by Lynn Bryant
Paul laughed aloud and reached for her gloved hand, raising it to his lips with great formality. "And now you speak five languages, bully the local merchants in two countries and have an Earl languishing at your feet."
"Lord Wellington does not languish, he is far too busy," his wife said repressively. Their byplay had been noticed by a section of the crowd. The population were cheering wildly, with more and more of them running to hand flowers and fruit to the officers and men. At the head of the parade Lord Wellington's horse was already garlanded and its bridle and saddle decorated with offerings. As Paul and Anne rode past, a woman detached herself from the crowd. She was holding the hand of a boy of about six, a beautiful child with large dark eyes, dressed in Sunday best for the parade. She pushed him forward, a posy of flowers in his hand, but as he ran, one of the horses started up and the child stumbled in fright and fell hard onto the cobbles.
Anne looked over at Corporal Jenson, Paul's orderly. "Hold her," she said, and slid from Bella's back, passing him the reins. Paul reined in, waving to Major Swanson who commanded the 110th first battalion. "Carry on, Major, we'll catch up."
The boy was on his knees, both of them grazed and bloodied, trying hard not to cry so publicly when Anne reached him. She knelt, apparently indifferent to her riding dress in the dust.
"Are you hurt?" she asked quickly in Spanish.
His mother had reached him at the same time. The boy looked up into Anne's face and he looked startled as he took in her beauty. Anne lifted him gently to his feet, pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed blood from his knees.
"You have battle wounds of your own, Señor," she said gravely, and he looked down at his legs and then up into her face and laughed. His mother put her hand on his shoulder.
"You speak Spanish, Señora?"
"I do; my friend is Spanish, she taught me. You have a very handsome son, Señora, what is his name?"
"Diego," the woman said. "He is five."
"He is tall for five. And very brave – hardly a tear. Were these for the soldiers?"
Anne picked up the posy of white flowers and gently blew the dust from them. The child studied her.
"They were for you, Señora. Because you are so beautiful."
"Diego, thank you." Anne raised the posy to her face to smell. "So lovely. But if we are friends, there should be an exchange of gifts."
She reached up and detached one of the silk flowers from her hat, twisting the securing wire into a buttonhole which she carefully placed in the child's dark jacket. Diego looked down at it, astonished, and then up at Anne, his face transformed. Anne laughed and handed him the soiled handkerchief. "Keep this also for your war wounds. Thank you for these, they are beautiful."
She turned to find that Jenson had dismounted and was waiting, smiling, to lift her up. Behind her the woman said:
"Thank you, Señora. You have children?"
"Back in England. I miss them."
"May you see them soon, Señora." The dark eyes shifted to Paul. "Your husband is an officer?"
"A colonel. Who is going to be in trouble if we don't catch up with the rest of his brigade before we reach the square," Anne said with a smile. "Enjoy the day, Señora. Adios, Diego."
She turned back to Paul and heard for the first time an enormous swell of cheering around her as the crowd acknowledged the small drama. Slightly pink cheeked, she allowed Jenson to lift her into the saddle and looked at her husband.
"Better get a move on, Colonel, before he starts yelling."
"He won't mind today. You should have married royalty, Nan, you're very good at this."
"Any more remarks like that and I'll slap you," Anne said succinctly, kicking Bella into a trot to move back up the parade to the head of the 110th. "Although it was a good thing you made me wear this ghastly hat, it turned out to have its uses."
"I am so glad," Paul said politely. "Jenson, that fan does not suit your particular style of beauty."
"I thought it was my colour, sir. You dropped this, ma'am."
Anne reached over and took the fan. "Thank you, Jenson. I will undoubtedly lose it before the end of today anyway, but it's been surprisingly useful in this heat."
"Where did you get it from?" Paul asked.
"It was a gift from Don Julian," Anne said demurely, and her husband made a rude noise.
"And what in God's name is Julian Sanchez doing, sending my wife gifts?"
"I was seated next to him at dinner one evening, in Lord Wellington's tent. I think I've received some form of gift every day since, it's embarrassing. He said that he wishes to see me in a mantilla and will find me the best lace he can in Salamanca. Although he was struggling to decide if he thought black or white would suit me better."
"If he has the audacity to send you a mantilla of any colour, girl of my heart, I am going to punch him," Paul said forcefully. "Don't you already have a rather attractive one that I bought you in Lisbon?"
"I do. It is black. I did tell Don Julian that. He was quite poetic about the contrast of black lace against..."
"In a minute, I am going to throw you off that horse," Paul said explosively. Around him, those of his officers who could hear were laughing. The parade was clattering into the Plaza Mayor and Anne looked around her at the glorious array of Romanesque churches and associated buildings.
"This is so lovely," she said. "Paul, it is barely noon and you have already threatened me with violence twice, is it necessary? As for poor Don Julian..."
Paul had dismounted and moved forward to lift her from her horse. Across the square, Lord Wellington was standing on the cathedral steps, surrounded by his staff and an adoring plethora of Spanish, including half a dozen women who seemed to be vying to be close to him. Don Julian Sanchez, the Spanish guerrilla leader, was with him, a dark man in his thirties in a fur trimmed pelisse which must have been sweltering in the heat. Paul saw Wellington look over and Don Julian follow his gaze. He grinned and lifted Anne from her horse. As her feet touched the ground he pulled her close against him and kissed her with considerable enjoyment in a manner totally unsuitable in such a public place and in full view of the commander-in-chief.
"Colonel van Daan."
The precise German tones of the commander of the light division made him raise his head. Alten was standing before him, his eyebrows raised. Paul laughed and released Anne.
"My apologies, sir. Just making a point to Don Julian Sanchez about his exact position in relation to my wife. Shall we go in?"
"By all means," Alten said, offering his arm to Anne. "If I offer to escort her, are you likely to hit me?"
"No, sir, I trust you with her."
"I am not at all sure if that is a compliment or not," the Hanoverian said drily and Paul burst into laughter. They moved towards the steps of the Cathedral and Paul paused by his men, who were lined up neatly outside.
"Sergeant-Major Carter."
"Yes, sir?"
"You can stand them down. After this we go back to our billet to change and then I have to endure around five hours of bad food, long speeches and Don Julian bloody Sanchez trying to put his hand on my wife's leg under the table."
"Make a change from Lord Wellington doing it, sir."
"That is not helpful, Sergeant-Major. You've all got a night's leave in town but I want them back up to camp and sober by noon tomorrow or I'll be after them personally; make sure they know I mean that."
"I thought you needed to keep an eye on your wife, sir, in case she runs off with a Spaniard."
Paul regarded his sergeant-major frostily. "Your sense of humour is one of the many reasons I promoted you, Carter. Don't get too drunk."
"I won't, sir. I'm off to collect my wife and my daughter and I'm going to spend what's left of my pay. Teresa's dying to show me around, we're close to her childhood home here so she knew the city as a girl. I thought we could have supper in one of the taverns, take some time..."
Paul smiled. The marriage between his sergeant-major, a former pickpocket and cut-purse fro
m the slums of Southwark and his wife's Spanish maidservant who had been both a nun and a prostitute, seemed to be turning out very well. Paul was ridiculously sentimental about Carter's obvious devotion to his wife. He fished into his pocket and took out two coins.
"On me," he said.
Carter looked down at the money and then up at Paul and smiled. "That's more than even a Spanish innkeeper can charge, sir."
"Spend the rest on a gift for your lass, Danny. Christ knows she earns it."
"I'm not that bad, sir. Hammond is going into town tonight but he'll be back up and sober tomorrow, he'll chase up any stragglers."
"Carry on then, Sergeant-Major. Oh Jesus Christ, can I not trust Charles Alten to do anything? He's let Wellington get hold of my wife."
Carter was laughing. "Go and rescue her, sir. Thank you."
Paul marched up the steps to where Lord Wellington was placing Anne's hand onto his arm and saluted. "Did you enjoy that, sir?"
"No," his commander in chief said briefly. "Any more than you did. And I am sorry, Colonel, but I am borrowing your wife for a while, I need protection."
Paul glanced at the Spanish ladies, who had withdrawn to take their places in the congregation, and suppressed a smile. "There's a fee, sir. If we're marching out in a day or so, I'd like a few hours off with her tomorrow, I need to take her shopping." Paul looked over at at Sanchez, whose dark eyes were fixed on Anne's lovely face. "I thought I might buy her a mantilla in white, since she already has a black one. And perhaps a new fan."
Lord Wellington met his eyes in with a gleam of amusement. "As you wish, Colonel. Come my dear. I see that you are wearing my brooch. It looks charming on that jacket."
He moved ahead with Anne towards the cathedral and Paul looked around at Major Carl Swanson who commanded the first battalion of the 110th and was his closest friend. "I bloody hate him sometimes," he said. "Come on, let's get this over with."
The dinner dragged on endlessly with toasts and speeches in several languages which made Paul long to escape to the camp fires outside town with a bottle of wine and the scurrilous wit of Corporal Dawson of his light company. Paul was seated too far from Anne to do more than exchange despairing glances with her. Anne looked back, smiling, not breaking off her animated conversation with the two middle aged Spanish dignitaries between whom she was seated. Anne was a natural linguist and had learned both Spanish and Portuguese since she had arrived in Lisbon three years earlier. Paul had always been slightly envious of her ability to study a subject and stick to it; he had the intelligence but not always the application, although his own language skills had improved immeasurably because of his dislike of being outdone by a slip of a girl nine years his junior.
Paul watched his wife through the interminable meal, replying to the voluble Spanish lady beside him when necessary and enjoying the sight of Anne, beautiful in a gown of black lace over a matching underskirt which she had had made for her in Elvas several months ago. Anne's wardrobe was, of necessity, very limited and Paul sometimes wished he could spoil her as much as she deserved. The problem was not money; he came from a wealthy family and could afford to be very generous with his gifts. But Anne's limited interest in fashion combined with the practical need to keep her baggage to a minimum, meant that she attended every headquarters party in the same gown. Anne clearly did not care and from the expression on the face of her dinner partner, who was almost drooling over her, neither did her Spanish hosts.
It was evening by the time Wellington was able to take his leave, and the air was cooler, still warm but with a very slight breeze. Paul collected his wife and led her outside to wait for their horses on the steps of the civic building. Lord Wellington had emerged and was awaiting his carriage, talking to Colonel Fitzroy Somerset, his young ADC. Catching sight of Paul and Anne he beckoned, and Paul approached and saluted. Wellington bowed to Anne.
"Did you enjoy the celebrations, ma'am?"
"Very much, sir. The cathedral is beautiful, and these buildings..." Anne looked up towards the darkening sky, indicating the graceful lines of colleges and churches on the skyline. "One day I should love to spend some time here, seeing it properly."
"I wish I could oblige you now, ma'am. Sadly, I think we must be on the road tomorrow or the following day. Are your men ready, Colonel?"
Paul thought about the probable condition of his men at present, in the taverns and brothels of Salamanca, and kept his expression neutral. "Absolutely, sir," he said instantly.
Wellington's blue eyes gleamed with amusement. "I wonder if I should send the provost marshals into town this evening?" he said. "Just to make sure we have no strays."
"I wouldn't, sir," Paul said, seriously. "The sixth division are definitely out on a spree and they've had a difficult couple of weeks trying to storm those forts. I'd give them their head for an evening, they'll do better on the march if they feel they've had a holiday. If you wish, I'll send my light company down, they'll keep an eye on things and make sure nothing is getting out of hand and that our men are paying their way."
Wellington looked as though he could not decide how to respond to such blatant mendacity. Eventually he simply shook his head. "I will have my eye on them when we march, Colonel."
"Thanks for the warning, sir, we like to know when to expect you. Where next?"
Paul was not sure if his chief would answer. Wellington always kept his plans very close to his chest, but during the past weeks, Paul knew that he was genuinely unsure. He wanted to bring the French to battle and had set out from Portugal with just that intention but he was also very conscious of the importance of keeping the various French armies separated. A swift joining of forces from various parts of the Peninsula could leave the Allied army hopelessly outnumbered.
Paul thought that such a French combination was unlikely. He had been fighting under Wellington in Portugal and Spain for four years now and he knew that rivalry and jealousy between the various French commanders had more than once saved Wellington's smaller army from possible annihilation. In May, Wellington had sent Sir Rowland Hill with his second division, to destroy the pontoon bridge across the Tagus at Almaraz, effectively separating the armies of Marmont and Soult. Hill's assault had been successful and Wellington had decided that Marmont should be the target of his planned attack.
Wellington was silent for a long time. Finally, he said:
"We'll go where the Marshal goes, Colonel. Towards the Duero, my sources tell me. General Alten has my orders."
"Yes, sir," Paul said. He could see the horses approaching, led by Jenson and the stocky, dark haired figure of Anne's new groom. Isair Costa had been groom and orderly to Captain Juan Peso who had commanded one of Paul's Portuguese companies and who had died in the horror of Badajoz. Paul missed the cheerful young officer from Oporto who had helped him learn Portuguese and joined in fencing lessons with some of Paul's other young officers and he was glad that Anne had found a place for Costa. She had never employed a groom before but her experiences in the hands of the French earlier in the year had left both her and Paul slightly jumpy and he hoped that Costa's solid presence at her heels whenever she went out would help her to feel safe again.
"This may not be the easiest campaign for a lady, Colonel."
Both Paul and Anne turned to stare at the commander-in-chief. Wellington's dislike of having wives with the army was well known, but it had been a long time since he had shown any sign of objecting to Anne. Paul opened his mouth to say something, and felt his wife kick him painfully in the ankle. He closed it again and Anne smiled charmingly at Wellington.
"Do you think I should remain in Salamanca, my lord?"
Wellington looked surprised. "No, ma'am. Not without your husband."
"Sir, I am sorry, but I don't think I can face the thought of a journey to Lisbon without him. Not after last time."
Paul clamped his mouth shut so hard that his jaw ached. He could not quite believe that his wife had just used the horror of her ordeal so blatantly, but th
e effect was extraordinary. Wellington's expressive face flushed and he reached for Anne's hand and raised it to his lips.
"Ma'am, my humblest apologies. I was thinking aloud, nothing more. You must know that I would not ask you to do anything that might make you feel unsafe. My concern is always for your comfort and security, I am an ass to have spoken without thinking."
"I know, sir, I'm very grateful. I'll try not to be a trouble to you."
"You never are," Wellington said warmly.
"I had a letter from Murray yesterday," Paul said, searching desperately for an alternative topic of conversation before he began to laugh.
"I had one myself. Damned nuisance, him not being here. I miss him."
Paul grinned. General Murray, Wellington's long time quartermaster-general had gone home on leave, and Wellington had received the news that he had been given a post in Ireland and would be replaced by Sir James Willoughby Gordon who was on his way to join the army. Paul knew nothing of the new man apart from rumours that he had been given the posting at the request of the Duke of York, whom he had previously served as military secretary. Wellington did not always enjoy easy relations with his staff but he had come to trust Murray and Paul, who had once spent a few agonising months assisting the quartermasters' department in winter quarters, had enormous respect for Murray's organisational talent and immovable calm.
"Sir James will do fine, sir," he said soothingly.
"It is to be hoped that your optimism is justified, Colonel, or I will not hesitate to second you to his staff to bring him up to scratch," Wellington snapped. "It is ridiculous the number of men I am losing; they are constantly asking for leave. Murray has gone, I'm losing Picton and Graham..."
"Sir, that is not fair. Picton's wound has broken open three times, he needs time for it to heal and he won't get it out here. And poor Graham is going to go blind if that eye infection doesn't clear up. You'll have Cole back, you like him. As for Picton's division..."
"Picton wants me to give it to my brother-in-law," Wellington said.
"I'd take his advice, sir, he knows what he's doing."