by Iain Gale
*
The following day, Keane sent out the lancers and hussars in a screen towards Almeida, hoping that they would spot the first signs of any French movement. At the same time he and Archer rode out again to the hill station and sent the second message. There was the usual round-up of overnight information. The fact that the light infantry had remained static and cavalry had been observed in the valley. And then, once again, the key phrases. This time they read:
‘North road looking increasingly vulnerable. Bad terrain and poor road make this unlikely attack route.’
*
On the third day the message was even more insistent.
‘The allied army will make a stand on the southern road near Ponte Murcella. We do not believe that the French will come by the north route. The south is the obvious way. Therefore we will position our forces in the south and fortify that road as best we can.’
Keane thought it might be enough. He prayed that it was.
It was Archer, though, who articulated the thought that was preying on his mind.
‘Sir, has it occurred to you that the signallers and not least those who translate the signals back in Celorico might not be wondering what the devil we are doing sending these messages?’
‘Yes, it had crossed my mind. I expect that we shall get a response ere long. Most probably today.’
They had had no response to their previous messages apart from the general standing acknowledgement provided by the Portuguese telegraph corps. It was all that Keane had expected from an army on the move, in retreat, whose main purpose was to receive intelligence rather than provide it. Sure enough, though, today there was something more.
‘Information received regarding north route. This is known to us already. Please advise.’
Keane was relieved. ‘Thank God. I was worried that they might ask us what the hell we thought we were doing? That would have given the game away.’
‘We’re lucky they didn’t, sir. Do you think he’ll have taken the messages as real?’
‘I have a feeling he will, Archer. He will be desperate to please his masters, not just Massena but those back in Paris, not least the Corsican himself.’
*
And Keane was right not to worry, for in his tent in the Portuguese camp near Celorico, a certain Major Macnab had just finished writing an encrypted message addressed to Marshal Massena. He sealed it and then folded it into a small square and tucked it into his pocket. Then he donned his topcoat and hat and, with a word to the sergeant of the guard, went out to visit his forward positions. But after half a mile Macnab turned his horse and rode away from the Portuguese lines and, after an hour’s hard riding, when he was about halfway to Almeida, he stopped in a clearing containing the ruins of what had once been a small border castle. He dismounted and, making sure that he was not being observed, he walked quickly to one of the walls, dislodged a loose stone and placed the square of paper behind it before replacing it neatly just as it had been. Then, remounting, he turned and rode back to the Portuguese lines. And sometime later that day, when the French had pushed forward their reconnaissance parties to form a screen beyond the Côa, another horseman rode into the same clearing and, lifting the same stone, withdrew the paper. Then, reading the name written on it, he tucked it away and rode off. But this time the rider wore a dark green coat and the white enamel cross of the order of the Légion d’Honneur and was accompanied by a colonel’s escort of a squadron of chasseurs à cheval.
*
That evening Keane sat with his men around the small fire they allowed themselves, in a rocky clearing which through a quirk of the land shielded the flame from any observers to the east. Martin had discovered it a week before. Silver, with Gabriella resting her head in his lap, was humming a shanty, as he often did. Something about the Spanish Main, while whittling away at yet another of his pieces of scrimshaw; this time using a piece of pine he had created a clever likeness of Wellington himself. As usual, Heredia was messing with the Ordenanza, although Keane realized that he could not again postpone their match and that it must happen soon. Martin got up and turned the improvised spit of a bayonet which held a rabbit he had shot that day. Garland and Gilpin were playing dice with Leech, while Ross, Archer and Keane sat together.
Ross spoke. ‘We still have no real idea if Marshal Massena will come by the route we want him to come, do we, sir?’
Keane had to admit the truth of it. ‘No, we don’t. We’ve done our best. But if only we had some means of verifying it. We don’t even know for certain that Macnab fell for it.’
Archer nodded. ‘I’m sure he will have, sir. Sure of it.’
‘Well, even if that is the case, Ross is right. How do we know that’s the way Massena will come?’
Ross laughed. ‘The only way you’d ever really know that, sir, is to talk to Massena himself.’
Archer grinned. ‘You’re right there.’
Keane nodded and then was silent for a while as sparks flew up from the fire and faded in the night. He reached for another wineskin and filled his cup before speaking again. ‘That’s it then. That’s just it. I will hear it from Massena himself.’
Ross shook his head in disbelief.
Archer spoke. ‘How, sir? How will you do that?’
‘I can speak Portuguese and Spanish, and French for that matter. What if I were to contrive to get myself into Massena’s headquarters in Almeida before they leave – in disguise – and listen to his plans?’
Archer laughed. ‘Really, sir, capturing a general is one thing, and letting the French have our code – for which you’re sure to get a roasting. But this is the best yet. I’m sorry, sir. For once you’re going too far. How do you expect to do it?’
‘In disguise, as I said. Gilpin managed it in that bastard Morillo’s camp, didn’t you, Gilpin?’
Gilpin nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I can’t say as I’d want to do the same again, though.’
‘Well, that’s it. Whatever anyone might say. I’m resolved to do it. It is the only way.’
Silver looked at him. ‘Not wishing to be disrespectful, but you’re bloody mad, sir.’
Keane smiled and shook his head. ‘Think so? You haven’t heard the half of it.’
He poured another large glass from the wineskin and offered it around. ‘I have another idea. Massena’s mistress is with him. We know that from Labassee. We also know that he will do anything for her.’
‘Well, sir…’ Martin was at him now. ‘She won’t persuade him to take his army down a suicide road.’
‘No, but, given that he will almost certainly be coming by the northern road anyway, what is our second most important task?’
Archer answered. ‘To delay him as long as we can, sir.’
‘Exactly. And what is the easiest way in the world in which to delay a man?’
Silver smiled. ‘To use a woman to do it for you. Clever, sir, damned clever.’
‘So what say we pay her to keep him there? The longer we can delay him, the better. The duke intends to bring him to battle, but if we can win more time before that happens, then it is surely to the good.’
Martin shook his head. ‘Now that really is mad, sir. She will be loyal to him. Devoted. Why would she take money?’
‘You are still young, but in my experience, Will, any lady who is a man’s mistress is only too happy to accept money to betray him. It goes with the territory. After all, isn’t a mistress just one big lie? I have money. What’s left from Soult’s hoard.’
‘But that’s yours, sir, same as we had our shares.’
Gilpin whispered to Silver, ‘Not that you’ve any left of yours, Horatio, eh? Gambled it all with Craufurd’s buckos.’
‘Shut your trap, Gilpin. I lost it fair and square.’
‘Does your Gabby know how much?’
He nodded towads Gabriella who had got up and walked across to the rocks to answer a call of nature.
‘No, and nor she will neither. For you won’t tell her, will you? If you kno
w what’s good for you.’
Keane turned to them. ‘That’s enough. You all had your share and I had mine and what I do with it is my concern. If it benefits the war and our brave commander, that will be recompense enough.’
He paused. ‘Of course, if it benefits the common good and all of us in particular, then so much the better. Besides, an investment now might just pay off in the long run.’
‘Sir? What do you mean?’
‘What I mean is just that if we can do this and if we should delay Massena, then there is bound to be a moment when a part of this benighted country, with at least one large town, will be empty of any troops.’
Silver looked at him. ‘Sir, are you suggesting… ?’
‘I am suggesting nothing. I am merely reminding you that none of us has been paid by the army for a very long time and that there is a town on their route by the name of Fournos. It has a big cathedral and a number of very grand houses. I passed through it earlier this year. We have no troops there at present, nor ever will have. The duke is moving his entire army south, through Celorico. Also, the inhabitants of Viseu, the great and the good at least, will not be there. They will all have left in the face of Massena’s advance. But if Massena is delayed, he will not be there either. Which is where we come in.’
Gilpin smiled. ‘With empty saddlebags and rucksacks and fast horses.’
‘Yes, Gilpin, I think you have my meaning. We go in and out, and whatever is found to be missing when Massena is beaten and the owners return will be blamed on the French. Now, who’s behind me with this plan?’
They all nodded and Silver muttered an expletive under his breath.
Archer was the first to speak. ‘How do we get in, sir? The French will have sentries posted everywhere, won’t they?’
‘I very much doubt it. They know the place cannot be defended and that, save for the guerrillas, nothing really can trouble them in there. And if they consider it they will soon realize that the guerrillas would actually not think of raiding such a large French encampment, the command centre of an entire army. No, we should not have any great problem in getting in. Getting back out may be a different case.’
He took another drink and smiled at them. ‘Of course, there is another thing. For this to succeed, at least two of us will have to wear civilian dress. We’ve done it before, but you know that it means we can be shot as spies.’
He looked at them all and they wondered whom he could have in mind. But they were quickly put at ease, all save one man. Keane poured the unlucky volunteer another cup of wine. ‘I’m very much afraid that’s you and me, Gilpin.’
Gilpin managed a thin smile. ‘I see, sir. That’s just the way of it. And if I can survive a camp full of murderous heathen dagos, then I’m sure I can survive the French.’
13
It took a day to do everything necessary. While Keane tended to unfinished business and sent another message with Archer to confuse the French, Gilpin took Martin and the pair rode as fast as they could back to the division, as ever on the scrounge.
Keane did not tell Lieutenant Pereira nor the lancers about what they really intended to do. This was to be a final long-range patrol before they pulled back. But having taken the natural decision to leave Captain von Krokenburgh in overall command while he was absent, Keane alerted the German as to the true nature of his mission and gave him his orders. They would be back in five days’ time at most. Von Krokenburgh was to move the men westwards every day. Only a couple of miles. If after five days Keane had not returned he was to march as fast as he could to rejoin Craufurd.
Von Krokenburgh was amazed. ‘You really think you can do this thing? It would be extraordinary.’
Keane shrugged. ‘I don’t know if we can manage it. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. We have to know if our deceit has worked. Otherwise I cannot tell Wellington that he is safe to assume Massena will fight on his ground.’
Von Krokenburgh saluted him with some formality and wished him well, although in his heart he thought that he had never in his life witnessed any gesture equally as mad and as brave. In truth he did not think that he would ever see Keane or his men again.
Keane did not take all of his direct command. Heredia, Ross and Leech were to remain with the Ordenanza, along with Gabriella. Silver had not been happy about such a situation, and Keane himself had felt somewhat uneasy about leaving two such enemies together in the camp, but Silver had relented when Keane had suggested that Gabriella be placed under the personal protection of Lieutenant Pereira.
The lieutenant for his part had taken Keane’s request to take care of her with good grace and shown himself once again to be a true gentleman.
*
By the early evening, as the light grew dim and the sky turned red, they were ready.
It was twenty miles to Almeida, but Keane had devised a plan which would provide them with support posts in stages on their return journey. Only he and Gilpin would go into the town. They would leave two men at each of two halts on the route to act as support if they were pursued and as a means of getting word back should they not return.
As the sun finally set, the depleted company rode out from the bivouac and on to the road to Almeida, taking with them a cart packed with sufficient supplies for five days, procured by Gilpin, who also drove the vehicle.
More importantly, the cart held wine, packed neatly into stamped wooden boxes lined with straw.
This too had been ‘found’ by Gilpin, and even now at General Craufurd’s headquarters one of the aides was being reprimanded for having misplaced four dozen bottles of the finest Rioja and the sutler was on a charge. And so a present that had been on its way to General Wellington, having been liberated by guerrillas from a French convoy, was now being returned to Marshal Massena.
Keane had thought that it would be better to ride through the night. He looked about at the others and hoped that he was not taking them to their deaths. They were all, he told himself, volunteers of a sort. Most of them rescued from the hangman’s noose and the firing squad to serve at his side. Besides, if they came through this, he had promised them the reward of booty.
He had decided that he and Gilpin should retain their uniforms until the last minute, and for the present at least they had the appearance of nothing more than a routine patrol and would not, if captured by the French, be subject to the laws of war that stated that anyone caught out of uniform in enemyheld territory must be considered a spy and shot out of hand. The cart of course would be a problem to explain away. But by then it would probably be too late anyway. They would address that hurdle if they came to it.
*
They rode in silence, or as close as they could get to it, with their swords wrapped in leather covers and no noise save for the rattle of the cartwheels, the jangle of the harness and the sound of the horses.
Up in a tree a night owl hooted and Martin looked up, reminded not for the first time of his home on the family farm in County Down. A home he had left after getting a maid pregnant. It had been his choice to leave. His father had said that it was of no great consequence. That many of his friends’ sons had made the same mistake. That the girl could marry their gardener, who was keen enough to have her. And Martin had agreed. But his conscience was pricked. He was not like those others. Never had been and, waking one morning, he had decided that if he were to live a life that was not a lie, he must leave. And so he had taken his dearest possessions and crept out of the house, not looking back.
He thought now of his father out on the estate. Of partridge shooting and the talks on nature and farming which had fuelled his boyhood imagination and he wondered how the old man was. He had not written since breaking the news of his enlisting. Perhaps one day, he thought, he would return. When all this was over and old Boney dead and buried.
The owl flew off, beating the night air with its wings, its silhouette a black shape against black. Garland, edgy and unhappy to be out in the jet-black darkness of the country at night, jumped. ‘W
hat was that?’
Martin laughed. ‘An owl, you doxie. Just an owl.’
Midnight came and went and by four in the morning they had reached Alvesco and Keane was impatient to be off. But first he donned his disguise. Gilpin, the brilliant scrounger, had done them proud and Keane had opted for a broad-brimmed hat with a red handkerchief tied beneath it, a waistcoat and a pair of red trousers and short boots. He had not shaved and his face, already weather-beaten from campaigning, looked as leathery as any swarthy Spaniard. Gilpin himself wore a straw hat, a waistcoat and cropped trousers over espadrilles. Having the same swarthy look but lacking Keane’s massive frame and stature, looked a natural for his assistant in the roles they were about to play.
Garland had guffawed at them. ‘You look even better than you did at Oporto, sir.’ Even Archer had managed a quip. ‘If I didn’t know better, sir, I’d take you for one of Sanchez’s men.’
They left Garland and Martin in a coppice outside the village before setting off again, Keane riding on the cart with Archer, Silver and Gilpin.
They knew this road well, having retreated along the same route just five weeks before and the wreckage of that withdrawal lay all around them on either side: packs, hats, a broken cart and the other detritus of an army on the move, papers, ruined shoes, bottles, cups and broken clay pipes.
*
They entered the gorge of the Côa and climbed up the road towards the bridge, whose high arc spanned the ravine.
He had half expected a French picket to be posted there. But there was none and he realized that Massena must now feel completely confident in his possession of this hard-fought territory.
As they crossed the bridge Keane recalled the French assault: the colonel shot, falling arms outstretched into the gorge. He supposed his body might yet be down there or had been swept into the river to be washed out into the Atlantic.
Two hours more and dawn was coming up now, scouring the sky of darkness. The little group rattled along the dust road towards the entrance to the town and Keane felt helplessly exposed. He hoped that their disguise, which had seemed so convincing to the others, would actually persuade the French that they were who they pretended to be. But he was not reassured.