All in Scarlet Uniform (Napoleonic War 4) (19 page)

‘His soldiers are mainly raw,’ said Hanley, ‘and I believe he is cautious about risking them in the open field. At our last meeting he did ask me to emphasise that he would be greatly aided by the sending of the guns left behind last year. They are Spanish after all, and bigger than anything he has at the moment.’

‘Which is precisely why he cannot have them.’ Baynes’ irony was once again heavy, and it was clear that he and Murray had discussed the matter already. ‘It is a question of trust.’

The colonel grunted. ‘Or lack of trust, as you damned well know. Look, Hanley, if we let him have those pieces and Ciudad Rodrigo falls, then we have just given the French a bigger siege train with which to batter Almeida.’

‘Herrasti rejected another summons to surrender earlier this month.’ Hanley’s support was cautious.

Murray was dismissive. ‘By a small force without the slightest chance of actually taking the place. Can we be sure what he will do when the real army arrives?’

‘He wants to fight,’ said Hanley. ‘I am fully convinced of that, but he fears that we will not support him and the refusal to give him the guns will weaken his support. There are elements within the city less stubborn in their will to resist. Some despair, and I suspect that generous offers are being presented by agents of King Joseph.’

Baynes immediately became intent. ‘Are you sure?’

‘It’s just a feeling. The way some of them are starting to speak.’

Hanley had expected Murray to be sceptical of such a vague impression, and was surprised that he took him so seriously. ‘Lord Wellington will not give him those guns. Another powder convoy is being prepared. General Craufurd says that there should be no difficulty in getting it through as the French encirclement is far from complete.’

‘That should help.’

‘Lord Wellington has also written to assure the governor that he will come to his aid and is willing to fight an action outside Ciudad Rodrigo if the chance offers.’ Murray looked doubtful. ‘Whether the man will realise that we cannot risk going up against such great numbers if the French concentrate all their forces is another matter.’

‘Once again, trust and mistrust.’ Hanley was privately toying with an idea.

‘If the French concentrate against Ciudad Rodrigo then nothing in the world will stop them from taking it in the end,’ said Murray flatly. ‘The only question is how long it will take. Personally I suspect that Almeida will delay them longer, but that city will also fall in the end. We need as much time as they can give us, and so we want Herrasti to fight.’

‘And he will only do that if he believes he can trust us to save him, which we cannot actually do,’ Hanley finished the thought. ‘The presence of British soldiers would help.’

Murray frowned. ‘Wellington won’t waste any of his battalions inside a doomed fortress. Even Cox has only Portuguese.’

‘It does not need to be a battalion.’ Hanley was slightly disturbed by what he was about to suggest. Although less by the idea itself than his own willingness to do it.

‘A token gesture.’ Baynes watched the lieutenant closely; the merchant’s face betrayed excitement and Hanley suspected he had guessed what he had in mind.

‘No more than that, but a few redcoats walking the walls would make it easier for Herrasti to believe, and for him to convince the rest of the city.’

‘Some of Colonel MacAndrews’ men, perhaps?’ suggested Baynes with a passable impersonation of innocence. The merchant continued to stare at Hanley. ‘There is a lot to be said in favour of such an idea.’

Murray looked dubious, but clearly saw the potential of the plan. ‘That would need the peer’s permission,’ he said, using the name commonly employed by Wellington’s staff following his elevation. ‘Once the French close the circle around the city, there is a strong chance that they will not get out again.’

‘They could not leave once they are there. That would give the wrong sort of gesture altogether and spoil any good it had done.’ Baynes still watched Hanley, and there was a trace of admiration in his voice. ‘We must be prepared to pay a price for this. The only chance would be if the city fell, and by then they might be dead or trapped without any hope of escape.’

‘Yes,’ said Hanley, ‘they might indeed, and Herrasti will know that, and so be more inclined to feel that we will save him.’

Murray remained sceptical. ‘I shall ask. If Lord Wellington says yes, then in the circumstances we would also need to speak to the Spanish.’

‘I cannot see them refusing.’ Baynes was confident and his gaze fell on the lieutenant. ‘An individual may be able to sneak out of the city more easily, especially if he is clever.’

‘That is reasonable to suppose,’ Hanley said, returning the stare.

‘If Joseph’s agents are at work in Ciudad Rodrigo, then I believe you should go and look for them before they do serious harm. You will be able to call on your friends for assistance, should it prove necessary.’

‘You have already chosen the ones to go?’

‘And you have not?’ Baynes gave a half-smile, ignoring the slightly puzzled expression of Colonel Murray. ‘My dear William, do not think I am sending you to Ciudad Rodrigo as some form of penance. If someone, perhaps Velarde, is there, then he must be found and prevented from doing us harm.’

Hanley rubbed his chin, and realised that he must have forgotten to shave, for his normally thick stubble felt very rough indeed. ‘Before that I believe I should go to Salamanca.’

For the first time Baynes registered the slightest trace of surprise, before the mask returned an instant later.

‘Velarde is more likely to be there, at least at the moment.’ Hanley tried to sound more confident than he felt. ‘If he is there, then our sources may be in danger and should be warned.’

‘Sentiment?’ said Baynes.

‘Simple practicality. They are little use to us dead. I also suspect that it will be easier to find Velarde’s trail from there.’

‘If he is there.’

‘Yes, if he is.’ Hanley tried and failed to read Baynes’ secret thoughts.

‘Hmm, I think we shall be wise to let you follow your instincts, wherever they lead. You had better not go alone, though. I have someone suitable to accompany you.’

‘As protection?’

‘Let us say to preserve what you know.’

Hanley was shrewd enough not to find that a great comfort.

‘Of course.’

‘I do like a willing volunteer,’ said Colonel Murray, ‘and now I should leave you to plan your sinister schemes and try to get the peer’s attention.’

C
ompared to Fort La Concepción, Ciudad Rodrigo looked very old.

‘Moorish work, do you think?’ Williams asked Pringle as they looked out from the north-western corner of the roughly square city walls. Behind them was the high domed tower of the cathedral.

‘Looks like it, although someone must have made them thicker at some point.’ The high medieval walls were now wide enough to take a cannon and let it slam back in recoil without tumbling off. There were a few old towers, but no bastions and only simple embrasures cut out of the parapet. It would be hard to fire many guns at the same target, and when the enemy got closer there were most likely blind spots safe from the blasts of the defenders’ cannons. Height was no longer the advantage it had once been. There was a ditch in front of the wall, and this was divided into two by an earth wall and given modern bastions, but these did not mount cannon at present and it was hard to imagine the defenders being able to hold these once the besiegers worked their way closer. The spoil of the ditch was used to make a glacis, but the walls were too high for this to offer much protection.

‘That’s the way they’ll come,’ said Williams, and rested his telescope on the battlement. It was a heavy glass, intended to be mounted on a tripod, and had been a gift from his mother when he joined the army. The magnification was excellent, but it was really too cumbersome for a soldier. Williams refused to accept this, and carried the bulky thing with stubborn determination.

Billy Pringle did not need to draw his own glass to know that his lieutenant was right. To the south of the town was the River Agueda, filled to the brim with spring rain and making even these old city walls very difficult to attack. East of the town sprawled a suburb, with dozens of stone houses and walled gardens. In the last year the governor had fortified three stoutly built convents and thrown up earthworks around the whole area. It was not impossible to come that way, but it was difficult. To the west beside the river yet another convent had been turned into a miniature fortress, and walled orchards and gardens offered more good defensive positions.

It did not matter. Williams looked to the north, where a few hundred yards from the north-western corner of the town a hill rose up sharply. Beyond it was another, even bigger hill.

‘They are called the Little and Great Tesons,’ said Pringle. From the Great Teson French gunners could look down over the glacis and see the base of the old medieval wall. The hill was well within range of siege guns, and if the artillerymen could see a target then they could also pound it steadily, and the Moorish architects had not built their wall to withstand the weapons of the future. Sieges were slow affairs, as the attackers dug their way gradually closer and closer. By the time the French reached the Little Teson, the walls would most surely be breached if their gunners were any good at all – and the artillery was the Emperor’s own arm and many said that French gunners were the best in the world. Once they had batteries on the nearer hill they could pound the city and its defences to dust.

‘It seems that we have some distinguished guests.’ Williams drew back from his glass and pointed. Pringle gratefully pushed his spectacles back to the top of his head and leaned down to take a look. The lens needed some adjustment for his eye, but as the blurs became sharp he saw a group of horsemen atop the Great Teson. Some were gaudily dressed – no doubt the ADCs – but the important men were in dark blue coats and from this distance he could not really make out the heavy gold lace and the thick plumes on their cocked hats. The men were generals, perhaps even one of the marshals who had made all Europe tremble.

‘Captain Pringle, sir.’ The interruption came from Lieutenant Leyne, an eager young Irishman whose voice was still apt to break at moments of excitement like this. ‘The governor wants us.’ Leyne was short and a good deal bigger around the middle than Pringle himself. The dash up to the ramparts to find his commander had left him with a face nearly as scarlet as his jacket. ‘All of us, sir!’ added Leyne, almost bursting with enthusiasm.

‘Bills, you had better form the company. Now, young Philip, you had better show me the way.’ Pringle was twenty-six, and that seemed so ancient compared to the seventeen-year-old lieutenant beside him. Perhaps, he thought ruefully, the real difference was that Leyne had yet to see any action. That tended to age a man quickly.

An hour later and it seemed as if Leyne would very soon get his long-desired first whiff of powder. A major from General Herrasti’s staff had led them to the lee of the Convent of Santa Cruz, the outpost beyond the western walls of the fortress.

Pringle had his entire command of almost fifty officers and men with him. Apart from Williams and Leyne, he had Lieutenant Dolosa, and while Billy continued to have doubts about the man, so far he had more than played his part, helping them to settle in since their arrival five days ago. If any of the officers looked nervous, it was Leyne, who could not keep still and continually hopped from foot to foot.

His NCOs were all good. Dobson and Murphy were old comrades, and Corporal Rose of the 51st was a quietly competent young man from Warwickshire. That all three shared a mutual respect for the Spanish sergeant and two corporals was an extremely high recommendation; they seemed part of some instinctive brotherhood of non-commissioned officers. His thirty-nine men were a different matter, part of the second batch of raw recruits to come to Fort La Concepción. Although Spanish and British instructors had done their best, the men had simply not yet had the time to be ready.

Nevertheless, the orders had come to send a company to Ciudad Rodrigo. Pringle could see that MacAndrews was none too pleased, especially since the orders had specified that Billy was to command and Williams to go with him. The instructions claimed that they would help to train the garrison of the city, but there was no hint of that once they arrived. They were a reinforcement pure and simple, and Pringle found it worrying to think that they might be one of the better-trained companies in the garrison. Of even greater concern was his suspicion that Hanley had played a part in their new orders. His friend was a worthy chap in many ways, but he was also a gambler who got a thrill from the scale of the stakes. A year before he had helped engineer an attack on a detachment under Pringle’s command, so that the enemy would in turn be surprised by Allied cavalry. It had worked – just barely – but men had died and Billy doubted that Hanley thought of such things and instead focused solely on winning.

The Spanish major looked at his watch and then led them behind the high convent walls and threaded his way through the gardens and orchards. Eventually he halted them, and gestured for Pringle to come with him to an arched gateway and told him in French to be careful. The man spoke the language well, and it seemed their best chance of avoiding confusion.

They walked to a bank topped by a hedge and the major took off his hat before he peered over the top. Pringle copied him, and saw that there was an outpost of French infantry on a low knoll ahead of them. He counted twenty men, a couple of them on guard looking towards the city and the rest sitting on their packs, most smoking short clay pipes. It was a warmer day, and, although it was cloudy, the rain stayed away, yet the Frenchmen wore their dark blue coats. Their collars were yellow, their epaulettes green and yellow and they had tall plumes on their shakos. The men were voltigeurs, the skirmishers of a French battalion.

‘At eleven o’clock the general will send a thousand men out of the main gate against the French,’ said the major. ‘Ten minutes later, take your company and attack this picket. Another company from the Majorca Regiment has worked round through the gardens and will come up behind them. With luck, they will be trapped between you and you can take or kill them all.’