Fire and Sword

by Simon Scarrow

  Arthur lowered the letter on to the table and shrugged. ‘It is tempting to wonder if this might not have come a bit earlier had I not been held back by my service in India. Never mind.The promotion has come, and I am better able to serve my King and country as a result. That is the important thing.’

  Kitty had returned to her seat and was fussing over the crib where their second child, Charles, was lying, tiny fists clenched as he waved them about furiously. The boy’s birth had been one of Arthur’s few consolations since his return from Denmark at the end of the previous year. Almost as soon as the convoy had put into port he had been summoned back to Dublin to resume his duties as Chief Secretary to the Duke of Richmond. He was back at his desk early in October, dealing with the same old problems that had beset Ireland for decades. The divisions between Catholics and Protestants were as pronounced as ever.There were more absentee landlords every year and the prospect of mass starvation due to the failure of the potato harvest constantly loomed.

  Even as Arthur worked conscientiously to improve the lot of the Irish people, his mind was fixed on the political situation on the continent and his desire to serve his country in uniform again. Shortly after his return, news arrived of Bonaparte’s attempt to seize control of the Portuguese navy and every man and woman in Britain had breathed a sigh of relief when they heard of the escape of the Portuguese royal family and their warships, two days before French troops occupied Lisbon.

  Kitty cleared her throat and Arthur glanced across the table to see her watching him closely.

  ‘What is it, my dear?’

  ‘I was wondering how long you might be spending in London this time.’

  ‘It is hard to say,’ Arthur replied cautiously. He was conscious that Kitty had still not completely forgiven him for the cavalier way he had joined the expeditionary force setting sail for Denmark. He had given her no warning that he was involved with the planning and preparation for the campaign. ‘But I promise that I shall write to you often and make every effort to return to Dublin as soon as I may.’

  ‘As long as you promise that, I shall be content, Arthur.’ She was quiet for a moment before she continued. ‘You know that I miss you, and worry for your safety when you are not here.’

  ‘I realise that, my dear,’ Arthur replied patiently.‘But I am a soldier as well as a civilian official.As a husband and father, it is not always possible to balance the claims of all those duties, and those persons to whom I am obliged to give my attention.’

  ‘I wish that you would give up soldiering,’ Kitty responded with quiet intensity as she offered her little finger to Charles, who grasped it and squeezed for all he was worth, making his mother smile faintly.‘You have done enough active service for your country already. Surely it is the turn of someone else?’

  ‘My dear, the long years of campaigning in India are precisely the reason why I am needed in uniform. I have valuable experience of leading men, and indeed entire armies, on campaign, and in battle. My country has profited from what I have learned.Would you deny Britain the benefit of that experience now, when we are almost within the grasp of the Corsican tyrant? Britain needs every soldier that can bear arms.’ He smiled at her. ‘If you must blame anyone for the demands made on me, then let it be Bonaparte.’

  ‘Wretched man,’ Kitty responded, with feeling. She was quiet a moment, thinking. ‘What drives him to desire power without limit?’

  It was an interesting question and Arthur gave it some thought before he attempted to reply. ‘A difficult one to answer.There is a flaw of character in some men, whereby they are never replete with the satisfaction that comes with serving one’s country. Their sense of duty becomes corrupted by ambition to the extent that their only obligation is to themselves and hang the rest of it. I believe that Bonaparte is such a man. But he is also the child of a particular moment in history. Were it not for the revolution in France, I doubt that he would have attained any substantial rank in the French army.’

  ‘Truly?’ Kitty looked surprised. ‘Surely the man has remarkable talents, otherwise he would never have risen to become Emperor.’

  ‘Oh, he is remarkable enough,’ Arthur conceded. ‘But if there had been no revolution he would have faced the same restrictions on his advancement as I have in the British army. Indeed, given the obscurity of his social origins, I dare say he would never have been likely to rise above the rank of captain in the army that existed before the revolution. The revolution was the making of Bonaparte, just as it was of many of those who now hold powerful offices in France. It was the revolution that opened the doors of rapid promotion to so many men. It was the revolution that fashioned Bonaparte and fed him the opportunities for advancement that brought him to where he is today, and obliged the rest of us to fight him until the bitter end,’ Arthur added with a mirthless smile.‘I wonder, if our positions had been reversed and I had been born in Corsica, how far I might have risen? Equally, if Bonaparte had been born here in Ireland, to my parents, he would have been fortunate to have attained the posts that I have and be sitting here talking to you, my dear.’

  Kitty shuddered. ‘The thought of being married to such a monster makes my blood run cold.’

  ‘And so it should.’ Arthur was silent a moment before he continued. ‘Though I am not wholly certain whether he is what he is by defect of character, or by transformation afforded him by the revolution. I doubt we shall ever know.What a pity.’

  ‘As long as he is brought low before too much longer, I don’t care,’ said Kitty. ‘And as long as he is brought low without you or any of my brothers coming to harm I shall be happy. He is an evil man.’

  ‘Evil?’ Arthur considered the suggestion. ‘I suppose he is . . .Yes, you are right. He is doing evil now. There is no question of it. He has changed the nature of war. There was a time when war had limited aims, when it was the last resort of kings and ministers when all else had failed.The army was the final servant of the nation. Now Bonaparte has made the Grand Army into the master of France and the country exists only to serve its soldiers, and their only purpose is to wage war. And war, to my mind, is the greatest of evils.’ Arthur stared out of the window as images from the past burst, unwanted, into his mind. ‘I have seen enough to know that. And to know the degree to which it corrupts the spirits of men.’

  ‘Then why are you so keen to return to war?’ asked Kitty plaintively.

  ‘Keen? I am not keen in the slightest. I mean to do all I can to end this conflict, but there can be no end to it as long as Bonaparte rules France. Once he is defeated, then I can give up war once and for all.’

  Kitty stared at him a moment. ‘They are fine sentiments, Arthur, but there are times when I fear that you have become just as addicted to conflict as Bonaparte.’

  Arthur pursed his lips briefly and nodded wearily. ‘There are times when I fear that you may be right.’

  London was buzzing with the news that the Spanish royal family had been ousted from the throne. It was clear to all that Bonaparte would replace them with a puppet ruler as soon as possible, and extend his grip on Europe from the Straits of Gibraltar to the Baltic Sea. Before his departure from Dublin Arthur had been sent some documents from the Foreign Office outlining possible campaigns that might be undertaken against Spain’s possessions in the Americas. The schemes had all been hatched by a renegade, General Miranda, leader of the rebels in Venezuela who sought independence from Spain. During the journey to London Arthur had analysed the sketchy plans and could see that there was scope for some action in the Americas, but he was wary of backing wholesale revolution throughout the Spanish empire. Revolutions were tricky beasts whose nature and direction could never be anticipated.

  As soon as he reached the house in Harley Street Arthur sent a message to George Canning announcing his arrival and preparedness to meet at the first opportunity. So it was that first thing the following day Arthur presented himself at the office of the Foreign Secretary. Canning was a slight man with brilliant eyes and a re
ady smile.

  ‘Ah, Wellesley! Come in and sit yourself down.’ Canning beamed from behind his desk. Arthur did as he was bid and settled comfortably into a soft leather chair opposite his host.

  Canning leaned forward, hands folded together. ‘First chance I have had to add my congratulations on your performance in Denmark. First of all, a vote of thanks from Parliament for your - what was the phrase? Ah, yes! Your “genius and valour”. And then a formal note from the Danes expressing their gratitude for the honourable manner in which you negotiated their surrender of Copenhagen. Truly you are the coming man.’

  ‘I thank you.’ Arthur bowed his head modestly. ‘I did no more than my duty.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Canning replied with a quick nod. ‘Just as any officer would do.’

  ‘Yes.That is what I would hope.’

  Canning smiled and eased himself back in his chair. ‘I have been authorised by the Cabinet to offer you a new command. An army is to be sent to liberate Portugal, and it was felt that you would be the most suitable officer to take charge of the campaign. Do you accept?’

  ‘Indeed, sir.’ Arthur’s eyebrows arched in surprise at the suddenness of the offer. He felt elated, and did his best to hide it.‘Do you intend to extend the operation beyond the frontiers of Portugal?’

  ‘The government considers that it would be most prudent to begin with Portugal. It is more easily supplied and defended, and should provide an admirable base for wider operations when the time is ripe. Only then you might consider Spain.’

  Arthur’s heart quickened at the prospect. This was the war he had dreamed of. The chance to tackle French troops directly on terrain favourable to the British.With the Spanish nation rising up against the French occupiers Bonaparte faced waging a war in the most difficult of conditions. His men, accustomed to feeding off the land, would be the targets of armed bands of peasants.The climate was hot too and Arthur well knew the particular strains of campaigning under the merciless glare of the sun. Nor would it be a theatre of war that the French Emperor could ignore. Having made his brother King, Bonaparte would be compelled to divert endless resources to Spain to support Joseph and prevent the humiliating spectacle of a member of his family being ousted from the throne that the Emperor had placed him upon. The situation was ripe with advantages for Britain and her new Spanish and Portuguese allies.

  Arthur glanced at Canning. ‘When do you want me to sail for Portugal?’

  ‘The sooner the better. Best strike while the iron is hot, eh? I would like your force to land before the end of July.’

  Arthur raised his eyebrows. ‘That does not give me much time to prepare.’

  ‘Really?’ Canning frowned. ‘How much time do you need? Our opportunity lies before us now, Wellesley. It may slip from our grasp unless you act quickly.’ Canning paused. ‘Of course, there are plenty of other general officers who might be able to act with greater alacrity.’

  ‘I will be ready on time,’ Arthur replied firmly.

  ‘Good.Then your first task will be to defeat General Junot and drive him from Lisbon and out of the country.’

  ‘Do we have any estimate of Junot’s strength?’

  Canning nodded. ‘Our Portuguese spies tell us that he has no more than ten thousand men.Your command can handle that.’

  ‘Yes. As long as the reports of your spies are accurate.’

  ‘They are. Our agents in Lisbon had proved to be very reliable to date.You should have nothing to worry about. Now I suggest you set about making your preparations to leave as swiftly as possible.’

  On returning to Harley Street Arthur immediately wrote a letter to Kitty to inform her of his new command. This time there was little likelihood of his returning to his duties in Dublin for a long time indeed. In which case, Kitty should move to London as soon as possible. He told her that this was the opportunity to serve his country that he had been waiting for for so many years, and that Kitty should be proud of him. Once she came to London, he continued, he would be content in the knowledge that his brothers would ensure that she was looked after, and help her run the family’s affairs until he returned.

  Having folded, sealed and addressed the letter to Kitty, Arthur next wrote to the Duke of Richmond to inform him of the coming campaign. He offered his profound gratitude to the Duke for the confidence he had shown in Arthur by appointing him to the post of Chief Secretary. However, his primary duty lay in serving his country on the battlefield, until peace was won. After Bonaparte was defeated Arthur pledged to return to his post in Dublin as swiftly as possible.

  Once the letters had been written Arthur turned his attention to making a list of the preparations necessary for the coming campaign. There were staff officers to appoint, books to purchase. He must also arrange to meet a deputation from Spain, and representatives of the Portuguese government in exile. As the day wore on and dusk settled over London Arthur added further pages of notes to the growing pile, until at length, as a footman lighted a lantern to illuminate his study, Arthur sat back in his chair with a smile.

  At last he could prove his worth to the world. With ten thousand men he would clear the French out of Portugal, and once that had been achieved the government must surely see that with adequate reinforcements there was ample opportunity of bleeding Bonaparte’s army dry in the hostile plains and mountains of Spain.

  The following weeks passed in a welter of details and meetings until early July, when all was ready. Kitty and the two infants had joined Arthur in London and on the eve of his departure he held a final private dinner for his brothers Richard,William and Henry. It was the first time for a number of years that they had gathered together, and as they chattered light-heartedly over the meal, catching up on each other’s news, Arthur could not help thinking back to the days of their childhood when they had played in the gardens of Dangan Castle in Ireland. It seemed an idyllic interlude now. Carefree games on the lawn while faint notes of violin music issued from their father’s recital room. Their mother would sit and sew in the shade of an oak tree and the outside world promised so much.Then came the French revolution and the war, and looking round the table Arthur was proud to note that each of them had risen to the challenge and served their country with distinction. At that moment he felt a surge of affection for his brothers and, slightly the worse for wear, leaned forward and picked up his glass.

  ‘A toast, my brothers!’

  Henry looked at him with an amused smile. ‘A toast? Have you not yet drunk enough, Arthur?’

  ‘A toast,’ Arthur insisted. ‘I give you family, honour and duty. Long may we hold true to those values.’

  Richard nodded. ‘Family, honour and duty.’

  The others joined in as they all raised their glasses and then drained every drop.

  Shortly afterwards William made his apologies and rose to leave, bracing himself against the table as the room spun round.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t think I am very well.’

  ‘Come, William!’ Henry laughed as he stood up and moved round the table to support his older brother. ‘Let me take you home. I must bid the rest of you farewell.Thank you for a fine meal, Kitty. God speed and good luck to you, Arthur. Teach those damned Frenchies a lesson!’

  ‘I will,’ Arthur replied. ‘I promise. God save you, Henry, and you, William.’

  When they had left Arthur turned to Kitty, who had been quiet all night. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’

  ‘I am fine. Quite fine,’ she replied.

  ‘Really?’ Arthur looked at her closely. ‘You are not sickening for anything?’

  ‘No. I said I am fine, thank you.’

  ‘Then why the long face?’

  She looked up at him and now he could see the tears gleaming in the corners of her eyes. Her lips were trembling when she spoke. ‘You are going off to war again. I don’t know when you may return, if you return. So far fortune has spared you and sent you home to me in one piece. But can that last, Arthur? One day, a Fre
nch bullet will find your heart, or a sickness will strike you down. Then I will be left a widow and your children will grow up hardly having known a father. And you ask how I feel?’

  Before Arthur could summon a reply she had risen and hurried from the room, leaving her husband and brother-in-law staring after her in surprise.

  ‘Bless my soul,’ Richard muttered.

  ‘I’ll speak to her later. Put her mind at rest.’ Arthur poured himself another glass of wine and stared into its red depths.The room was silent for a while before Richard spoke again.

  ‘Your mood has changed.What are you thinking?’