An Untrustworthy Army

by Lynn Bryant

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wellington led off the central column of his army before dawn. Paul's brigade had spent a better night than many, and with most of the horses and pack animals fed, at least a little, they were able to make slightly better progress than many of the other divisions. Progress was still very slow; the country did not make marching easy. The landscape was covered with shrubs and dwarf oaks and the tracks were narrow and still very muddy, although for the first time in what seemed like weeks, a cold, bright sun lit the sky.

  Surprisingly there was no sign of the French. Wellington had expected pursuit to continue at dawn and the light division had stood in grim readiness to defend the rest of the army as it set off on the last leg of the journey. The attack did not come, and apart from a few pickets and some distant cavalry, keeping watch, the enemy made no attempt to engage. Paul thought it was just as well, given that the rest of his column were desperately slow to move off, making Paul long to ride up to the first division and explain to General Sir William Stewart how to manage his troops.

  Paul had quickly lost faith in his Spanish guide and with the horses a little recovered after a night's rest and some grazing, he sent out scouts of his own. He had been delighted to discover, during the previous day's skirmishing and endless waiting on the river banks, that one of his former officers and now a member of the corps of guides, Captain Giles Fenwick, had joined Wellington's army and was marching with the headquarters staff. Fenwick had been acting as an exploring officer for eighteen months now and knew the Spanish countryside as well as many of the locals. He joined Paul on the march and spent his time in the saddle scouting ahead along with his Spanish guide, Antonio, returning with a wealth of useful information.

  "You can't take horses and pack animals that way, sir," Fenwick said, bringing his horse to a walk beside Paul's. "Christ knows what this guide has been drinking, but he should cut back. There's a stream about a mile ahead which is very deep. The first brigade is using a fallen tree to get across, to avoid leaving too big a gap, but they're searching for another path for the horses. I've sent Antonio ahead, he'll find the best route."

  "Captain Fenwick, you're invaluable. I'll slow them all down and wait for more information. Have you informed General Alten?"

  "He was there, sir, I've spoken to him and told him I'll let him know the best route for the baggage. How is Mrs van Daan; I heard what happened yesterday?"

  "She seems surprisingly well, although very tired today. We're keeping the horses fed and trusting you to find us the best route to Ciudad Rodrigo before the fodder runs out; she's promised she'll stay in the carriage."

  "With her dog, sir?" Fenwick said innocently.

  Paul rolled his eyes. "Winter quarters is going to dine out on the story of me carrying my wife's dog out of the line of fire, isn't it?"

  "Personally, I enjoyed the part where you compared the stalwarts of the 68th unfavourably to that carpet on legs. Will he be all right?"

  "I think he will. One of the horses kicked him, but he's able to walk now although it clearly hurts. He'd better be, because I can't separate him from Nan at the moment."

  Fenwick studied him. "I'm sorry about Colonel Wheeler, sir. I hope he's all right. And Major Corrigan. It was bloody awful; most of the other divisions got off pretty lightly."

  "Most of my brigade did; I only lost one man from the 110th," Paul said. "I've heard nothing yet about the colonel, I'm hoping he's a prisoner, in which case we'll hear. Young Simon Carlyon, Nan's brother-in-law is missing as well. It's the oddest thing, I've never had an officer taken prisoner before, I don't know much about the procedure for getting information, but Lord Wellington has already heard from Paget, so I'm hoping we'll have news in a day or two. Giles, thank you for today, you've been a huge help."

  The long day dragged on for Wellington's exhausted army. The cavalry was suffering badly, their horses dying or having to be shot when they could go no further; in some regiments there were more men without horses than with. Three of the officers' horses in Paul's brigade had collapsed during the march, all older animals, and several mules had also had to be shot.

  Worse than the animals, were the men. Following behind the other divisions, Paul became accustomed to the sight of men lying dead of hunger, cold or sickness by the roadside. His men no longer stopped to check each one, unless it was obvious that a man still lived. Paul was agonisingly aware that he could not save every fallen man and he chose to hoard the small amount of supplies he still carried for his own men and horses. There was still no sign of the missing commissariat wagons, but Wellington had been informed that they had apparently taken the wrong route.

  Wellington rode with the light division for some time, and Anne emerged from the carriage for an hour to ride beside him. Paul thought that his commander-in-chief looked white and drawn, but Anne's presence seemed to cheer him up. Paul rode on his other side as Anne told him what had happened during the crossing of the river. She kept it light-hearted, dwelling on the heroic conduct of her dog and failing to mention the unheroic conduct of the seventh division. Wellington heard the story to the end and turned a severe eye onto Paul.

  "In future, Colonel, I think it would be best if your wife's carriage travelled with mine. She should not be travelling with the baggage wagons and the camp followers; it is completely unsuitable."

  Paul suppressed a number of remarks along with a grin. "Thank you, sir, that is good of you. I am hoping not to find ourselves in this particular situation again."

  "As am I, Colonel. What is it, March?"

  "My apologies, sir, it appears there is a problem."

  Wellington regarded his ADC glumly. "You astonish me, March. Pray, elucidate."

  "It's the first division, sir."

  "What of it?"

  "Also the seventh. And the fifth."

  "March, I am aware of the existence of these divisions," Wellington said in glacial tones. "As yet, I am ignorant of the problem."

  "The are missing, sir. Gone astray."

  Wellington reined in, and Paul and Anne did the same. "Missing?" Wellington said. "Are you telling me, we have lost three divisions of my army, March?"

  Lord March wilted under his chief's glare. "Not exactly, sir. It's just that they've gone a different way. Not this way. And it appears they are being followed by French cavalry."

  "This is the way they were instructed to travel," Wellington said. He sounded like a man who had reached the end of his tether, and Paul, who generally rather enjoyed his commander's explosions, felt a tug of sympathy. Wellington both looked and sounded completely exhausted.

  "Look, sir, things are going well here. Do you want me to go and find out...?"

  "No!" Wellington shouted, and both Paul and Anne jumped; it was unheard of for the commander to raise his voice to such a degree. "You will remain here with your brigade, Colonel, and take care of your wife. March, have we any idea where they have gone?"

  "Up towards the Yeltes, I believe, sir."

  "That road is impassable," Wellington said. "There is a reason why I instructed this column to take a particular route. It is impossible for me to trust my generals, when they persist in disobeying the simplest order."

  Anne looked over to where Corporal Jenson was riding. "Jenson, Lord Wellington must leave us, I am afraid. Before he goes, will you bring the last of the cold beef from last night; it will not keep. And there is half a bottle of the wine left."

  Wellington looked at her. "Ma'am, you will not give your food away to me."

  "I am well supplied, my lord." Anne met his gaze, and Paul recognised steel clashing against steel. "You would make me happy by eating and drinking before you leave. Otherwise, I will spend the day worrying about you which is not at all good for me."

  Wellington visibly melted, and took the food and wine from Jenson. He ate, while March waited with obvious impatience, then drank some wine and handed the flask to Anne. "I insist," he said. "It will do you good."

  Anne drank. "Take care, s
ir," she said.

  Paul watched as his chief cantered away, and reached for the flask to finish the wine. "Well done, bonny lass, I'd never have got food into him, and he bloody needs it," he said. "All the same, I would not be in the shoes of Generals Stewart, Dalhousie and Oswald for the riches of the East. Of course, I could have pointed out that if he had told them the reason for that order, they'd be more likely to have obeyed it. But it didn't seem like the right moment."

  His wife gave him a sidelong look. "I'm glad you realised that," she said. "I'm feeling unaccountably fragile today, I don't think I would have been able to stand listening to you two yelling at each other."

  "I suspect it would have moved very quickly from yelling to court martial this week, girl of my heart. Come on, it's time you went back into the carriage. Craufurd will be missing you."

  ***

  Crossing the Huebra was agony. The water was high, and although Johnny had crossed many fords higher than this during his career, he had never done so with a serious leg wound and a mass of bruises from half falling down the ravine. He wondered, dragging himself through the freezing rushing water, if he was getting old. At thirty-seven, he had always considered himself physically very fit but he currently felt closer to eighty than forty.

  He would not have made it without Simon Carlyon. The younger man made the crossing twice, firstly on his own to test the ford and to carry his looted pack and musket over. Johnny approved the thought; it would be difficult enough, without trying to keep the weapon dry. He had also insisted on taking Johnny's army great coat, and had left it spread out over a bush in the hope that it would dry a little. Johnny, perched uncomfortably on a rock, watched him wade waist high through the icy torrent and dreaded moving.

  It was as bad as he had expected, possible worse. His arm about Simon's shoulders, Johnny limped painfully into the river, gasping at the cold. Initially, the shock of the freezing water took away the pain, then as he tried to move, he felt the pull of the water dragging at his weak leg, and he would have overbalanced and been swept away had Simon not held onto him grimly with both arms about him.

  "Stand still for a minute, sir, catch your breath."

  Johnny realised he had actually been holding his breath and he let it out slowly, not surprised to see it clouding in the cold air. He had not thought he could feel colder than he had during his miserable night at the foot of the cliff, huddled in his wet coat, wondering if he was going to die of exposure before morning, but he suspected he had been wrong. It was difficult to move his leg, but he did so, gritting his teeth and trying not to yell with pain. Slowly, step by step, he made his way out into the water. The stones under his boots were slippery, but Simon held him steady and did not try to rush him, although Johnny thought he must have been desperately cold, moving so slowly.

  At its deepest, the water was almost chest high before the ground rose again and finally, after what seemed hours, they were staggering through the shallows. Johnny could feel his leg giving way, but Simon grabbed him and hauled him upright.

  "Not here," he gasped. "Too close to the water. Just a few more yards, sir, up here."

  He half dragged Johnny to the bottom of the slope, and Johnny understood why. An enormous rock formation, probably created by a cliff fall many years ago, had constructed a natural cave, its opening pointing down river, out of the biting wind. Simon had placed his pack and musket in the sheltered spot and he eased Johnny to sit down with his back against the rocks. Going to the pack, he shook out two thin army blankets and tucked them around Johnny, rather as if he had been a child.

  "Stay there and rest for a bit, sir. It's a fairly good breeze, I'm hoping your coat will dry a little."

  "We need to get moving."

  "You need to recover or you can't move at all. I'm going to try to find some food."

  "Here?" Johnny said, somewhat scathingly.

  "Up there," Simon said, pointing up the slope. "Rock rabbits. I saw them hopping about the first time I crossed. When we were children, my brother and I used to catch rabbits sometimes, using our hats, and I've seen the men do it over here. I'm hoping I've not lost the knack."

  Simon broke off abruptly, realising what he had just said. The stricken expression on his face flooded Johnny with guilt. He was suddenly furious that this boy should have been placed in such a miserable position because of an accident of birth that left him related to a man like Robert Carlyon.

  "I'll be back as soon..."

  "Mr Carlyon, stop a minute. We can't leave it there," Johnny said. His leg felt as though it was being ripped apart, and he was conscious too of a soreness in his ribs which might have been due to the fall. "If we do make it out of here, it could take days, with me in this state. I really do appreciate what you're doing for me, even if I doubt the wisdom of it. You're a stubborn young bastard. But you shouldn't have to tiptoe around my feelings about your brother on top of that. He was your brother. What happened later in life doesn't affect your childhood memories, and you are not to feel guilty about saying his name. And that is, by the way, an order, from a very senior officer."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Do you have a tinderbox in that pack of yours?"

  "Two, sir, my own and one I found. Not sure which is drier."

  "Hand them both over, and get some wood before you go hunting. There are enough fallen trees around here, and it's quite sheltered. I might not be much use, but I can get a fire going. In fact, I'm known for the skill, I spent a fair bit of my army career taking the tinderbox out of the hands of Colonel van Daan in his younger days, before he threw it at somebody; he has no patience with it. Thank God he's got Jenson, or he'd have starved."

  The little anecdote surprised a laugh out of Simon. "I can't imagine the colonel as a young subaltern," he admitted.

  "It was an experience for all of us, believe me. Happy hunting, Mr Carlyon."

  Both the fire and the hunting were successful. Simon returned with two rabbits and a pigeon, and they burned their fingers trying to eat the meat quickly.

  "When did you last eat?" Johnny asked.

  "Yesterday, I'd a couple of biscuits left. You?"

  "Yesterday morning, I think. I'm rather losing track. This is good, Lieutenant. You keep this up, we might actually make it."

  "We're going to make it, sir," Simon said, and Johnny laughed at the determination in his voice.

  "Do you have something to do when you get back, then, lad? What's her name?"

  Simon grinned. "I wish," he said. "I've not had much time for romance these last few years, apart from Valentina, which didn't end well. And besides..."

  He broke off, and Johnny made a guess.

  "Don't let Robert's experience of married life put you off, Lieutenant," he said gently. "I've seen some very happy marriages in the army."

  "So have I, sir," Simon said. "It rather made me think, you know. Because it can't have been her doing, can it? That they were so unhappy. I always used to wonder if she was difficult. It was hard to imagine, because when I knew her as a child, I liked her best of all the girls. Not because she was pretty, although she was, of course. But because she was so natural, so friendly. Talking to her on the hunting field or at some awful party, was like talking to another boy. At thirteen, you don't want a girl simpering at you, pretending to know how to flirt. Christ, I'd no idea what to do with a girl at that age. But you could just talk to Anne Howard. When I first heard Robert had married her, do you know what my first thought was? I was jealous. I think, somewhere in my mind, I always thought that when we both grew up, I'd quite like to be married to her myself."

  Johnny did not speak for a while. He was a little taken aback at the younger man's confidences, but as he had specifically given him permission to speak openly of his brother only an hour earlier, he could hardly complain. It occurred to Johnny that it must be a relief to the boy to be able to do so freely, and at this point, Johnny's gratitude was such that he was very willing to set his own discomfort to one side and listen.
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br />   "You're different to me then," he said, finally, gnawing the last scraps of meat from a bone. "One of my first impressions of Nan was that I couldn't be married to her if she was the last woman on earth." He saw the boy's expression and laughed aloud. "Oh don't get me wrong, I liked her from the start. And I found her very attractive. Uncomfortably so, given that she was another man's wife. I was a bit of a prude in my younger days, to tell you the truth. But I found that free and easy manner too much for me. I couldn't imagine being married to a girl who behaved that way around other men."

  Simon was frowning. "Do you think she...no, I'm sorry."

  "At ease, lad. We're speaking freely here, we're not on the parade ground. No, I'm absolutely sure she didn't. She was the same with all of us, from Wellesley down to the Portuguese grooms, but it was just Nan being Nan. I'd be very surprised if she was ever actually unfaithful to your brother."

  Simon was looking at him and Johnny knew what was coming. In different circumstances, he would have issued a sharp reminder to a junior officer to mind his own business and not be impertinent, and sent him about his business, but Simon Carlyon was risking his life to preserve Johnny's; the rules had changed.

  "Ask," he said abruptly.

  "All right. Not even with the colonel?"

  "He wasn't a colonel back then. Major Paul van Daan, and he had the reputation of being the worst womaniser in the army. I used to get so angry with him; he had no bloody self-control. If a lassie looked at him the right way, his marriage vows went straight out of the window. But that was in the first couple of years of his marriage. I think he'd already begun to change when he met Nan." Johnny tossed the last bone into the fire. "I wasn't there that summer, in Yorkshire. I've heard a few versions of their relationship, and I don't believe any of them. All I know was that he came back with something different about him, and then she arrived married to your brother. They don't talk much about it, and there's no reason why they should, it's their own affair. But the colonel once told me that they both cared too much about his wife to betray her that way; Nan was her best friend. And for what it's worth, I believed him."