent, for Spain has paid an even higher price.’

In January Marshal Soult had taken a big French army south into Andalusia and overrun it in weeks. Granada had fallen, as had Seville, which had served as the capital of free Spain since Madrid was lost. ‘Hardly anyone fought them,’ the merchant explained, ‘and city after city simply opened their gates. In some places crowds were cheering for King Joseph.’ Napoleon had placed his older brother on the throne of Spain.

‘Cadiz is secure?’ asked Hanley, who had been watching the French near Badajoz since arriving back in the country.

‘It is, and that is some comfort,’ said Murray. ‘General Stewart and his regiments have been permitted by the Spanish to reinforce the garrison.’ That was something, for in the past the authorities had feared the creation of a new Gibraltar, making them reluctant to accept the presence of British troops. ‘It will be a very tough nut for the French to crack, and even then something they will not be able to do quickly.’

‘And no bad thing to find more appropriate employment for General Stewart.’ Baynes’ face was wooden, apart from his eyes, which danced with mirth. Stewart had for a while been in overall charge of gathering intelligence. It had proved an unsuitable role for a man happier leading bold – perhaps over-bold – cavalry charges.

Murray ignored the comment, although Hanley was aware that he had a similar opinion of the general. ‘Cadiz is secure and we must be grateful for that, but we should not let ourselves get carried away. Almost all of Spain is under French rule.’

‘The guerrillas and partisans would dispute that,’ said Baynes.

‘And we must be glad of that,’ Murray responded, ‘and help them as much as we can, but in the end the French will complete the conquest of each area. The same is true of the surviving strongholds.

‘Napoleon is probably coming soon. He is already sending tens of thousands more soldiers to reinforce his armies here. The guerrillas nibble away at them, but they cannot stop the French from going where they will. It really is just a matter of time.’

Murray’s assessment was as true as it was bleak, and yet Hanley felt his tone suggested more than simply resignation or stubborn defiance. Past experience told him that the pair wanted him to work things out rather than simply be told. That meant that there must be some hope, although he found it hard to see it. To give himself time, he decided to ask a question. ‘Is the Emperor coming back to Spain?’

‘So he says,’ Murray replied. ‘There has been a lot of talk in the Paris papers about him coming to hurl the leopards into the sea.’ Hanley looked puzzled, prompting the colonel to explain. ‘Haven’t you heard him call us that before? It’s from the leopard on the royal coat of arms. Never had a clue why he should think it insulting, but there you are.’

‘For the moment Boney is busy,’ said Baynes, taking over the conversation again. ‘He is negotiating to marry an Austrian princess after divorcing Josephine.’

Murray sniggered. ‘That should keep him busy. A nice young bride to warm his bed.’

‘It may also help to keep the peace in Europe for years,’ Baynes added grimly. ‘His peace, that is, although the past experience of the royal houses suggests that a mere marriage alliance will not hold them back when it becomes inconvenient.’

‘Yes, perhaps, but no one will fight Boney at the moment after so many victories. So if the laddie has any sense – and he’s no fool, plump young princess or not – then he should come here and finish off what he has started by conquering Spain and Portugal.’

Hanley could still not see any cause for hope. ‘So the war is lost.’

Murray winked at him. ‘Not yet.’

‘I find it hard to see how we can win,’ said Hanley.

‘For the moment it may be a question of not losing.’ Baynes was smiling, but Hanley felt there was less confidence in his eyes than he saw in Murray. ‘Time can be on our side as well, as long as we can gain enough of it. In time we can grow stronger, and in a lot of time the Spanish can perhaps rebuild their armies.’

Murray produced a map, and laid it out on the boulder in front of them. ‘Help me hold this down,’ he said, and so Hanley picked up some stones to use as weights.

Baynes took over as the two soldiers made the map secure. ‘Portugal is the key to it all, and Lisbon is the key to Portugal. If we lose that then we lose the country and probably the war. The Portuguese army is getting the training and funds that the Spanish lack. You soldiers would judge better, but from all I hear the regiments are shaping up nicely. With them, Wellington can double his strength.’

‘Aye, but we’ll still be outnumbered when Boney comes.’ Murray gestured at the map. ‘Now, there are three ways he can come with a proper army and heavy guns. There’s the central route that Junot took back in ’07, but we can probably discount that one. The land there is barren, the roads scarcely worthy of the name even by Portuguese standards, and the area so heavily plundered that an army would starve. That leaves two choices – north or south. Everyone has known that for centuries and so there are fortresses guarding the roads. In the south we have Elvas in Portugal and Badajoz over in Spain. It’s none too healthy down there – you remember all those men lost to fever when we camped there after Talavera?’ The other two men nodded. ‘But it is certainly perfectly practical as a route.

‘The other option is the northern road, guarded by Almeida on this side of the border and Ciudad Rodrigo on the Spanish side, and that is probably the weakest of all the fortresses. I am inclined to think it the more likely of the two routes, and so does Wellington, but it is far from certain. It will be easier for new forces coming from Spain to reach there quickest. However, the French are keeping us guessing, demonstrating against both. Reynier is not too far from Badajoz, while Marshal Ney watches Ciudad Rodrigo. Last month Ney marched from Salamanca and closed on the city, demanding surrender. The governor told him politely to go to hell, and after a couple of days he sloped off.’

‘I believe Herrasti to be a good man,’ said Baynes.

‘Let us hope so.’ Hanley caught the doubt in Murray’s voice. ‘He did not have much to fear. Ney had no heavy guns and not enough food to mount a siege. We hear tell that he is using his artillery caissons to carry food rather than ammunition because he is so short of wagons.

‘The greater part of the army is concentrating to the north, ready to meet the French if they come that way. Wellington is leaving “Daddy” Hill to watch the southern road.’ Hanley remembered the kindly and capable General Hill from Talavera and wondered whether Major Wickham was still on the general’s staff. ‘If they do come that way then the rest of the army can quickly shift to reinforce him.’

‘We want you in the north, William,’ said Baynes. ‘It will be important to know as much as we can about what the French are doing. There should be plenty of signs betraying their intentions if we are keen enough to spot them.’

Murray took over again. ‘When they invade they will need food for a big army, carts to move it and a train of very heavy ordnance to batter their way into any fortress blocking their path. Try as they might, they cannot readily hide such preparations.

‘Time is more important than almost anything else. We need time to be ready for them, and then we need to slow them down. A big army consumes supplies at a prodigious rate. The more we can slow them, then the greater their problems will become and all the while we will grow stronger.’

‘Will that make enough difference?’ Hanley asked. ‘The odds still appear too great to beat.’

‘God help us, another croaker,’ said Murray, rolling his eyes.

‘I do not understand.’

Baynes offered enlightenment. ‘Lord Wellington is plagued by officers, many of them senior, writing home and proclaiming that Portugal cannot be saved and that the war is already as good as lost. Such letters and opinions readily make their way into the newspapers, those sources of so much wisdom.’

Colonel Murray glared at the heavy irony. ‘A lot will depend on our allies,’ he said. ‘The Portuguese are sound.’

‘At least if some of their leaders stop trying to engineer succession rights to the Spanish throne for Ferdinand VII’s Portuguese wife.’ Baynes’ voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘And strangely enough, not all are so convinced that it is worth obeying the British and sacrificing so much on behalf of an ally who may simply sail away if things turn bad and leave them both ruined and subject again to the French.’

‘Britain cannot afford to lose this army,’ said Murray defensively. ‘But I suspect that she also cannot afford to lose this war and leave all of Europe under Boney’s thumb. So we must avoid that, and that means holding on here. The Spanish can help, if the guerrillas tell us all they see and make life difficult for the French, and if Ciudad Rodrigo puts up a decent fight.’

Baynes smiled. ‘Herrasti pledged to fight to the last drop of blood.’

‘Words are one thing,’ said Murray, ‘actions another. If talk was all it took, then every last Frenchman would long since be dead or chased back across the Pyrenees.’ He looked meaningfully at the merchant.

‘There is a particular reason for sending you, my dear William. In Andalusia there were too many defections to King Joseph. More than a few previously staunch supporters of Ferdinand VII suddenly changed sides. Several now have high offices in Joseph Bonaparte’s regime. Others are simply considerably richer than they were. It is in part a sign of the way the wind is blowing, but the French have some good men at work ahead of their advancing armies.’

‘Velarde,’ said Hanley.

‘Possibly. We have received no definite news of him since the summer.’

Luiz Velarde was one of the artistic circle Hanley had known in Madrid before the war. He had risen quickly in the patriot forces, and seemed to be working gathering information for their benefit, sometimes with another of the young artists, José-María Espinosa. The latter had accepted service with King Joseph, but sold secrets to the British and Spanish alike. At Talavera, Velarde had helped with a deception plan, but a pretended defection to the French now seemed real. Since he had gone, Espinosa and most of the network of sources had died at the gallows or in front of firing squads.

‘It may be that he is dead,’ Baynes continued. ‘If not, then it would be a happy outcome if we can arrange to make that the case.’

‘I am no assassin,’ said Hanley, remembering the last conversation he had had with the merchant before he had left for England last year.

‘My dear boy, of course not, but as you told me some time ago, you are a soldier, and killing the enemy is part of the job.’

For a moment it looked as if Murray would say something, but in the end he must have decided against it.

‘You will go to Ciudad Rodrigo,’ Baynes continued. ‘When you report, send first to Brigadier General Craufurd who commands our Light Brigade forming the outposts of the army. Colonel Murray and I will sometimes be visiting his staff, but even when not, he has orders to pass on all your communication to Lord Wellington’s headquarters.’

‘Now, I think that is all of my part in this, for the moment.’ Murray looked at Baynes, and the merchant gave a gracious wave of his arm. ‘Good. Now, I must find Colonel Fletcher and ask a few more questions. Good day to you both, and good luck to you, Hanley.’ Murray shook his hand firmly.

Baynes watched him go. ‘Oh dear, I fear my talk of assassins offended him. It often surprises me how coy some soldiers are when it comes to talk of killing.’

‘Not killing, but murder.’

‘A distinction that often escapes me, I fear,’ said Baynes with deliberately exaggerated innocence. ‘I have little doubt that Velarde will exert the utmost efforts to kill you.’

‘You now sound certain that he is there.’

‘Do I?’ Baynes dabbed at his cheeks with his disreputable handkerchief. ‘Well, perhaps I am, or perhaps I am simply getting nervous. So much is at stake that the least thing may tip the balance.’ Hanley had rarely seen the merchant looking so committed. Or so worried. Then the moment passed, and Baynes’ red cheeks seemed to glow with happiness. ‘Oh, I do have some pleasant news, for it is more than likely that you will run across some old friends from your regiment up in that area.’

‘The training mission to the Spanish,’ Hanley began.

‘Is not far from Ciudad Rodrigo,’ said Baynes, cutting in. ‘I believe your friends Pringle and Williams are there, as well as that splendid rogue Corporal Dobson.’

‘It is Sergeant Dobson now.’

‘Of course, my mistake.’

Hanley caught a flicker of amusement and was sure Baynes was playing a game, once again pretending ignorance. ‘Is this your doing?’ he asked, and did not for a moment expect an honest answer.

‘My dear boy, I am merely a humble adviser and a simple civilian. How could I possibly play a role in the orders given to soldiers? However, it is certainly a happy chance, and they may be of help to you. You cannot tell me that Dobson is not a skilled killer.’ Baynes smiled, looking like an innocent child except for his eyes. ‘Or your Mr Williams, for that matter.’

W
illiams tried to rub some life back into his hands and was grateful for the shelter provided by the officers’ tent, even if the flaps were tied back and let the wind in. There was the heavy drumming of raindrops on the canvas as yet another downpour started, and in less than a minute individual beats were lost in a constant onslaught. The storms did not last long, but were bitter when they came, and his greatcoat was so wet that he had allowed Dobson to take it into the chapel and dry it by one of the fires lit by the greenjackets of the 95th.