“Well done, sir! A very neat and tidy exercise, I believe.”
“Yes, sir. Beg to report, sir, one hundred and seventy-two French infantry present, sir, comprising four thin companies, as the guerrilleros told us, sir. I have brought badges back with me, sir, to be sent to headquarters for their information, sir. All were killed silently, sir. Only six sentries out, sir. Very slack! We discovered a number of casks of wines and brandy, most of them empty, sir, and believe they may have concealed loot from the cavalry, and have been in the habit of drinking heavily each night.”
“The cavalry to stay alert while they fell into topers’ oblivion!”
“So I believe, sir. Their sleeping quarters smelt of drink, sir!”
“What of our men?”
“Their canteens will be full, I doubt not, sir. Impossible to prevent in the darkness.”
“Company officers to parade them at first light. All canteens to be emptied out and refilled with water, under their eyes. It cannot be stopped and there are to be no punishments, but they will not get drunk today. Where is Mr Ryan and his people?”
“Walked out in a circle to the south, sir. Just four or five miles, to discover if there are forces of infantry nearby that could assist in the pursuit, sir.”
“Good. You have done very well, Major Paisley, as I expected. Take the men west now, easily unless you hear action.”
Septimus made his way into the camping ground and examined the loads dropped off by the mules. He sent Cooper to fetch El Campesino and his men, and women.
“Do you have any other English speakers, sir?”
“I speak some, but Ryan is better. So he speaks for me.”
And Ryan was English, as far as Campesino was concerned, and would deal better with the soldiers.
“I promised muskets, powder and ball. I had hoped to find quantities of Spanish arms, more than this. But there is enough here for every one of your people to have a musket and loads for it. There are extras as well, for any new men who may join you. Please to take them all. When I reach the Army, I shall name you to the general as a friend and ally who deserves our help, sir.”
One hundred and seventy muskets and at least ten thousand rounds – there was a sufficiency there to add another one hundred men to the band. Even if he could not find horses for all, he nonetheless became a figure of some importance, a man to be consulted and sought as an ally. It occurred to Campesino that the muskets were French; he could forget about the possibility of accepting the substantial rewards offered to those who would join the invaders while he showed evidence of French soldiers dead at his men’s hands.
No matter! He was a powerful man now. Perhaps he should get rid of the Englishman, Ryan; he was no longer necessary to him - but that could wait until they were distant from the English regiment they had so fortuitously met.
Ryan came in with his men and reported that there were no French directly to the south; the only enemy was the brigade to the east of the arsenal.
“My thanks then, Mr Ryan. There are one hundred and seventy or so of French muskets which I have placed in your chief’s hands. I still consider myself in your debt, sir. I had hoped to find far more for you. I hope we will meet again, sir.”
“We might want to discuss that, Colonel. My lady has suggested that we might leave Spain, and I have a few coins in my pocket, sufficient that I could take ship across the Ocean. The problem might lie in reaching Lisbon – but was we to do so under your protection, sir, then all might be easier.”
“You are welcome, Mr Ryan. Do you wish to march out with us this morning?”
“If I may, sir.”
“Of course. Best that you might appear to have taken service with me. Are you under oath to Campesino, as a liege man of his?”
“Not at all, sir. We are a free company, sir.”
“Cooper! Mr Ryan will be joining us for the while, with his lady. He is officially what do you say, sir, a groom?”
“Why not, sir? There is much to be said for the horseman’s existence. What must I do, Mr Cooper?”
“Not very much, sir. You will want to be collecting your lady, will you not?”
“So I shall. Might I, even as a menial, sir, suggest that we might want to attract the attention of the cavalrymen if we are to bring them to the slaughterhouse, as it were? A fire or two out on the grassland, sir, by the track coming in, might give the impression that we had dallied for breakfast and might be discovered only few yards down the track through the woods, sir?”
“Sensible, Mr Ryan! If we leave them no traces, then why should they chase into the woods after us? Captain Boldre! I want ten good fires on the grassland just a few yards out from the treeline. Get a company to collect dead wood and set the cooking fires alight, one for each company. Quickly now, sir!”
Smoke was rising within ten minutes.
“Very good, sir! Now then, let us inspect your ambushes.”
The track was wide enough for an oxcart and wound through a tree-covered dell reaching up into the hills. Low down it was all hardwoods, Spanish oaks a commonplace among the lesser trees; higher into the hills Septimus could see evergreens taking over before the timber degenerated into low scrub. The tree-covered banks rose ten and twenty feet on either side of the track, a thick clustering of thorn and broad-leaf bushes almost closing off the sides.
The redcoats were set in their platoons, able to fire down onto the track but effectively out of sabre-reach. The two companies lined the track on both sides for nearly a hundred yards. Septimus observed all with considerable unease.
“Gentlemen! You may note the roadway to be quite stony, the soil worn away over the years. There are, as well, places alongside the pathway that show bare faces of rock; limestone, it might be.”
Captains Boldre and Colquhoun peered with every appearance of interest; neither, it appeared, was a geologist.
“Gentlemen, let us assume that, as an example, a platoon on the left fires a volley. What, do you suppose, might happen.”
Captain Boldre was senior of the two, felt almost obliged to answer; as a billiards player he was sure of the answer.
“Well, sir, some of the balls will plough home and the rest, one may fairly assume, will strike rocks and then carom away.”
“Excellent, and those balls that, as you elegantly express it, carom – where will they go to, do you think?”
“Well, anywhere, sir – they will fly in all directions.”
“Including up the bank and into the platoon lying in wait on the other side of the track?”
The two captains were struck dumb.
“Perhaps, gentlemen, you might wish to place your platoons where they are less likely to be killed by each others’ fire.”
They ran; within minutes both could be heard berating their sergeants for their foolishness in risking their men’s lives in so careless a fashion.
Both men had an income and would be able in time to purchase a majority, and then their colonel’s commission.
“God help the Army!”
Septimus wandered back to the treeline, easing the set of the heavy pistols on his belt.
“Cavalry at a distance, sir!”
“Got them. Lancers by their hats – Polish troops. Saw them at Corunna, if you remember.”
“So we did, sir. The King’s German Legion got into them, as I remember, sir. They must have sent home for replacements, sir.”
Long-serving sergeants had certain privileges, including conversing with the colonel on occasion.
“Captain Boldre has his people on the side of the track, about three hundred yards in, sergeant. When the cavalry are a little closer, then show them a red coat or two and pull back into the trees, well clear of the track, and bring your lads back to the company.”
Septimus walked back down the trail – there was time before the cavalry came and he wanted to see that the ambush was well hidden. He joined Captain Boldre’s company.
Ten minutes brought the clatter of hooves on the sto
ny track.
“Ready now, men. Do not shoot until I give the word. We shall let the first few go past and then get a second shot as they try to come back again.”
The lancers came on at the walk, four abreast on the roadway and unhappy in woodland; they did not want to be constricted in such a fashion, but they had been given their orders and were very unwilling to return empty-handed to the raging brigadier surrounded by the dead at the arsenal.
“Four officers in sight, lads. A barrel of brandy when we get in if none of them make it back!”
Septimus stood and drew a pistol.
“Shoot!”
More butchery, the lancers unable to come to grips with their attackers, finding it hard to turn back and unwilling to push forward, milling and fouling each other. Their officers were gone, shot to pieces, and few of the troopers managed to escape.
“Cease fire!”
The sergeants ensured that every man reloaded before allowing them to stand back.
“Captain Boldre, clear the field.”
Boldre’s company rushed down onto the track, shooting injured horses and leading away the few unwounded, each of which represented prize-money; then they turned to the men, collecting the wounded together, apart from a few with their guts hanging out, dying in agony and put out of their misery. Every pocket was swiftly emptied, every saddle-bag turned out; good boots were pulled off the feet of dead and wounded alike; a very few unbroken bottles were grabbed from knapsacks and saddle buckets; pistols were collected by a few men who liked to have an extra shot tucked away against need. Five minutes and all was done and the company was reformed in good order and marching up the track to rejoin the battalion, very satisfied with their day’s labours.
Septimus stopped at the next ambush point, a furlong distant now, Colquhoun having made his men safe at least from their own musketry.
“Now that, Captain Colquhoun, is how I like to see cavalry!”
“Dead, sir! Much to be said for them in that condition. Do we expect them to come again, sir?”
“Who is to say, Captain? I do not know the minds of French general officers. Was it my choice, then I would simply cut my losses; I would say that I had lost and could not win and would go home. The Frogs may not agree with that course of action. So, we shall stay here for another two hours at least. You have placed your men well and will be able to destroy any mounted column. If they have the sense to send in dragoons, dismounted through the forest, then the position will require new thought. What is your opinion of the ground, Captain?”
The track had risen and was entering the first of a series of turns that would take it uphill across the slope at a reasonable gradient. The company was placed on the higher side and was well-hidden by the last of the broadleaf trees and thorn scrub. A small stream crossed the track just a few yards distant where the woodland became more open pine trees which slowly died away further uphill.
“Last ambush point until the actual shoulder of the hill, sir. Open enough to let horses pass through, sir, but not for them to hold together to support each other. If they tried to chase us, sir, then I would order the platoons to separate and choose their own path uphill and to fire independently, in the expectation of losing very few, sir.”
“So would I, Captain Colquhoun. Be sure that your sergeants and corporals are aware of your intention.”
Septimus considered Colquhoun to be slaphappy – full of good ideas and intentions but not always remembering to carry them into practice.
Cooper was at his shoulder, waiting his opportunity.
“Reloads, sir!”
“Thank’ee, Cooper. Just the two.”
Septimus watched the hillside while Cooper busied himself with the pistols, reloading the two he had fired and quickly checking the pans of the other four, just in case they had been knocked or shaken and had spilled their priming.
There was movement again.
“They are coming on, Captain Colquhoun. Hussars rather than lancers, which is plain daft, sir! If lancers could not reach us, then what will sabres do?”
“Keep us busy, perhaps, sir?”
Septimus considered the comment, decided it might be very sensible. If there was another road, known to the French and entering the hills at a different point, then it might be possible to bring the lancers into the battalion’s rear.
“Send your runner to Majors Paisley and Perceval, with instructions to keep a thorough look-out in all directions. I think it possible that the French may attempt to come at us from the direction of the Portuguese border and they are to keep a weather eye peeled.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but I shall take a minute or two to write that. My lad is nippy on his feet – there are few will take a message quicker – but he is a little underweight between the ears, one might say, and is well capable of forgetting just what the message was by the time he gets to his destination.”
Septimus watched as a young soldier carefully folded the piece of paper and tucked it safely inside his shako before taking up his musket and scuttling away.
“Would it be better to equip your runner with a pair of pistols, lighter and easier to run with, Captain Colquhoun?”
“Be damned and so it would, sir. I had not thought of such a thing!”
The hussars came on at a slow walk, evidently not relishing their task.
“Give them the opportunity to run, Captain Colquhoun. If they stick to the business, then we may be sure that they have some sort of plan in mind.”
“Artillery, sir? They could discover our position and blast us out of it.”
“Howitzers could rain shells through the branches, I expect – but there was no report of batteries close to hand. The remainder of the infantry might be following them up. There was just four companies in the arsenal – there should be more somewhere.”
“A skirmish line through the trees could do us some no good, sir.”
“It could indeed. Let us see what they have in mind.”
They let the leading hussars come within fifty yards and then offered a pair of volleys, odds and evens, before reloading and waiting to see what happened next.
The smoke cleared slowly under the trees but showed the first three ranks of the column down and the rest reforming at a distance.
“White flag, sir. Coming up to collect their wounded, I must imagine.”
“Difficult! I had far rather refuse them a truce, but there would be so much fuss and bother if I did… Send one of your officers out with a flag and offer them an hour, Captain Colquhoun.”
“Why refuse a truce, sir?”
“We have just gone to a lot of fuss and bother in the effort to kill the buggers, Captain Colquhoun – and now we are to stand back and let their friends try to save their skins. Where is the rationality in that, sir?”
“I am afraid that I do not know, Colonel. But I do know where the humanity is!”
“Sod humanity, Captain! We are at war!”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am glad you agree, Captain. Two squads, Captain Colquhoun, one each side of the track and distant from it by a furlong or thereabouts and to make their way perhaps a mile back where we have come from, just to see if there is infantry on the march.”
“We have just agreed truce, sir. No warlike activity for the hour.”
“Quite right, too. Tell them not to shoot any Frogs they see for another sixty minutes. Send them out now.”
It was to shave the definition of truce to its thinnest and was probably discreditable conduct; Septimus was sure that his personal honour could bear the strain.
“Nothing, sir. Not a Frog in sight, sir.”
“Then, one wonders, Captain Colquhoun, just where the little buggers have got to! No word from Major Perceval, and he is wholly reliable – if the Frogs are to the west of us then he will have spotted them. Why send cavalry after us in thick forest, not once but twice?”
Colquhoun thought a few seconds then showed triumphant – he knew the answer!
“You know, Captain Colquhoun, you may well be correct! I must imagine that he cannot have discovered the Count yet – he has hardly had time enough for a patrol to backtrack us to yesterday’s camp. When he finds that confirmation of the final failure of his strategy, then I expect he may be even more irate!”
“But there will be little for him to do, sir.”
Their analysis was correct as far as it went, but they failed to account for just how irritated Marshal Soult felt. He had the Count’s body brought to formal burial and made much of the English butchery of an inconvenient Spanish patriot, spreading the message to all of the guerrilla bands he could reach. The Spanish did not believe him – without exception they ‘knew’ that the French were untrustworthy and that they had certainly killed the Count themselves and were now trying to hide their crime; the word reached the English, however, and was carried to Lord Wellington’s ears.
Wellington had little doubt that the story was essentially true.
“We thought that the Count was a traitor, General Hill, trying to play us off against the French and to make something for himself in the middle. Well, I doubt not that Sir Septimus discovered evidence of the fact and reacted in typical fashion!”
“Strung him up to the nearest tree, sir? From what I saw of the man, that would not surprise me at all! Discretion is not that gentleman’s watchword, it would seem! What do we do?”
“Damned if I know, General Hill! If word gets back to London, then the matter will be out of my hands in any event. If the Prince Regent gets to hear that the army is setting Spanish grandees to dangle from the trees, then I do not know what he will do. Not that he knows what he will do from one day to the next, of course. Much will depend on the quality of the last bottle of brandy and whether he could satisfy his latest lady of the night – according to the latest rumour I have received, his performance in that particular field is increasingly erratic, and his temper much worsened as a direct reflection! Sir Septimus must hope that all is satisfactory and that the little soldier stands to attention when so ordered immediately before His Royal Highness hears word of the Count!”
Spanish Tricks (Man of Conflict Series, Book 5) Page 13