An Untrustworthy Army

by Lynn Bryant

  "Nan, stand still, for God's sake, and let me look at you," Daniels was saying, as Paul reached them. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

  "No," Anne said. Her eyes were looking past Paul into the water, and as Daniels let her go, thinking she was about to move into Paul's arms, she moved instead to a shape in the water and Paul understood suddenly what had happened to the French hussar. The hussar lay dead; either Simon or Michael had killed him before he regained his feet, and beside him, in a sodden mass, lay Anne's shaggy grey and white dog.

  "Craufurd. Come on boy, don't you dare die on me, not after this," Anne was saying. She was lifting the dog's head out of the water into her lap, frantically searching through the thick fur for a pulse. Paul turned and scanned the opposite bank, then swore.

  "Bloody hell, they've infantry coming down. As though this day could get any fucking worse. Captain O'Reilly."

  "Sir."

  "You are a hero. Get your men over here and get all these wagons and that carriage across the river. If possible, round up the mules, none of them have gone far. We need those bloody supplies or we're all going to die of starvation before we get to safety; I don't agree with Wellington's habit of abandoning all our stores every five minutes, it's fucking madness in these conditions. Get them over, up that bank, and to a safe place, I don't care where. And then you can start collecting our people together and feed them, if you can. And if any of those wagons aren't ours, take them anyway, it serves the stupid bastards right for not looking after them."

  "Right away, sir." Michael turned, calling orders to his men and Paul turned to Simon Carlyon.

  "Mr Carlyon, you are also a hero. Get back over to Colonel Wheeler, thank him for saving my wife's life with his muskets, and tell him to hold them off until the rest of the baggage wagons are over. He'll have to make a fighting retreat over the ford when it's clear. Tell him he's at liberty to kick those cowardly bastards from the seventh in the river if they get in his way."

  "Yes, sir." Carlyon took off, splashing through the shallows, and Paul turned to Anne. Craufurd had revived and was choking violently, coughing muddy water into Anne's lap.

  "I see he's alive, bonny lass."

  "Yes, but he's struggling to get up." Anne raised a white face to his, and the misery in her eyes broke Paul's heart. "I think the horse kicked him. Paul, please."

  Paul hesitated for a moment. He knew that it was madness, and that he should to get back to his men, to be sure they had made it over the upper fords, but he could not, at this moment, add to Anne's suffering. General Alten was in command and Carl had his men and he trusted both of them.

  "Oliver, will you and Gibbons and Garrett help her over and up the bank. As soon as Michael gets that carriage up, I want you inside it, Nan, well out of firing range."

  Anne met his eyes and he saw tears overflow, running down her already wet cheeks. "Thank you," she whispered. "You promise?"

  "If I can, Nan. Get moving. I love you."

  Paul watched her go, then looked over at the other bank where Johnny was marshalling his men to face the oncoming French infantry. Then he looked down at Craufurd.

  The dog looked back up at him with huge brown eyes. As Paul bent, he struggled in the water, managing to pull himself up, but when he tried to move, his back legs gave way. Paul had no idea if a leg was broken and if the dog could survive the injury, but he was not prepared to break his word to Anne. Bending, he lifted the dog up and onto his shoulder.

  Craufurd yelped in pain and struggled for a moment. Paul held him, as if carrying a young child, hoping his body would soothe the animal. To his relief, after a moment, the dog seemed to relax in his arms. He was heavier because of the weight of water in his shaggy fur, but he did not fight as Paul splashed his way over to the bank. It was difficult to climb out and he was thankful when hands reached to help him, and several officers and men from the seventh division hauled him up to more level ground.

  "Sir - is that a dog you're carrying?"

  Paul turned to glare at the young lieutenant. "No, it's a fucking elephant, lieutenant. And yes, I'm carrying him because he can't walk, because he picked up an injury saving the life of my wife, with more courage and a lot more brain than your bunch of lily-livered cowards. Our people are all across, get your men down there to help haul those wagons and animals up this bank, or your name is going to be on Lord Wellington's desk in a few days time, with a recommendation that you be court-martialled for dereliction of duty. Where did they go?"

  Paul found his wife at the centre of a group of crying women. Daniels had found an area of raised ground beneath a few cork oak trees and the earth was damp but not as boggy as some of the lower ground. All around them the men of the army were settling into sodden misery. He could still hear the booming of the French guns as they searched for the range to do some damage to the final retreat and to the men waiting for daylight on the far bank.

  Paul lowered Craufurd very carefully to the grass and the dog lay still, not moving, but still breathing and alert. Paul straightened and looked for his wife, and Anne broke away from Teresa's embrace and came into his arms. She was soaked and cold and shivering and Paul kissed her for a long time.

  "Oh love, what a bloody nightmare," he murmured. "I hope you'll be all right, you're freezing, and I've not a dry blanket to give you."

  "I know. It's all right, Paul. Look, they're bringing up the carriage. And some of the men are trying to get a fire going. At least it's not raining."

  Paul kissed her again. "I want to stay with you," he said. "But I can't, I need to get back to my men. Oliver, thank you for what you did back there. You too Garrett and Gibson. You weren't even armed, that was incredibly brave. I'm leaving her in your care; I'll rejoin you later, once the crossing is complete."

  "We'll look after her, sir."

  Craufurd barked suddenly. Anne turned to look at him, and Paul realised, in considerable surprise, that the dog was sitting up. He barked again, and Anne dropped to her knees in the mud and put her arms around him, kissing his soaked, shaggy head.

  "You're going to be all right," she whispered. "You saved my life, and that of my baby, you silly, oversized hound. We will get you settled by the fire and in the morning, Oliver will help me get you into that carriage. You are going to make it. I am determined that you will."

  Paul could feel himself smiling, tears behind his eyes. He stooped and kissed Anne's wet cheek, running his hand over Craufurd's ears. "Best listen to her, lad," he said. "She's never wrong. Try and get some rest, bonny lass. I'll be back as soon as I can."

  ***

  There was little sleep to be had that night. At approximately one in the morning, Wellington circulated orders throughout the central column that the march was to resume before dawn. Most of Paul's brigade had come in during the night, often straggling in small groups, searching through the mass of the army for the rest of their comrades. It was impossible to do a full head count or check for losses. There had been heavy fighting for the light division on both the upper and lower fords, but surprisingly few deaths.

  Paul had been astonished, when he joined his men well after dark, to find that several blazing fires were giving off a good heat, and a smell of slightly burned meat filled the air. He searched for his wife and found her seated beside one of the fires, feeding scraps to Craufurd, who was curled up beside her. The fire was drying her clothing and one of the women had constructed a makeshift clothes horse out of branches, which had Anne's blue cloak and Teresa's grey one spread out to dry.

  Paul bent to kiss Anne and lowered himself to the damp grass beside her. "Where did the feast come from?" he enquired, bewildered.

  "Bullocks, sir," Sergeant-Major Carter informed him, passing a mess tin. "Several wagons went over in the fords and the beasts didn't get up. They belonged to the fifth division, I think, but they just cut the traces and salvaged what they could from the wagons. Sergeant Kelly got some of the 112th down there to haul them up here. It's a bit tough, but very tasty, and we've fed the
brigade with them."

  Paul began to eat, forcing himself not to bolt the food down. "Where's Jenson?" he asked, suddenly realising that there was no sign of his orderly."

  "He'll be back soon, sir," Sergeant Hammond said. "He's just taken some of the grooms for a bit of a midnight stroll."

  Paul stared at him, the food half way to his mouth. "Grazing?" he breathed.

  "Yes, sir. Captain Fallon and Lieutenant Wynne-Smythe went exploring as soon as we were settled. This area is too muddy and churned up to be of much use, but they found a couple of fields with some grass. It means we can hold on to the last of our fodder for the march tomorrow. It got a bit wet in the river, could do with drying out."

  "At least the rain has stopped," Paul said. He passed his empty tin to Hammond and reached for Anne's hand, raising it to his lips. "How are you feeling, girl of my heart? I've been worried sick about you."

  "I'm fine, Paul. Better for some food. Jenson tells me we'll be able to use the carriage tomorrow, with the horses properly grazed tonight. I'm going to pretend to be a lady and rest as much as I can. I'll have good company."

  She scratched Craufurd's ear and the big dog shifted with a sigh of contentment, stretching his paws out towards the blaze. Paul laughed and eased the dog back a little.

  "Don't you dare set fire to yourself, you daft animal, after I abandoned my duty and put my back out carrying you to safety."

  Craufurd turned his head and licked Paul's hand and Paul ruffled his ears. "You lie there and enjoy it, lad," he said. "It's going to be a while before I start threatening you again."

  "He was so brave," Anne said. "Michael said that he literally took that hussar out of the saddle."

  "He did," Paul said, running his fingers through Craufurd's tangled fur. "Grabbed him by the arm. Once he was off the horse, there was no way he was getting up again. Leo tells me that Simon Carlyon well-nigh took his head off. Good day's work, as well, going after a woman like that."

  "It wasn't the first time," Captain Manson said, settling down on the other side of Paul. Like Anne he was beginning to dry out in the heat of the fire and Paul was amused to see that his hair was drying in odd, spiky clumps, making him look like a slightly menacing hedgehog. Paul had noticed that recently, Manson had abandoned the army tradition of long hair, tied back, in favour of a short style similar to his own. Paul wondered if he currently looked equally as demented and was glad he had no mirror to tell him.

  "What do you mean?" Paul asked.

  Manson reached into his coat for his flask and passed it to Paul. "I was talking to Cadell from the 28th and he tells me that the Polish lancers cut down a few of the women who had fallen behind at Matilla. And when they captured part of a baggage train on its way from Madrid, they took a number of women with it, got drunk and raped several of them. A couple of the men got away afterwards, and reported that the only way the French commander could stop it was to set up a false alarm of an attack."

  Paul glanced over at Anne, knowing that Manson's story would bring back painful memories of her own ordeal. Anne's lovely face was pensive in the firelight as she stroked Craufurd's nose. "War can turn men into brutes," she said quietly. "Look at our own men, in Badajoz. And that child that Michael seems to have adopted was abused by English soldiers. I don't excuse any of it, Paul. But I'm telling you that the second hussar, who was shot down, was not going to attack when he saw me properly and realised I was pregnant. It's a pity the seventh shot the wrong one."

  "It's a pity the seventh didn't do their job from the start," Paul said caustically. "Where in God's name is Johnny? They should have been back hours ago."

  "The firing only stopped about thirty minutes ago, sir," Manson said. Craufurd had wriggled his way closer to the fire again and was idly chewing on the sleeve of Anne's pelisse. "It'll be slow going, making the crossing in the dark, you can't see a thing and there's no moon."

  "I think I'll walk down there, see if I can see them."

  "Don't," Anne said.

  Paul looked round at her in surprise. She had seemed completely calm after her ordeal in the river; more concerned about her dog than herself and the child she carried. He realised suddenly that he might well have got that wrong, and he shifted closer to her and drew her into his arms.

  "I'm going nowhere unless I have to, Nan. You are so brave, sometimes; I take it for granted. You must have been terrified out there."

  He felt her snuggle into him with a little sound of happiness. "There wasn't time to think about it, Paul. I just reacted."

  "I'm often the same in battle," Paul admitted. "But Christ, Nan, you were quick with that horse, it was a stroke of genius. It bought some time for the men to reach you."

  "It bought time for Craufurd to reach me," Anne said. "Charlie had him on the leash on the bank but he broke away."

  Craufurd appeared to hear his name. He turned his head and then sat up, looking around.

  "Down, boy," Paul said. "You need the rest."

  Craufurd looked at him and twitched his eyebrows meaningfully. Then to Paul's surprise he stood up and walked a few careful steps before settling back down against Anne's other side.

  "He walked," Anne said in delight, reaching out to caress the dog's ears. "Well done, Craufurd. Clever boy."

  "I don't think he's broken anything," Paul said reaching over her to run his hand over the dog's injured leg. "Keep him in the carriage anyway, though, I..."

  "Men coming up, sir," Carter called. "Think it's the 112th and the rest of the 115th."

  "Thank God for that," Paul said, getting to his feet. "What in God's name have they been doing down there, having a midnight swim? I..."

  He broke off as the men climbing the steep rise came into view. They were not marching in line. They came in groups, some helping injured comrades along. All were dripping and walked with the leaden steps of exhausted men, driven beyond their endurance. Around the fires, men were getting up to make room for them, helping them to sit down and in some cases to lie on the damp grass. Paul was scanning their ranks frantically for Johnny or Gervase Clevedon or Pat Corrigan.

  "Sir."

  Paul ran forward. Major Clevedon was soaked to the skin, covered in mud and bleeding from a savage gash down his left cheek. He looked as though he could barely put one foot in front of the other, but it was the expression in his eyes in the firelight that chilled Paul.

  "Major, what happened?"

  "Gervase, come and sit down, and have something to drink," Anne interrupted him. "You can talk at the same time."

  "Ma'am, I can't. I need to tell you." Clevedon's voice told Paul that it was going to be bad. He put a hand on his friend's arm.

  "Gervase, breathe. She's right, come and sit. We've managed tea although there's no milk or sugar. Sergeant-Major, make sure the rest of the men are fed, as far as we can."

  "Yes, sir."

  Paul looked at Major Clevedon, who lowered himself wearily to sit beside the fire. Manson passed him a cup without speaking and Gervase drank.

  "Is this all of them, Gervase?"

  "Probably not," Gervase said. "They're still coming in, will be for a while, I hope. I've brought about three quarters of them back, but we couldn't search any more for the rest, it was too dark up there, and it was alerting their infantry to where we were. So I don't know. We lost about ten dead from the 112th, they were cut down by the cavalry. And about another twenty were taken prisoner. Not sure about the 115th. I know Captain Lewis was taken, about half a dozen of his men and I think one of his officers - it might have been Carlyon."

  "Oh no," Anne said.

  "I'm sorry, ma'am. Witham says he didn't see him fall, but he's not here. He might still make it back."

  "Major, what happened? You were supposed to be covering the last of the baggage wagons coming over and then retreating."

  "We did," Clevedon said, bitterly. "But the rest of the divisions who crossed at the other fords must have made it over ahead of us. We were holding off the infantry coming from the
woods and Colonel Wheeler had called them in ready to make a fighting retreat over the ford. All of a sudden there were hussars, coming up the bank, I think they'd cut down from the other ford. Then they began shelling us; they'd shifted some of the guns to the top of the slope above us. They can't have been able to see much in the end, but it didn't matter, they'd got the range. We were trapped between the infantry, the cavalry and the artillery.

  "Oh fuck," Paul breathed. He was afraid to ask the question but he knew he needed to. "Gervase, where's Johnny?"

  "I don't know," Clevedon said honestly. "Paul, I'm hoping to God he's been taken prisoner. Like Carlyon, nobody saw him go down, but he stayed to the end, trying to make sure they all got out."

  "How did you get out?" Paul asked. He was trying to visualise the lay of the land, but it was difficult, he could only really imagine the section of the river that his own men had defended. "Is there another ford?"

  "Do I look like I crossed by a ford?" Clevedon said with some asperity, accepting a mess tin from Corporal Cooper. "Thanks, Coops. I suppose it was a ford, or we wouldn't have made it, but I doubt it shows on a map as one. Johnny took us back up into the trees, which got us out of the firing line of the guns, at least. We made our way upwards, skirmishing the whole way, and eventually reached the river where it falls down into a deepish gorge. You couldn't get horses across it. Reminded me a bit of the Coa, to be honest. But without the bridge, and a bit deeper."

  "You went across that? In the dark?"

  "Not much choice. The colonel gave the order to make their own way across and get back here as we could. It was a bastard of a climb in the dark, we had to feel our way. A few men fell. Not sure if they made it. Most of the lads abandoned their packs and muskets at that point."

  "Those can be replaced." Paul was studying his friend's face. "There's something else," he said, and suddenly knew what it was. "Gervase, where's Pat Corrigan?"