The Fields of Death

by Scarrow, Simon

‘You forget.’ Arthur smiled. ‘I am not Wellesley any more.’

  ‘I know. You now serve under the name of Wellington. A silly choice, if you ask me. Typical of brother William.’

  ‘Wellington will suffice for the present,’ Arthur replied, briefly reflecting on his ennoblement following the battle at Talavera the previous year. The King had agreed to confer a peerage on Arthur to reward his victory. William had taken charge of the process of finding a title and he had discovered a small village named Welleslie in the west country. But rather than risk confusion with Richard’s name and title, the College of Heralds had chosen the name of the nearby town of Wellington instead. And so, from September, Arthur had become Viscount Wellington of Talavera. An awkward-sounding title, he had decided.

  ‘We cannot afford to abandon our hold here,’Arthur continued.‘Our presence forces Bonaparte to keep a quarter of a million men tied down in the Peninsula. Every day costs the enemy dearly in lives and gold. France is slowly, but surely, bleeding itself dry. And while that continues it weakens Bonaparte’s ability to field powerful armies in the rest of the continent.’ Arthur leaned forward and tapped his brother’s knee. ‘Henry, I need you to press the case in London. You must make sure that the government does not abandon the only strategy that can defeat the French.’

  Henry sighed. ‘I will do what I can, Arthur. You have my word. The trouble is that our Spanish allies are not helping the cause. Their generals seem to be incapable of mastering their French opponents.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Arthur shook his head sadly. ‘But we need not abandon all hope. If the rulers of Spain have failed us the same cannot be said for the common people. Their hearts are made of sterner stuff and they will fight on.’

  ‘What good will that do them, or us? The rebels are no match for Bonaparte’s regulars. They will be massacred if they try to resist.’

  ‘I think not. Say what you will about the junta, and the army, but the war of the partisans will continue for some time yet. In that you may find the seeds of our eventual victory in the Peninsula.’

  ‘I hope you are right.’ Henry picked up his glass and turned it slowly in his hands for a while before he continued. ‘Arthur, I must ask you to take me into your confidence, if I am to help persuade the government to continue backing your work here. I must know precisely how you plan to wage this war.’

  ‘There is little I can do at present,’ Arthur responded flatly. ‘I am outnumbered ten to one. The men we lost at Talavera have only recently been replaced by fresh recruits. Many of the men who survived the battle are worn out, and some have been broken by sickness following our retreat to Portugal. What is true of the men is also true of my officers, with the additional complication that some are disloyal, some are incompetent and some are a downright danger to our own side. Even supposing that the army was ready to strike deep into Spain, I have not yet solved the problem of supply. The government’s parsimony means I can barely afford to feed and equip our soldiers here in Portugal. I will not be able to rely on our Spanish friends for supplies, and so if I am to wage war in Spain I shall need far more gold to pay our way.’ He gave a weary smile. ‘So, Henry, you see how I am constrained from taking the fight to the enemy.’

  ‘I understand that well enough, but then what is your plan?’

  ‘If we cannot attack the enemy then we must lure him into attacking us. That is why I have given orders for the construction of the defence lines to the north of Lisbon. For the moment Napoleon has fashioned a peace with the other powers on the continent. That means he will be able to concentrate a large army in Spain, tasked with crushing my forces here in Portugal. So, I will make a show of preparing to fight the French, while the land in front of the lines is cleared of people and stripped of food, shelter and forage. Then I will fall back into the defences and wait there for the enemy. The French will face the choice of trying to starve us out, or retreating back into Spain. Since we can be readily supplied by sea we shall not go hungry. The enemy on the other hand will begin to starve, yet they will not retreat for fear of incurring the Emperor’s wrath. That dilemma will destroy them.’ Arthur eased himself back into his chair. ‘That, Henry, is my strategy. We may not be able to win the war here, but we certainly won’t lose it, provided England is patient and generous with its supplies of men and money. It may seem perverse, but I would welcome a French attack. I only hope it arrives before the government in London loses its nerve and orders me to withdraw.’

  Henry was silent for a moment and then nodded. ‘I will do what I can to prevent that, but you must realise that England expects victories, sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Victories we will have, when I am ready to deliver them.’ Arthur refilled their glasses and looked closely at his brother. Henry’s face was lined and his hair was streaked with grey. His duties in the service of his nation had aged him.

  There was a tap on the door and Arthur twisted round towards the noise. ‘Come!’

  The door opened and Somerset entered. Behind him, in the corridor, stood another junior officer, waiting in the shadows.

  ‘What is it, Somerset?’

  ‘Sir, I have to report that Captain Devere has returned.’

  ‘Ah, good! Show the man in.’

  Somerset stood aside and beckoned to the officer outside. He strode into the room, the firelight gleaming off the braid adorning the pelisse of his hussar’s uniform. Devere was a recent arrival. He had been assigned a position on Arthur’s staff as a favour to one of Richard’s allies in Parliament. He was competent enough, but his arrogance was yet to be tempered by experience. Arthur had sent him out at dawn to negotiate the sale of a herd of cattle from a Portuguese landowner. The sound of his footsteps echoed off the walls as he strode across the tiled floor and halted in front of Arthur with an elaborate salute.

  ‘Sir, beg to report that I have returned from my assignment.’

  ‘Good. How many head of cattle did you manage to buy?’

  ‘None, sir.’ Devere stared straight ahead.

  ‘None?’ Arthur frowned. ‘What is the meaning of this? Explain fully, man! I assume you found his estate? The directions were clear enough.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I reached the house just after noon, and presented your terms to him for the purchase of his herd.’

  ‘And?’

  Devere’s steadfast gaze faltered and he could not help glancing warily at his commander before snapping his eyes front once again. ‘Sir, I told him our price and how many we required, and he seemed somewhat put out by my direct manner. After we agreed a price, he told me he would not complete the transaction unless I begged him to sell me the cattle.’

  ‘Begged?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Don Roberto Lopez ordered me to go down on one knee and beg.’

  Arthur rubbed his brow. ‘I assume that you refused his request?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course. I’m an English gentleman and I’ll be damned if I’ll go down on bended knee to some dago.’

  Arthur shut his eyes and winced. ‘And did you actually say that to him?’

  ‘In as many words, yes sir. Through my translator, naturally. After all, I don’t speak the lingo and the bloody man refused to speak any English.’

  ‘I see.’ Arthur looked up. ‘And what happened then?’

  ‘Then?’ Devere frowned. ‘Nothing, sir. Don Roberto said that he refused to sell me the cattle. Not until I went down on my knee. I told him his cattle could go to hell and that we would find another seller. After that I took my leave and came back here to report. I’ve returned the gold to the clerk in charge of the war chest, sir.’

  Arthur stared at the young officer. ‘Tell me, Devere, do you have any idea how much trouble I have been to in order to locate such a quantity of meat for our troops? There is hardly a herd left within twenty miles of Lisbon. Our men need to be fed. Now, thanks to your petulant display of hubris, they will go hungry.’

  Captain Devere instinctively opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it and cla
mped it shut instead as he stood stiffly and stared straight ahead.

  ‘Look here, Devere, you’re a cavalry officer. What is the maxim of such officers? It seems that you need to be reminded: you look after the horses before the men, and the men before yourself. That means you put aside all other considerations until horses and men are properly fed. Correct?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Arthur gazed levelly at Devere for a moment. ‘See here, Captain. We are a small army of which a great deal is expected by our country. We need every ally we can get. In future let that thought be your guide in all your dealings with the Portuguese and the Spanish. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Very well, dismissed.’

  The officer saluted, turned and marched from the room as swiftly as he could, shutting the door behind him. Henry cocked an eyebrow at his brother.

  ‘The man is not a natural diplomat, it would appear.’

  ‘He is young.’ Arthur shrugged. ‘And that melancholy affliction will soon pass. If Devere lives long enough I think he will do good service for his country. But for now, alas, he has left me with yet one more problem to resolve.’ Arthur pulled out his watch and glanced at the hands. ‘Nearly eleven. The hour is late, my dear Henry. Forgive me, but I have some work to do before turning in. I am sure you are tired after your voyage from Cadiz. We can continue our conversation in the morning.’

  Henry smiled. ‘As you wish.’ He drained his glass and rose from his chair. ‘I’ll bid you good night then.’

  Arthur nodded, and sat staring into the fire as Henry left the room. He waited a few minutes before making for the door and ordering the duty orderly to bring Somerset to him. Somerset entered, stifling a yawn, a few minutes later.

  ‘You sent for me, sir.’

  ‘Yes. I want two squadrons of dragoons in their saddles, immediately. And I’ll want some gold from the war chest.’

  ‘Gold?’ Somerset blinked.‘You intend to buy something at this hour, sir?’

  Arthur stifled a yawn and smiled wearily. ‘Merely some goodwill.’

  The estate was two hours’ ride from Lisbon. The route was hard to follow in the dark, made worse by the rain clouds that obscured the stars and moon. Three times they lost their way, and were obliged to find a farmhouse and wake the occupants to get directions to put them back on the right path, but finally, at two in the morning, the column passed through the gates of the estate belonging to Don Roberto Lopez. A long drive weaved through groves of fruit trees, bare-limbed in the winter, and stretches of pasture where the dark humps of cattle and goats clustered for shelter beside ancient walls. At length Arthur spied a single lantern burning in a portico. Around it loomed the barely visible mass of a large house.

  The column halted by the portico and Arthur dismounted. He beckoned to his translator and strode stiffly towards the door and rapped the heavy iron ring against the stout timber. There was no reply and he waited a moment before rapping again, more insistently. The hiss of the rain and the low moan of the wind made it impossible to hear any sound from within. After a brief delay, the bolts on the inside of the door suddenly rattled back and the door opened wide enough for a man to peer suspiciously through the gap.

  ‘Good evening.’ Arthur smiled. ‘Please inform Don Roberto Lopez that he has a visitor.’

  The translator spoke and there was a brief exchange before he turned to Arthur.

  ‘He says his master is asleep, sir.’

  ‘I should imagine so. Tell this man that I am General Lord Wellington, Marshal of Portugal and commander of the allied army. I must speak to his master on a matter of some urgency.’

  The introduction was translated and the servant looked at Arthur closely and then opened the door and waved him inside. There was a large hall within, and Arthur could just make out the forms of picture frames and tapestries adorning the walls. The servant indicated some benches on either side of the door and muttered a few words.

  ‘He tells us to wait here, sir,’ said the translator, ‘while he wakes his master.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Arthur sat on one side, and the Portuguese translator respectfully took the other bench. Removing his hat, Arthur wiped his sodden locks of hair aside and made a mental note to have his hair cut short again, as soon as opportunity permitted. He unbuttoned his coat, setting it to one side so that his uniform jacket would be visible, with the star of his knighthood and other decorations pinned to his breast.

  Don Roberto did not keep his unexpected visitors waiting long. The loom of a lamp appeared in a corridor off to one side of the entrance hall, and a moment later the servant returned, holding the lantern high to light the way for his master. Arthur and the translator rose to their feet and bowed their heads in greeting.

  The Portuguese landowner was an elderly man with a thin, haughty face. A neatly trimmed beard of snowy white lined his jaw and he regarded Arthur with piercing brown eyes. He gestured to the bench and muttered to the translator.

  ‘His honour bids you sit down, while his servant fetches a chair.’

  The servant put the lantern on the floor and hurried to the side of the hall, returning a moment later with a heavy oak chair, inlaid with ivory in a geometric Moorish design. Arthur waited for his host to sit before taking his place on the bench again. The translator remained standing.

  ‘The hour is late,’ Arthur began,‘so please excuse me if I speak to the point.’

  Don Roberto inclined his head in assent as he heard the translation.

  ‘I have come to apologise for the behaviour of the officer I sent to buy your cattle. Captain Devere is newly arrived from England. He is unused to the ways of foreign people, and he is young enough to not consider the impression he creates. I would have you know that he is not typical of English officers. I have also come to ask that you reconsider your refusal to sell your cattle.’

  As the translator began to convey Arthur’s words, Don Roberto held up his hand.

  ‘That is not necessary. I understand perfectly well, thank you.’

  Arthur could not help letting a brief look of surprise cross his face, and the Portuguese noble smiled. ‘What? Did you think that I only spoke the local . . . lingo?’

  Arthur laughed. ‘By God, you have me, sir.’

  ‘Not as much as I had your Captain Devere,’ Don Roberto continued with only the faintest of accents. ‘I would have conversed in your tongue, but his demeanour so affronted me that I decided I was under no obligation to make the encounter easy for him. Tell me, do all English speak louder in order to make themselves understood by foreigners?’

  Arthur smiled. ‘Alas, it is a common affliction.’

  ‘It is not the only affliction that we Portuguese have had to endure since your army arrived, my lord.’

  ‘The presence of my men is less onerous than that of the French,’ Arthur protested. ‘I will not tolerate looting or mistreatment of non-combatants. Any looting that occurs is the work of camp followers. They are not wholly respectful of military discipline, but I have ordered my provosts to deal with any camp followers they catch stealing. In time, even they will understand the importance I attach to good relations with those over whose land I am obliged to make war.’

  Don Roberto regarded him thoughtfully. ‘It is a shame that you did not come here to buy the cattle in Captain Devere’s place. I would have received you generously. As it is, I was not treated with the respect due to me, particularly by so junior an officer. Your army is not here as an army of occupation. That is why I demanded that your officer went down on his knees to request the purchase of my herd.’

  ‘That is true. We are here to guarantee the liberty of your people, and to fight for the liberation of the people of Spain.’ Arthur spoke frankly. ‘However, the army cannot continue to defend its allies on an empty stomach. So I would ask you to reconsider your decision, and sell me the cattle.’

  ‘I see. Tell me, General, how long do you think your army will remain in our land
? I ask since I see little indication of your willingness to engage the French.’

  ‘I will attack when I am ready. Until then I must maintain my army and ensure that it is fit and ready to fight when the time comes.’

  ‘And when will that be?’

  ‘I cannot say. All I can do is give you my word that I will do everything in my power to beat the French here in the Peninsula.’

  ‘Everything?’ Don Roberto raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes. The fall of Bonaparte will begin here, or it will not happen at all. That is my conviction. That is all that matters to me.’

  ‘I wonder. I am impressed by your dedication to your duty, my lord. But as I said before, my honour has been offended. Expiation is required. Do you still wish to buy the cattle?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I demand that you go on your knees and beg for them.’

  ‘You require me to beg you to sell the cattle?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Arthur felt a wave of anger swell up inside. He was tired, cold and wet, and furious with Devere for putting him in this position. The thought of begging stuck in his throat like a rock. Then he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. It would not be the first time, after all. He had gone down on his knees to Cuesta. But that had been to save both their armies from the madness of the Spanish commander’s decision to turn and fight with a river at his back. This new humiliation related to a week’s rations for his men. He could refuse. But then he would simply be reinforcing the damage done by Devere.

  ‘Very well.’ Arthur eased himself off the bench and went down on one knee in front of his host. ‘Don Roberto, I beg you to allow me to buy your cattle.’

  ‘On both knees, General, and please, add an apology.’

  Arthur bowed his head to hide his dark expression, and slid his leading foot back so that he was on both knees on the hard paved floor. ‘Don Roberto, I apologise for the behaviour of my officer, and I beg you to let me buy your cattle.’

  There was a brief silence before Don Roberto smiled faintly. ‘I accept your apology, and I give my permission for the purchase of the herd. You may get off your knees, my lord.’