by Gale, Iain
The courtyard was filled with staff officers and aides and he scoured it in vain for a friendly face. At length he saw Scovell and hastened across to him. ‘Captain Scovell.’
‘Keane. Good God, we thought you might be dead. The general has been asking for you. Where the devil have you been?’
‘In the seminary, sir, and lately in the lower town. At the port.’
‘At the port, indeed, were you? Follow me.’
Together they hurried through the buzzing crowd, and ascending a large gloomy stair, entered the anteroom, similar to that of Sir Arthur’s headquarters in Coimbra. Inside another long table, formerly used for formal dinner by the Bishop, was now occupied by a dozen red-coated staff officers, all of them writing furiously.
Scovell spoke to one of them. ‘Captain Gordon, this officer must see Sir Arthur.’ Before the sentence was finished, though, the door opened, and Wellesley entered. The room was instantly silent. He addressed them.
‘Well, what is it?’ Then he saw Keane and smiled. ‘Captain Keane. The very man. Come in, come in. Scovell, you may join us.’ As they entered the main salon, Wellesley turned back to the room, silencing once more the chatter that had begun on his exit. ‘Where is General Sherbroke?’ he asked an aide-decamp. ‘Find him at once and send him here.’
Then he entered the salon, followed by Keane and Scovell, who closed the door behind them. The room was large and airy, with a window which opened onto a view of the Douro. Keane was pleased to see that standing beside the window was Grant. The major smiled at him and nodded.
Wellesley spoke. ‘Well, Keane. You did well. The seminary was the key to our victory. And now I’ll take you into my confidence, as most of the army will know it soon enough and you long before them even if I do not tell you.’
‘Sir?’
‘We have won the battle for Oporto, Keane, that you know. The French can count four hundred men killed or wounded, and almost as many again taken prisoner. Add to that the fifteen hundred men they abandoned in the city’s hospitals, and some seventy guns, and you have a fair tally. Our losses amount to something over one hundred and twenty killed, wounded or missing.’
‘A victory, sir.’
‘A victory, Keane. A palpable victory.’
Scovell spoke up. ‘Yes, sir, and it might have been a famous victory indeed had General Murray, having crossed the Douro at Avintes, made any attempt whatsoever to intercept the French on their retreat.’
Wellesley turned on him. ‘Captain Scovell, as I have already indicated, the matter is not open for discussion.’
Scovell nodded and fell silent. Wellesley went on. ‘In short, Keane, Marshal Soult is beat and I intend to invade Spain.’
Keane baulked and before he could prevent himself said, ‘Sir, is that wise?’
Wellesley rounded on him, fixing him with fierce blue eyes. ‘You are surely not questioning my judgement, captain?’
Keane shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, sir. No, of course not. I do apologize. It was not my place … but the French … ’
Wellesley interrupted. ‘I know the French outnumber us. What do you know that I do not?’
‘I know just as I told you, sir. They have three armies.’
‘Indeed, under Marshal Soult, Marshal Victor and Marshal Ney. Soult will say he is not yet beaten. And indeed our masters in St James’s might agree. But I intend to push Soult from Portugal and to take the battle to the French.
‘We might have taken Oporto but Soult saved the majority of his army and he will regroup. Of that I have no doubt. What is absolutely vital – absolutely, mark you – is that those three armies, Soult, Ney and Victor, must not be allowed to combine.’ He paused and looked thoughtful. ‘I need you to go back into the mountains, Keane. I need you to go back into them, and I need you to find Colonel Morillo once again.’
‘Sir?’
Wellesley turned to Grant. ‘If you would be so kind, Major Grant.’
Grant walked closer to them. ‘Captain Keane, good to see you again, in one piece. The facts are these. Five days ago, so Captain Scovell has informed us, Colonel Morillo liberated the port of Vigo from the French. This in itself is a very good thing. But the truth of the matter is that in pushing the French from the town and sacking their baggage train he helped himself to no less than 150,000 gold francs.’
Keane whistled beneath his breath. ‘That’s about £60,000, sir, give or take a penny?’
Grant nodded. ‘Yes. Give or take a few sous, yes. Not bad for a day’s work. So Morillo is also a very, very rich man.’
Wellesley interrupted him. ‘He’s also more influential than ever before. Morillo has a new commission since last you encountered him. Go on, Major Grant.’
Grant cleared his throat and extinguished the cigar on which he had been puffing. ‘Colonel Morillo has now been commissioned by the Seville Assembly to raise the Galician peasants and prevent Soult from making supply dumps in Galicia.’
‘He’s in Galicia? That’s far in the north, sir.’
‘Exactly, Keane, he’s moved his force and with it extended his area of influence. But one thing that has not changed is his success. Morillo is in the ascendant, Keane, and as much as we need to harness his power, we also need to be sure that it does not escalate beyond our control. He is a powerful man and commands great respect. If we are not careful he will become nothing less than a local warlord, a land-based buccaneer out for all that he can get regardless of who profits by it. We know that he hates the French, but as you told me yourself, he also has no love for the British. With power from the government in exile and the Galician people behind him, he will be invincible.
‘You know Morillo, Keane. And he knows you?’
‘Yes, sir. As you know.’
‘There is therefore no one else in this army who is capable of meeting Morillo face to face.’
‘You want me to kill him, sir?’ Keane felt the colour drain from his face and wondered whether it had been evident to either Wellesley or Grant. Wellesley shook his head.
‘No, Keane, we don’t want you to kill Morillo. He’s much more valuable to us alive. Providing he can be persuaded to cooperate. That is where you come in. We need to control him. I need him and his men, Keane. You must tell him that this time he cannot have threescore follow him, he must have a thousand. Ten thousand, if he can find them. You may promise him an honorary commission in the British army if you must. It will never be confirmed, of course. That might appeal. I know that you can do it. Only you, Keane.’
Keane thought for a moment. ‘I will find Morillo, sir. Or rather, I can make certain that he will find me.’
Wellesley spoke. ‘Major Grant has perhaps not made things plain. Colonel Morillo is now more powerful than General Cuesta and more valuable to me. He was always the better commander. That was clear. But what we need to know is whether he will be able to hold off the threat from Marshal Ney. His Galicians are really no more than peasants, but from what you have told us he has a core of real fighters and might very quickly mould the Galician levies into a real fighting force. It may in fact be a great deal better than the professional Spanish army fielded by Cuesta. Do you fully comprehend what I am saying to you, Keane?’
‘Yes, sir, it’s quite clear.’
‘As it is now my intention to invade Spain and attack Marshal Victor in the east, I will be compelled to take General Cuesta with me.’ He shook his head. Grant laughed. ‘That is my problem. Morillo must hold off Ney if we are to have any hope against Victor. If we cannot defeat the two of them piecemeal, then we are lost. We might even lose Portugal, or at the very least to be forced into another Corunna.’
Keane looked down at the map that was spread on the table and noticed that the other end was laid for dinner, with food – a half chicken – on the plate. Wellesley saw his glance.
‘Marshal Soult’s dinner, Keane. He was considerate enough to leave it for me.’
Keane grinned and looked back at the map. ‘Do we have any idea where he ma
y be, sir?’
‘We believe, or at least, that is, Captain Scovell here has informed us that he believes Morillo to be somewhere here’ – he pointed to the map, to an area marked in different shades of light brown – ‘between the river Lima and the Sierra Gerez. Centred on Montalegre, but in the hills. Major Grant will provide you and your men with the necessary resources, the fodder and animals to get there and back. And you must be quick, Keane, just as quick as you can. I need that assurance from Morillo. Now, rejoin your command.’
Grant stopped him. ‘There is one other thing, sir, which you have neglected to mention to Captain Keane.’
Keane wondered what on earth it might be.
Grant continued. ‘James, you recall Cuevillas, the smuggler?’
‘The other guerrilla leader, sir. Yes, I did not find him.’
‘We have heard that he is resentful of Morillo’s newfound power and wealth. And that he might be in the area attempting to wrest at least some control from Morillo.’
‘That could be a problem, sir.’
‘Indeed, Keane, it is somewhat more than a problem. I’m not sure who has the worse reputation.’
‘You forget, sir, that I have seen Morillo’s ways with a prisoner at first hand.’
‘But you have not yet seen Cuevillas at work, have you, Keane?’
‘No, sir, and nor do I believe that I want to.’
Wellesley smiled. ‘But meet him you will, Keane. Return to your men now.’
Keane turned to go but, nearing the door, stopped and turned back. ‘Sir, I have one question. How did our men do in the seminary? General Paget?’
‘General Paget was hit. Shot in the arm. But he lives.’
‘And the others?’
‘Oh, Major Danvers is commended in dispatches and Captain Lawrence with him.’
Keane smiled at the news. It was always the same. A name and influence would talk you into glory, whatever the truth.
‘But what of the ensign? Watkins.’
‘Ah yes, Grant, have we heard any news of Colonel Watkins’s son?’
‘Oh, yes, sir, poor fellow. I’m afraid that a roundshot took off his head. Damned bad luck. The battle was as near as won.’
*
The sun was high in the summer sky as they came to the river. The Tamega flowed down to the south from its source high in the hills of the Tras os Montes and here it ran below the town of Amarante, which stood perched on the hillside on the opposite bank. They had ridden east out of Oporto after barely a day’s rest since the fight and had come thirty miles in the first day. Now, having slept overnight in an abandoned barn, they were making good time. And time was of the essence, Grant had told Keane.
Keane understood that Wellesley was consolidating his command, making sure that when they caught Soult they would be ready for a fight. He was going to advance from Oporto in two days’ time, moving towards the Spanish border and Orense by way of Braga. Beresford’s division would be sent ahead on a right-flanking march up through Chaves. Keane’s role was to take a central route and in doing so, go high into the hills between the two wings of the allied army and find the guerrillas. It was possible that Beresford would find the French first. But whatever happened, when they were found Wellesley had to ensure that he had as many men as he could muster. And of course there was the problem of Morillo’s wealth, and that of Cuevillas.
As usual, Keane and Morris rode at the head of the column, with the others behind and Silver and Gabriella bringing up the rear. She was humming a tune, a local melody with a pleasant, lilting line, not dissimilar to the sort of thing the soldiers sang, and the music floated on the air, transforming the landscape and momentarily banishing thoughts of war.
Ross and Garland rode side by side and were engaged in conversation that cut through the clatter of hooves on the dusty road and the jangle of harness.
‘See, what I don’t understand, sergeant,’ said Garland, his great brow furrowed in puzzlement, ‘is why we’re being sent back into them mountains again to find another Spaniard. That’s just what we did before, ain’t it?’
‘Garland, you’re a good lad and there’s not many I’d say that about, but when the good Lord blessed us all with brains he must have missed your share. What do you mean, why are we going there again? How many times do I have to tell you? We just obey orders. In this case you are part of Captain Keane’s command and you should be glad of it. We have been sent on a mission to make contact with the Spanish bandits, otherwise known as soldiers. Not the same ones as we met before, thank God, and let’s hope these heathens are a bit more God-fearing. But they’ll still be papists. Who knows what we can expect? That’s what we do, Garland. We’re here for exploring and Captain Keane is our exploring officer.’
‘I know that, sergeant. All I’m saying is, I don’t really see why we have to do it again.’
‘I give up. Don’t think, Garland, it’ll hurt your head. Just ride with the rest of us and fight the bloody French. There’s a good lad. Besides, them ain’t the same hills. Them is different hills.’
‘All look the same to me, sergeant.’
Morris turned to Keane. ‘James, do you suppose we’ll find Morillo again?’
‘I’m rather hoping we will. The general wants an assurance from him before he attacks Marshal Soult again.’
‘And what of this other commander? What was his name again?’
‘Cuevillas, but his real name is Ignacio Alonso. He’s a smuggler. Was, rather. Now, I gather, he’s a patriot too.’
Morris laughed. ‘Do you suppose we’ll find him?’
‘I suppose that he will find us. That is the way of it with these people. You remember Morillo. Eyes and ears everywhere and men who can hide four yards from you without detection. Don’t worry, we won’t be alone for long.’
‘How much did you say Morillo had taken?’
‘About 150,000 francs.’
Morris whistled and shook his head. ‘That’s £60,000. If I were he I’d give up fighting and settle at home.’
‘This is his home, Tom. And look at it. Raped and laid waste by Boney’s armies. What choice does he have but to rid it of the French?’
‘Yes, I suppose that you and I are fortunate, James. At least we have a place to call home. A country, I mean, that is at liberty and not under the heel of a tyrant.’
‘We can be thankful for that.’ He thought about what Morris had said, of how lucky they were to have somewhere to call home, and realized again how untrue that was for him. He had no home. There was no house in England waiting for him to come back. No parkland, farms and settled income. If Tom succeeded out here, he thought, if he should make something of himself, then there was surely the chance that he would return to a hero’s welcome from his family and end his life a contented man.
Keane had no hope of that sort and no one. His mind drifted to Blackwood’s sister and he flirted with the idea, but only for a moment until lust overtook it. She was incentive enough for him to get through the next few weeks and back to Lisbon. But he wondered in retrospect whether he wanted her for the woman she was or whether in truth he wanted to bed her to satisfy himself against her brother. Either way, it did not matter. He was determined to have her, and if he was not killed, maimed or emasculated in the coming fight he was going to do his damnedest to ensure that would happen.
He turned back to Morris. ‘Did you ever meet Blackwood’s sister?’
‘No, can’t say I did. Did you?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I did.’
‘What of it, James? Dont tell me you’re enamoured?’
‘She’s a fine woman, Tom.’
‘I know you when you talk like that, James, and this time it is madness. You cannot think that you would lure her into your bed? The sister of the man who as you well know has sworn to avenge himself on you for the death of his friend.’
‘It would add a little spice to the relationship, don’t you think?’
‘I think you must be mad, James, eve
n to contemplate such an action. And to use her in such a way.’
‘Women are there to be used, Tom. It is in their nature. Why should we not enjoy ourselves a little, her and me? What harm could it do?’
‘You know damn well what harm it could do. And not just to you, James. You would be involving another, and a woman at that, in a matter that concerns you and Blackwood. No one else.’
‘But she is a damn fine woman. As fine as ever I saw. She would make someone a fine wife.’
Morris shook his head. ‘I can scarcely believe what you are saying. I will not talk to you further on the matter, James, and I advise you to put it out of your head.’
Keane shrugged, but he didn’t put it out of his head and as they rode on the idea of Kitty Blackwood became more firmly embedded in his mind. She was someone, something that he knew he must have, and when Keane had set his heart on something there was no going back. He was damned too if he was to be deterred by Morris’s sense of propriety.
They rode on another two hours and entered the rugged country of the Tras os Montes. This was a place of defiles and passes, perfect for an ambush. More so even than Morillo’s old country. Keane wondered when Morillo or Cuevillas would find them. Undoubtedly either Spaniard, having tracked them, would take some relish in surprise, in emphasizing the fact that had they been his enemies he could kill them as easily as if he were on a pigeon shoot.
Ross rode up alongside him, as clumsy as ever in the saddle, but at the same time trying as always – and failing – to look every inch the cavalryman.
‘Gives me the creeps, sir, this country. I can’t help thinking it’s us as might get ambushed in these hills.’
‘The guerrillas are our friends, sarn’t. They’re hardly likely to kill us.’
‘It’s just the feeling of being so helpless. Can’t stomach it, sir.’
‘You’re a Highlander, Ross. You should be used to this sort of terrain.’