All in Scarlet Uniform (Napoleonic War 4)

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  ‘No, sir. Of course not, sir. I am honoured. Thank you, most profoundly.’

  ‘In the greater scheme of things, what I think will have very little bearing on what Jane decides. For all our bluster, I strongly suspect that is the fate of fathers and husbands alike – indeed, of all men. But perhaps I should say that my blessing would be withheld from any suitor who was not a captain at the very least.’

  Williams still appeared to be brimming with hope, and MacAndrews wondered whether he was listening.

  ‘Goodnight to you, Mr Williams,’ he said, pulling the collar of his coat up as he wandered down the ramp. When he was almost there a great whoop echoed across the promenade. MacAndrews calmed a young sentry who looked around nervously at the sudden noise, and stopped the man from reaching back to draw his bayonet.

  The Scotsman waited until he was in his room and then began to laugh. Part of him felt sorry for the fellow, for he liked the young man a good deal, and suspected that the path to winning his daughter’s heart would not be an easy one. However, at least his next letter to Esther would be simpler to write, now that this duty was performed. Writing to his wife was at once sweet and painful, bringing her even closer to his thoughts, and yet all the while reminding him that she was far away.

  Alastair MacAndrews missed her, and could not even console himself with the belief that he was achieving any worthwhile thing by being in Spain in the first place. He longed to be with his family again, but in the meantime, he must simply struggle on to do his best, write regular letters and feel the surge of excitement whenever replies arrived. Opening a pouch kept inside his battered travelling canteen, the Scotsman fished out a bundle of old letters and began to sort them, just as he had done so many thousand times before. In some cases the paper was almost brown with age, stiff and liable to crack unless handled with great care. Jane’s earliest letters were in pencil, now so faded that it would have been a struggle to make out the words if he had not known them so well. In contrast Esther had always attacked each page in bold, confident strokes of ink, but thought so quickly that she was inclined to miss out words as she wrote. MacAndrews felt his grin broadening as he read one from more than a decade ago. ‘I am’, it said, and both then and now he had known this somewhat biblical statement to mean ‘I am well’.

  He laid the letter down on the pile, saving that pleasure for the lonely hours after he had finished writing to her. There would be no need to say that he found his present duty frustrating, or that he feared a failure which might hinder rather than help his already dim prospects for getting a battalion of his own. Esther would know already, and the thought of her washed over him and brought contentment. As he began to write, MacAndrews knew that he was the most fortunate of men.

  13

  The water flowed noisily through the wide bed of stones, and Hanley’s mare did not like the look of the narrow bridge. It was no more than a raised stone causeway, without side walls, and the horse stopped, and then tried to back away, before mingled curses, encouragement and flicks of his whip took the animal across. The German hussar escorting him walked his own gelding over the narrow bridge with nonchalant ease.

  They pressed on into the bigger, eastern part of Fuentes de Oñoro, threading their way through the maze-like streets. The buildings were stone and most were single-storey, but near the churchyard there was a taller house, with a balcony above the grand doorway.

  Hanley was surprised to see Pringle emerge from that very door, but immediately called out in greeting.

  ‘Well, hello yourself,’ his friend replied after a moment. ‘Just passing through?’

  ‘On my way to Celorico.’

  ‘Moving in exalted circles again, I gather.’ Billy grinned. At the end of April the French had moved much closer to Ciudad Rodrigo, and in response Lord Wellington had shifted three of his divisions and moved his headquarters to Celorico to be nearer the border. ‘Is the game about to start?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Thought so,’ said Billy. ‘They have started repairing the fortifications at Conception.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘Well, Colonel Cox tried to get Spanish labourers, but neither pleas nor coin got him anywhere, and so he has sent the Ninth Portuguese regiment to do the work. The place is a lot more crowded than when you last visited.’ Hanley had managed to call on his friends twice in the last months. ‘Makes training difficult, if it wasn’t hard enough in the first place.’

  ‘So why are you off wandering?’ Hanley was genuinely curious, for there was a slightly sheepish air to his friend.

  ‘Been begging as usual. We are short of cartridges and powder in general. You know MacAndrews, he likes to have the men firing at targets.’ Pringle, Hanley and Williams had all served in the Grenadier Company when the Scotsman was its captain, and knew his fondness for making drills as realistic as possible. ‘I rather believe I have lost count of the number of occasions when I have given thanks for the old man’s diligence, so I am sure you’ll agree that it is a worthy aim. I tried Cox at Almeida, but I think he is fed up with our constant requests, and none too keen on all things Spanish on top of that. So I have been down to the Third Division.’

  ‘Any joy?’

  Pringle shook his head. ‘Might have been better to send Bills, as one Welshman to another!’ Major General Picton was the new commander of the Third Division and had a reputation for his fiery Celtic temper. ‘The general didn’t exactly mince his words,’ Pringle added ruefully.

  ‘An unsuccessful trip, then?’

  ‘Looks like it.’ Pringle reached up, lifted his glasses a little and began to massage his eyelids with his fingers. A door creaked on a hinge that sorely needed oiling and someone appeared on the balcony of the house. It was a young woman – very young, for Hanley guessed she was barely sixteen – and there was a broad smile on her round face. The girl was pretty, with long dark hair, full lips and eager eyes. Her dress was a pale pink, and that was unusual in the country areas, as was its plunging neckline. There was still a good deal of the plumpness of a child about her figure. Still smiling, she reached down with one hand and then noticed the two horsemen and drew it back.

  ‘You must be tired,’ said Hanley, and then paused deliberately before adding, ‘after so long a ride.’

  ‘What? Oh yes, of course. Sore bums all round,’ Pringle replied cheerfully, and then sensed that they were not alone. He looked back over his shoulder at the balcony and gave a little smile. The girl had plucked up a mantilla, and now draped it demurely to cover her chest and shoulders. Her expression was more formal, but she could not hide the excitement in her eyes. ‘This is Josepha,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘Your servant, ma’am.’ Hanley bowed as far as was possible on horseback. ‘Been improving your Spanish?’ he asked his friend.

  ‘I am a serious soldier.’

  ‘You almost sound like Bills! Good luck with your endeavours, but I fear we must hurry on.’ He urged his horse straight into a canter, and it took the hussar a moment to match him, but the soldier could guess why the officer was grinning from ear to ear.

  At the next village Hanley stopped to water their horses and speak to the priest, who sometimes had news. In this case it merely confirmed what he had already heard, but did allow one question.

  ‘Who owns the big house in Fuentes de Oñoro?’

  ‘Ah, that is Don Fernando Martín. He owns a lot of land and several houses.’ The old priest cocked his head to one side, trying to understand the reason for the question. ‘He is ardent for Fernando VII. One of his sons was killed last year by the French and he hates them bitterly. His daughter is betrothed to Don Julián Sánchez.’

  ‘Does he have more than one daughter?’

  ‘Just one, little Josepha.’

  As Hanley and the hussar rode on, he wondered whether his friend was aware that he was playing with fire.

  ‘Boney isn’t coming,’ said Colonel Murray as the meeting began.

  Hanley made no reply.

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nbsp; ‘I take it from your ecstatic reaction that you were already aware of this – and I had so hoped to dazzle my audience with my godlike knowledge. Pity.’

  Baynes took over, his voice dripping with irony. ‘The Emperor has decided that he cannot leave France and pressing affairs of state – and no doubt the eager pressing of his little Austrian princess.’

  ‘Good luck to him,’ said Murray, ‘and let us hope good luck to us as well.’

  ‘It speaks of immense complacency, and we must all hope that he is mistaken.’

  ‘Are you ready to feign astonishment and gasp appropriately when I reveal his choice to command the invasion of Portugal?’ asked Murray, one eyebrow raised.

  ‘Bless me,’ said Hanley.

  ‘Not the most convincing performance – especially as I haven’t told you yet – but since you are so evidently waiting with bated breath to hear what you already know, then I will assuage your nervousness. The Army of Portugal is now under the command of Marshal Masséna, the newly minted Prince of Essling.’

  ‘He’s well into his sixties, used to be a smuggler and is probably more than half pirate by instinct,’ said Baynes. ‘Half blind these days, after he was shot in the eye.’

  ‘In battle?’ asked Hanley.

  ‘No, out hunting with the Emperor. It seems our friend Bonaparte is as dangerous to his friends as to his enemies. Boney got excited and peppered him with buckshot.’

  ‘Typical gunner,’ muttered Colonel Murray.

  ‘Yes, well, the sequel tells us a good deal about the gallant duke,’ said Baynes. ‘For quick as a flash he rounds on Marshal Berthier and blames him for firing the shot. Can’t have emperors making mistakes, after all, so the good marshal pleads guilty and now he and Masséna pretend to be enemies to keep up the charade. Truth is such a malleable thing.’ The merchant seemed filled with admiration.

  ‘Masséna is a rogue, and a clever one at that, and though perhaps I should not say it, those are admirable qualifications for the commander of an army.’ Colonel Murray did not look at all abashed. ‘He’s been fighting since the nineties, against half of Europe, and he keeps on winning. Last year he saved the day when Boney was really up against it with the Austrians on the Danube.’

  ‘We are told that he is not fully recovered from taking a tumble off his horse during that campaign,’ Baynes added, ‘and the suspicion is that he was none too pleased to be chosen by the Emperor.’

  ‘My source writes that he looks very old and weary,’ Hanley said. ‘The lady saw him when he arrived at Salamanca on 11th May.’ Both Murray and Baynes knew La Doña Margarita and were aware that she was living in Salamanca. There was no need to be so incautious as to mention her name. ‘General Junot and his wife were there with Ney waiting to greet him. Madame Junot is heavily with child, and has befriended our source, and so she was able to witness an unfortunate encounter.’

  ‘You have us intrigued,’ said Murray.

  ‘Marshal Masséna has an additional member of his staff, who travels in his carriage. Quite often it is simply the two of them.’

  ‘Get on with it, man!’ The colonel’s tone was jovial. ‘Although since you were not polite enough to get the vapours at my revelations, I’ll be damned if I’ll get too excited about your stories.’

  ‘This special ADC is married to one of his officers and is the sister of another of his aides. She dresses as a dragoon officer.’

  ‘High boots and tight breeches,’ said Murray to Baynes.

  ‘The “officer” was presented to Madame Junot at Valladolid, and ushered into rooms in the same wing of the palace. General Junot shook her hand happily, but his wife was embarrassed and angry.’

  Baynes was amused. ‘From all I’ve heard the lady in question is no blushing virgin herself, but I suppose since Boney gave them all titles they must act the part.’

  ‘Fascinating in its way, I am sure,’ said Murray, ‘and no doubt all soldiers will admire the marshal for providing himself with such a complete set of campaigning kit, but it makes little difference for our purposes.’

  ‘Save that there is little love lost between Masséna and his commanders. Ney resents being placed under the command of another marshal, and the strong feelings of Madame Junot will probably persuade her husband in time.’

  ‘None of that is new. Most of these fellows will take orders from Boney, but resent it from anyone else,’ said Murray.

  ‘It is no bad way to prevent the emergence of a rival,’ Baynes added.

  ‘But not really the best way to fight a war,’ Murray concluded. ‘Soult has bombarded Ney with order after order to attack Ciudad Rodrigo since the start of the year, and he has done almost nothing. If you ask me he has probably been right, but that’s neither here nor there.

  ‘Up until now they have not had the strength, but it looks as if they will soon be ready, and it is hard to believe that they will not move now that Masséna is here. It’s harder to ignore a direct order than a letter. Since Astorga fell, Junot is free with his Eighth Corps. Ney’s Sixth Corps has been reinforced by a third division. Reynier with the Second Corps is still down south for the moment. Reinforcements for most of the regiments within these corps have arrived or are on their way, and fresh units are coming as well. Your reports and all the others speak of the gathering of supplies.’

  Hanley gave a summary of his latest information. ‘They seem to be preparing for a good deal of construction, gathering timber, nails and tools – oh, and they have sewn hundreds of sacks and been making big wicker containers.’

  ‘Sandbags, gabions and fascines for the engineers,’ said Murray. ‘Everything speaks of siege works.’

  ‘Are we sure they will not bypass Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida,’ Baynes asked, ‘and just leave some soldiers to watch their garrisons? By the sound of it they will have enough men.’

  ‘Lord Wellington thinks not,’ said Murray. ‘It would certainly be a risk to leave them in their rear. Apart from that, every stronghold taken is a blow to people’s confidence. Especially if they surrender. Cox will fight, but …’ Murray left the thought unfinished.

  ‘The French outposts are now almost within sight of Ciudad Rodrigo,’ he continued. It looks like they are not much more than brigade strength at the moment, but Herrasti is getting hysterical and begging us to come and drive them away. Frankly he’s got the numbers to do that himself if it were so critical.’

  ‘His soldiers are mainly raw,’ said Hanley, ‘and I believe he is cautious about risking them in the open field. At our last meeting he did ask me to emphasise that he would be greatly aided by the sending of the guns left behind last year. They are Spanish after all, and bigger than anything he has at the moment.’

  ‘Which is precisely why he cannot have them.’ Baynes’ irony was once again heavy, and it was clear that he and Murray had discussed the matter already. ‘It is a question of trust.’

  The colonel grunted. ‘Or lack of trust, as you damned well know. Look, Hanley, if we let him have those pieces and Ciudad Rodrigo falls, then we have just given the French a bigger siege train with which to batter Almeida.’

  ‘Herrasti rejected another summons to surrender earlier this month.’ Hanley’s support was cautious.

  Murray was dismissive. ‘By a small force without the slightest chance of actually taking the place. Can we be sure what he will do when the real army arrives?’

  ‘He wants to fight,’ said Hanley. ‘I am fully convinced of that, but he fears that we will not support him and the refusal to give him the guns will weaken his support. There are elements within the city less stubborn in their will to resist. Some despair, and I suspect that generous offers are being presented by agents of King Joseph.’

  Baynes immediately became intent. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It’s just a feeling. The way some of them are starting to speak.’

  Hanley had expected Murray to be sceptical of such a vague impression, and was surprised that he took him so seriously. ‘Lord Wellington will no
t give him those guns. Another powder convoy is being prepared. General Craufurd says that there should be no difficulty in getting it through as the French encirclement is far from complete.’

  ‘That should help.’

  ‘Lord Wellington has also written to assure the governor that he will come to his aid and is willing to fight an action outside Ciudad Rodrigo if the chance offers.’ Murray looked doubtful. ‘Whether the man will realise that we cannot risk going up against such great numbers if the French concentrate all their forces is another matter.’

  ‘Once again, trust and mistrust.’ Hanley was privately toying with an idea.

  ‘If the French concentrate against Ciudad Rodrigo then nothing in the world will stop them from taking it in the end,’ said Murray flatly. ‘The only question is how long it will take. Personally I suspect that Almeida will delay them longer, but that city will also fall in the end. We need as much time as they can give us, and so we want Herrasti to fight.’

  ‘And he will only do that if he believes he can trust us to save him, which we cannot actually do,’ Hanley finished the thought. ‘The presence of British soldiers would help.’

  Murray frowned. ‘Wellington won’t waste any of his battalions inside a doomed fortress. Even Cox has only Portuguese.’

  ‘It does not need to be a battalion.’ Hanley was slightly disturbed by what he was about to suggest. Although less by the idea itself than his own willingness to do it.

  ‘A token gesture.’ Baynes watched the lieutenant closely; the merchant’s face betrayed excitement and Hanley suspected he had guessed what he had in mind.

  ‘No more than that, but a few redcoats walking the walls would make it easier for Herrasti to believe, and for him to convince the rest of the city.’

  ‘Some of Colonel MacAndrews’ men, perhaps?’ suggested Baynes with a passable impersonation of innocence. The merchant continued to stare at Hanley. ‘There is a lot to be said in favour of such an idea.’