Send Me Safely Back Again (21 page)

‘No, sir. Thought that I would have to go to Lapisse himself, but the head of the cavalry brigade snapped at the bait at once and sent these squadrons under the same officer who had led the first attempt.’

‘The dragoon,’ said Williams, who as part of the bait found himself less than enthused by the story.

‘That’s the lad,’ confirmed Sir Robert. ‘
Chef d’esquadron
Dupont and no doubt
Duque de nom de chien
now that Boney is doling out titles with the rations. They peel away from the main column and sneak through our outposts. Well, that doesn’t take much since we have so few men, but we’ll let the rogues have that deed to boast.

‘You pretty much know the rest. Hanley and these French scoundrels come dashing down here after you. My lads – including Lieutenant Dawney and his mule-borne knights – are off thundering to the rescue.’ Sir Robert had led the cavalry of his own Legion. Behind came a company he had raised from stragglers cut off from Sir John Moore’s army. Altogether he had rounded up nearly one hundred redcoats, with facings of every colour known to the British Army, and put them on donkeys, mules or nags to turn them into mounted infantry.

‘My legionaries are all prime young soldiers,’ continued Sir Robert, ‘but it is good to have some solid British regulars for the toughest jobs.’

Williams began to worry that Wilson would do his best to keep the 106th to bolster his private army.

‘So we come from the east, while Colonel D’Espagne leads his Spanish dragoons around from the west to cut them off. He is a Frenchman, although you would never think it. Left when the Revolution came, and has been fighting them ever since. We would all have been here sooner if the bridge hadn’t been down and forced us to ride a couple of leagues farther to the next ford. Still, no great harm done.’ Sir Robert conveniently forgot the wounded and the two graves. ‘All worth it in the end.

‘Just think, a whole regiment of French cavalry broken and badly mauled!’ Sir Robert’s voice rose in his passion and his dogs looked up, surprised by the noise. He leaned down to pat their heads. ‘With the fellows you toppled and the dozen we caught in the chase that’s nearly forty men knocked down. A splendid day’s work!’

Williams felt the arithmetic was optimistic, while two squadrons were scarcely a regiment. The French butcher’s bill was certainly higher than their own, but the affair could so easily have left all of the 106th dead or captive. As calculated risks went, this one seemed out of proportion to the stakes on the table. What was that old saying – breaking windows with guineas!

‘That’s the way we must fight until those damned fools in London have the sense to send the army back to Spain. Beresford is a solid fellow, and will do wonders now that the Portuguese have made him marshal of their army, but the war can only be won here. That’s what I’ll tell him when we meet in a few days. Won’t do any harm to slip into the conversation that I have just ridden down some chasseurs and cut nearly fifty of them out of the saddles!’

None of them bothered to mention the steady climb of the total.

‘Are you to go to Portugal, Sir Robert?’ asked Pringle.

‘Indeed. I have been summoned, no less.’

‘Then shall you require us to accompany the lady on the rest of her journey?’

‘No need, although of course most grateful for the kind offer. D’Espagne’s men will take her all the way to Ciudad Rodrigo.’

‘Then,’ said Pringle, ‘have I your permission to march before dawn on my way back to Lisbon?’

Sir Robert smiled. One of his dogs stretched and he rubbed his hand along its back. The animal yawned massively. ‘The day after you may go. Tomorrow I need you. Or rather I need these,’ he said, and pointed an elegantly gloved finger at Pringle’s red coat.

They marched at three in the morning. Some of Wilson’s men and the Spanish remained behind and they left the wounded with them to collect on their return. The one redcoat hit in the chest still lingered, but there were bubbles of blood when he breathed and it seemed doubtful that he would meet them on their return.

Pringle set a rapid pace and the two companies of the 106th grumbled as they trudged along the ten miles they needed to cover before the sun came up. They saw little of Wilson, who had ridden ahead. Wickham went with him, but Hanley marched with the grenadiers. He was still in his civilian clothes, but was pleased to be back with his friends and also felt that sharing the toil of a march might complete his redemption in their eyes.

‘I can see a couple of sentries,’ said Williams, studying the convent through his glass. General Lapisse had left a company of infantry as garrison to this little outpost. The walls were strong, and there was no doubt a good supply of food and water inside the compound, so that the commander ought to be able to hold out against any likely attack from partisans or light troops.

‘It will not be easy if the bluff does not work,’ said Pringle softly. Only Hanley, Hopwood and Williams had come forward to the crest of the hill to look down at the village and the convent on the high ground outside it. ‘Well, we had better get on with it. You go first, Mr Hopwood.’

Five minutes later Three Company marched along the very top of the ridge, easily visible to the French post. They followed the crest, until they reached a walled orchard which covered them from the enemy’s view. A sunken lane led down from there into the main road leading into the valley. Some of the Legion cavalry were waiting and trotted down to send up a cloud of dust and make it look as if the company of redcoats was heading along to the road. Hopwood took his men back along the reverse slope of the ridge until he formed up behind the grenadiers. Then Pringle led both companies back along the ridge. More horsemen were waiting to create the necessary dust.

A little later each company marched across individually before they again went as a group. This time Wickham and Sir Robert joined them and rode conspicuously at their head. Two grinning grenadiers carried long poles with blankets fixed to hang from them in the hope that the French would see the Colours of a full battalion.

This time they followed the road and were joined by Lieutenant Dawney’s scratch company.

The French saw several hundred infantry appear outside the village and halt before the whole ‘battalion’ was in the open. Wilson and several of his staff rode forward under a flag of truce to call upon the garrison to surrender, announcing that he had a British regiment and Portuguese auxiliaries and would storm the place in an hour if they did not agree.

‘Do you think they will believe him?’ asked Hanley, somewhat disappointed to be left behind.

‘Perhaps,’ said Pringle. ‘Depends how suspicious they are. Or how stupid.’

‘Or brave,’ added Williams.

‘Aye, that too.’

‘I cannot see any timber good enough for making ladders,’ said Williams after a moment.

‘Pray it does not come to that,’ replied Pringle.

‘It will work,’ said Hanley, with greater confidence than he felt.

The wish proved true, and forty minutes later some ninety French infantrymen processed out of the convent gate and laid down their muskets.

‘That is a true success,’ conceded Pringle.

Sir Robert was his usual jovial self. ‘Smoked ’em again,’ he said delightedly. ‘This is how to fight the war. Let those fools replace me now!’

Dawney’s men took charge of the prisoners. The two companies of the 106th were given bread and wine by the villagers and the chance to eat and rest for the afternoon. They marched back to retrieve their wounded that same night, in time to bury the man with the chest wound.

The next morning Pringle set off early. The men were tired, but shared their officer’s desire to leave such chaotic warfare behind them. They marched heartily, and kept a quick pace for several days.

‘Be good to see Lisbon again,’ said Pringle.

14

T
he mouth of the River Tagus was bright blue and sparkled in the sunlight as Hanley and Williams walked down from the remains of the Roman theatre. They had visited the site before in the previous autumn, and even now Williams struggled to make sense of it. In the last century an earthquake had split the ruins into slices which lay on different parts of the slope rather than joined together.

It was the second week in May and they had returned five days ago to find far fewer British soldiers in Lisbon than when they had left. That meant the remaining officers were finding plenty of tasks for the men of the 106th – both the company that had stayed in Lisbon and the other formed of convalescents and stragglers left behind the previous year.

‘I think it is good that Sir Arthur Wellesley is back,’ said Williams, breaking their companionable silence. ‘He knows how to win.’ Wellesley had beaten the French at Vimeiro, but then been immediately superseded by a cautious superior who had squandered the victory.

One general seemed much like another to Hanley. ‘He certainly has not chosen to tarry overmuch.’

Wellesley had arrived while they were with Wilson. By the time Pringle had marched the detachment back to Lisbon, the newly arrived general had gathered all available regiments and led them north against Marshal Soult at Oporto. Hence the enthusiasm with which commissaries, quartermasters and sundry other officers had pounced on his detachment as a source of
sentries and escorts. This was the first free morning the Grenadier Company had enjoyed since their return.

‘I hope the lists I brought from Espinosa prove both accurate and useful,’ said Hanley.

Williams could tell that his friend was not boasting of the exploit, but was genuinely concerned. ‘By the sound of things they were. And he did tell you the French were in Oporto before anyone knew of it.’

‘Yes, although no doubt the news would have reached us in time. It has always struck me that the finest way to convince someone of a lie is to wrap it in truth.’

‘Is that the voice of experience?’ asked Williams mischievously.

‘Certainly not.’ Hanley paused for a moment. ‘Well, assuming that I am telling the truth now.’

They strolled along the hill, the road wide and well paved. Everything had been rebuilt after the earthquake and this part of the city was grand and carefully planned. The cathedral with its big arched doorway, high roof and two low towers stood just where the road ran down the slope towards the sea and the pavements outside were crowded with people leaving after morning mass. It was not the wealthiest area of the city, but men and women alike were dressed in whatever respectable finery they possessed. The women – and there were far more women in the crowds than men – walked proudly and gracefully, their dresses shorter than was the English fashion so that slippered feet were clearly visible.

Pringle’s voice hallooed them from amid the throng. It took them a while to make their way through to the far side of the street, stopping time and again to raise their hats and let ladies pass. Male companions greeted them with smiles, the women with chaste nods, for the British were once again very popular in the city since Wellesley had returned and acted so smartly.

When they came closer they realised that their friend was not alone. Pringle stood arm in arm with a lady dressed in a pale pink dress that would not have been out of place in a market town
in Oxfordshire. It had puff sleeves, the high waist of current fashion, and a neck decorated in lace. Her gloves were white, as was the lace mantilla which now rested back on her shoulders. A pink parasol gave shade to the dark skin of her slim face with its full lips and grey eyes so pale as to seem almost without colour. Her free hand held her skirt off the ground, which even in this main street was liberally smeared in dirt and other filth.

‘Maria and I have just come from the cathedral,’ announced Pringle happily.

‘It is good to see you again, Mr Hanley, and Mr Williams,’ said the girl in English that was clear, and just tinted with enough of an accent to appear exotic. Maria was a courtesan. Not a common whore – Williams was surprised that the expression came to his mind since he would never have voiced it. Indeed, an uncommon one of great panache, whose clients were the wealthy and powerful. The previous August she had appeared in the guise of a nun and lured them into helping her retrieve a rich treasure left by a lover who had fled abroad. They had killed for her, and nearly died themselves.

Maria was very persuasive. It was not simply her remarkable good looks, for every movement carried an entrancing grace. That it was a studied performance made it no less powerful. She shifted slightly, turning to stare up into Pringle’s face, and somehow the new posture set off the curves of her figure more clearly.

‘Mr Williams.’ Maria’s voice broke in on his thoughts. ‘I am still greatly in your debt and must find a way to make recompense.’

‘An honour to be of service.’ That was not quite true, for they had been duped into helping, and then the affair became a challenge none of them could ignore. Since then, it was obvious that Billy Pringle – and he suspected Hanley – had enjoyed Maria’s gratitude in the most obvious way.

‘Surely there is something. Perhaps advice on clothes.’

Williams laughed. He still wore his threadbare jacket and trousers for he could not afford anything else. An ensign’s pay
was modest, and as with all the rest of the 106th stranded in Portugal, his was months in arrears.