‘Word is already on its way to him along with a small sum of money. I managed to keep back a few hundred dollars before we exchanged them for escudos,’ said Baynes, taking over the explanation.
‘La Doña Margarita is our agent again. Her family has houses in Talavera and Toledo as well as Madrid itself. The message will reach him soon if it has not already done so.
‘It will also inform him that you will be riding along the north road and will be near Coria for a week from tomorrow. We will give you an escort and a guide. There is a band of irregulars led by a Captain Rodriguez who will also help.’
‘Will that be enough for his man to find me?’
‘Yes, if Espinosa is any good,’ said Baynes, ‘and if he is not then we may all be wasting our time. If he just has letters then there are other ways he could reach us. Yet nothing has come from him since the papers you brought. So for whatever reason he appears to want to work solely through you. You might want to think about why, but for the moment we must accept it and find out whether he can be of further use.’
They were interrupted when the side door opened fully and a slim man in a plain blue frock coat, buff breeches and well-polished riding boots strode into the room.
‘Well, Murray, that is one more letter trying to make the captain general see reason. Have you finished arranging matters?’
‘Almost, Sir Arthur. May I present Lieutenant Hanley.’
Hanley had seen Sir Arthur Wellesley once or twice before, but never been so close. The general was of little more than average height, but seemed bigger. His grey-blue eyes spoke of restless energy and little warmth.
‘May I wish you good fortune,’ said the general formally. ‘Get as much from this fellow as you can. I will not fight this war blindly and so must see what the French are up to on their side of the hill.’ Hanley started when without warning the general bayed with laughter. ‘Hard enough trying to work out what our allies are doing without the French being difficult! Baynes, I need your assistance in composing a letter to the junta. Perhaps they can find us a less obstinate general. Murray, I shall need you in half an hour. We must find more carts from somewhere. Good day to you, Mr Hanley.’
Wellesley was gone and the room now seemed empty.
‘Can you deal with the rest?’ Baynes asked Colonel Murray.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, Hanley, I look forward to what you can bring us. Please try not to get killed in the process.’
‘If you do, send the information back to us first,’ added Murray cheerfully as the merchant knocked on the door to Sir Arthur’s office and then went in.
‘I have other work for you so that you can earn your pay properly,’ continued the colonel. ‘It is less dramatic, but in time will be almost as useful. You can draw, can you not?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Then at the end of each day you travel I want a map. I want to know the route of the road and how good it is, the ground to either side, the places of note, the bridges, fords and passes. Whenever there is time I want sketches of the topography. In short I need all the facts that our useless maps fail to tell us. This is how I want it all done.’ He produced a bundle of papers and went through each in detail. Then he went through it all again. Hanley felt like a schoolboy.
Two hours later he left Abrantes with a corporal’s guard of light dragoons as escort and still felt like a child, albeit one pretending to be a soldier as part of some over-imaginative game.
‘Nice to be out in the country,’ said the corporal when they had gone three miles.
Hanley grunted assent, and they rode on in silence.
‘P
ermission to speak, sir?’
The two sergeants stood rigidly to attention. The older man, his black hair flecked with grey, was Sergeant McNaught of the 42nd, and it was he who had spoken. Sergeant Rudden of the 43rd was probably no more than twenty-five and his fair hair made him appear younger. Williams had heard the men calling him ‘the kid’ and could understand why, although Rudden evidently deserved his rank and was a capable NCO. He and McNaught were also clearly unhappy and it had shown in the lethargic way the Light Company had practised skirmishing.
‘Yes, Sergeant McNaught, please say what is on your mind.’ Williams already guessed what they wanted and knew he could not give it to them.
‘Thank you, sir. We mean no disrespect, but there are contingents from both of our corps with the First Battalion of Detachments.’
‘Indeed.’
McNaught hesitated and the light infantry sergeant took over. ‘We would like to be transferred to join them, sir. Fight alongside our own.’ Rudden looked nervous but determined.
‘I see.’
‘Meaning no offence to yourself, sir,’
‘None at all, sir,’ added McNaught.
‘But now we are with the army instead of on our own.’ Rudden was staring just to the left of Williams’ head, avoiding looking him in the eyes and any punishable challenge or insubordination.
‘And with Mr Grant in the hospital, sir,’ said the Highlander. He left unspoken the obvious implication that the men felt happier with their ‘own’ officer. Williams knew that he remained a stranger.
‘The colonel says no, and the general wants to keep the battalions as they are. It is too late to change. If your corps were here in full strength then it would be a different matter.’
Actually Pritchard Jones had suggested that the score of Royal Highlanders with the First Battalion of Detachments ought to be transferred to his own command, but had failed to get approval for this.
‘The First Forty-Third are on their way, sir,’ said Rudden determinedly.
Williams was amazed at how quickly the word had spread. After what he had said he could scarcely change tack. ‘When they arrive I promise to speak to the colonel about having you transferred to them.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Rudden looked marginally less aggrieved. ‘Any word on our pay, sir?’
‘I am afraid not. The pay of the entire army is in arrears.’ They must have known that, and also known that there was nothing he could do about it. For a brief moment he regretted his new uniform, the colour of the jacket still bright, its buttons all in place and gleaming. Perhaps they believed he was wealthy and beyond such concerns. Then Williams began to resent being blamed for problems beyond his control.
He knew that he could not say that. Rudden’s protest seemed to be over, but McNaught was clearly not satisfied. ‘None of my men are from the Light Company, sir,’ he said, raising yet another grievance.
‘I realise that, Sergeant, and understand that the training is new to you. Yet most of your lads are good soldiers and have natural aptitude. Did not the Ninety-fifth draw heavily on the Highland regiments when they were formed?’ So Pritchard Jones had assured him when explaining why he wanted Williams’ company to act as skirmishers for the battalion.
‘Maybe, sir.’ McNaught, like a lot of pipe smokers, had one of his stained lower teeth missing and Williams found himself obsessively staring at the gap. He also fought with a powerful desire to make these men like him. Both appeared to be good soldiers, and in their place he would no doubt have also preferred to be back with the 106th rather than serving in a mixed unit. Soldiers relied on their comrades, and trusted their officers and NCOs. None of them was given any choice about joining this battalion and there were simply too many strangers – some of them even foreign to make the discomfort worse.
It was a little surprising to see the two NCOs approaching him together and only a shared dissatisfaction made it possible. Williams had noticed that the two contingents were keen to do everything their own way. At every opportunity the redcoats from the 43rd marched at the quicker light infantry pace, their muskets held at trail rather than on the shoulder. The Black Watch responded by speaking Gaelic among themselves – even though there were a handful of Irish and English soldiers in their ranks. The number wearing kilts had increased to almost half, and Williams was baffled as to where they had found the tartan. Then he happened to notice that some of the men’s wives, who had formerly worn regimental skirts, were now wearing local brown cloth instead and the mystery was solved.
Williams also had two dozen men and a corporal drawn from convalescents released by the hospitals. The rivalry of the 42nd and 43rd and their deep suspicion of all outsiders had bonded these men into another distinct faction. As the only officer left to the company, he had to rely on his NCOs, especially when they deployed as skirmishers, for he could not be everywhere. At the moment he did not lead a company, but three hostile tribes.
‘You could split them up,’ suggested Pringle, when Williams asked his advice later that evening. ‘Mix ’em all together and so they cannot simply stay with their own.’
‘No. I thought of that, but cannot help thinking that the bond of the regiment is the strongest we have. They will fight better beside their comrades.’
‘Do you want me to send you Dobson? I have raised him to lance sergeant.’
‘Is he happy about doing a sergeant’s job for a corporal’s pay?’ asked Williams with a smile.
‘He did mention it. Then he said since no one was getting paid he supposed he would just have to get on with it. I suspect he was pleased – if only because the new Mrs Dobson is delighted.’
‘Again, thank you, but no. I suspect it would be a mistake to bring in anyone else from outside the company. Apart from which both of my sergeants would be senior.’
‘I am not sure mere seniority would prevent old Dob from making an impression on those around him,’ said Pringle wryly.
‘’Probably,’ and for a moment Williams was tempted to accept the offer. ‘No, it must be resolved within the company.’
‘Well, at least take some of Dobson’s advice. He has told this to me and I dare say to you as well, but there is no harm in saying it again. If you don’t know what you are doing then act as if you do. Play the part, and never for a moment even hint that you could imagine anyone not following you and jumping to every order.
‘Keep them busy, too.’
‘Oh, I shall most surely do that. There will be extra drill for the Light Company until we make a better show of forming, advancing and withdrawing to command. If they are discontented now, then wait until I have really worked them. After all, they do not need to like me.’
‘Spoken like a true tyrant,’ Pringle laughed.
When they trained he tried not to yell too much. Taking over from the sergeants and doing their job for them would not help. There was a slow improvement, and when Williams got permission from the colonel to expend cartridges in some live firing there was even a little excitement. He had them firing at paper targets at one hundred paces and let them shoot in competition as three groups. The Highlanders loaded more quickly, and to everyone’s surprise the convalescents scored the most bulls in the first round. They took a break to replace the targets and it was
clear that Rudden had harangued his men for they took the second session far more seriously. So did the other two groups, and the light infantrymen from the 43rd only narrowly scraped a victory in marksmanship.
Pritchard Jones was inspired to order a battalion sports day as a break from the normal routine. It added to the rivalries among the different contingents and introduced a new level of company competitiveness. Williams was pleased that his light bobs won more than their fair share of events. The culmination was a tug of war. They won the first two contests easily, and as a novelty it was decided that officers would take part in this, adding another stake to the rivalry. The struggle with the Grenadier Company was long and arduous, but ended when Pringle slipped and brought down Murphy, Dobson and several of the other key men. In the final, Williams’ men were soundly trounced by the disciplined skill of the Germans from the 60th.
The colonel bought barrels of wine at his own expense and the weary men ended the day in a cheerful mood. The men of the Light Company even took their drink off to sit together. The three groups remained distinct and did not mix to any extent, but at least there was a desire to set themselves aside from the rest of the battalion.
Williams kept driving them in the days that followed. There was more progress, but now he wished that the army would move. The prospect of action ought to give the men a stronger sense of the purpose of it all.
Hanley trotted past the Light Company as it trained, and saw Williams blowing a whistle so that half of the company jogged forward in pairs. MacAndrews had put them through the same drills in England almost a year ago. The realisation that he had been a soldier for a year surprised Hanley. It was getting harder and harder to imagine himself part of the world outside.
Williams spotted him and nodded, but then quickly returned to the practice. Hanley could not tarry to watch and nudged the horse with his heels to keep the tired animal in trot. Behind him
the corporal and his escort kept pace, knowing that they would soon be dismissed and back in the comforting world of the squadron.
Colonel Murray was waiting for him at headquarters.
‘Victor is retreating,’ said Hanley after he had drained two glasses of iced water. A servant brought him a brandy and he was sufficiently restored after the long ride to take pleasure in sipping it slowly. ‘He was desperately short of supplies and has petitioned King Joseph for weeks for permission to leave Merida.’ He handed Murray a copy of a letter from the marshal.