The Fields of Death (6 page)
Read The Fields of Death Online
Authors: Simon Scarrow
By late morning the sun was overhead and its harsh glare seemed to bleach the colour out of the landscape and send a silvery shimmer squirming along the horizon of the flat plain ahead of the army. Now the men began to suffer most from thirst as the dust dried out their throats and parched their lips. Their sergeants and officers, mindful of the need to conserve water in this dry land, watched their men closely to make sure that they did not consume too much from their canteens during the day’s march.
Once noon had come the army had usually advanced fifteen or so miles and was ready to halt and make camp. After the battalions had been dismissed, the men set up their makeshift tents and shelters and rested in the shade until late in the afternoon, when they ventured out to find wood for the cooking fires, and see if the local people had any food or drink to sell. Arthur had made sure that every soldier was aware that he would not countenance any looting. The least a man could expect was a public flogging if he was caught in the act.
At dusk the first fires were lit and the men cooked a stew of their pooled rations, and any game or fresh meat they had been able to buy, all added into the large pot suspended over the flames. After they had eaten, they would sit and talk. Some broke into song, accompanied by a fiddle or a flute as darkness gathered over the camp. Then the fires were built up and the men turned to their bedrolls and settled down to sleep. Those on sentry duty would be roused when their turn came during the night, while their comrades slumbered, resting before being roused to begin the whole process all over again - the timeless routine of an army on the march.
As the British advanced along the banks of the Tagus towards Madrid, Arthur began to be concerned over the lack of news from General Cuesta. Then one evening, as the army settled for the night some ten miles from the foothills of the Sierra de Gredos, Somerset brought a Spanish officer to Arthur’s tent. Stepping through the flaps, the aide saluted.
‘Sir, beg to report, there’s a messenger from General Cuesta outside.’
‘Ah, at last!’ Arthur nodded. ‘Please, bring him in.’
Somerset drew the flap aside and beckoned to the waiting officer. A moment later a short, swarthy man entered and stood in the glow of the lamp hanging from the central tent post. Arthur and the Spaniard regarded each other briefly in silence. Arthur took in the other’s dark eyes and thin moustache, and the elaborate braiding that all but covered his green coat and tasselled hat.
‘I bid you welcome, sir.’ Arthur bowed his head. ‘I am Lieutenant-General Sir Arthur Wellesley. I have the honour to command his majesty’s forces in the Peninsula.’ He gestured towards Somerset. ‘I take it you have already been introduced to my aide.’
The Spaniard nodded curtly and then presented his right leg and bowed deeply before he rose again and spoke in fluent English. ‘I am General Juan O’Donoju, of the army of Andalusia.’
Arthur cocked an eyebrow. ‘Did you say O’Donohue?’
The other man smiled faintly. ‘That was the name of my forefathers, sir. When the family was obliged to leave Ireland we took on a Spanish form of the name.’
‘Bless my soul,’ Arthur muttered before he recovered his equanimity. ‘I apologise, sir. I had not expected to find an Irishman serving as a general in the army of Spain.’
‘I hardly consider myself to be Irish, Sir Arthur. I was born in Seville and have never set foot in Ireland. So you may rest assured that I harbour no ill will towards you on account of the shameful manner in which the British have treated my ancestors.’
‘What?’ Arthur glared at him.‘Oh, I see. That’s just as well then, since we are allies.’
‘As the fortunes of war would have it, sir.’ O’Donoju flashed his teeth again. ‘For the present.’
‘Er, yes.’ Arthur cleared his throat. ‘Now then, General. I take it you have a message for me from Cuesta.’
‘From his excellency, General Gregorio García de la Cuesta, yes,’ O’Donoju corrected Arthur with heavy emphasis. He paused briefly before he continued. ‘He told me to convey to you his great joy that his brave soldiers will be fighting at the side of our British allies. He is certain that together we will soon put an end to the French cowards skulking in Madrid. Before the summer is out we will have won a glorious victory that will be an everlasting tribute to the alliance between Spain and Britain.’ The Spanish officer paused briefly before he concluded, ‘His excellency is most gratified to hear that Spain’s new ally has sent you and your men to reinforce our army in this endeavour.’
Arthur exchanged a quick look with Somerset before he responded, ‘I fear that his excellency is misinformed concerning my purpose here. I am under orders to co-operate with Spanish forces, not to reinforce them as such.’
O’Donoju shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is merely a form of words, sir. His excellency is the senior officer and has sent me to offer greetings to his new subordinate.’
Arthur saw Somerset stiffen out of the corner of his eye, but nevertheless managed to keep his expression neutral as he responded in a reasonable tone. ‘And I, of course, send greetings to him and look forward to working with him to defeat our common enemy. Before we can achieve that it is necessary that I confer with his excellency to determine our common strategy. May I enquire as to his present location?’
O’Donoju nodded. ‘His excellency has informed me that he will meet you at the fort of Miravete, near Almaraz, on the tenth of July. Do you know the fort, sir?’
Arthur thought a moment. ‘I can’t recall seeing it on our maps.’
‘It is some sixty miles from here,’ O’Donoju explained. ‘I will send you a guide when I report back to his excellency.’
‘The tenth of July?’ Somerset intervened. ‘That’s three days from now. The army can’t possibly march so far in that time.’
O’Donoju shrugged. ‘That is his excellency’s order.’
Arthur cleared his throat with a quick warning glance at Somerset to hold his tongue. ‘Tell General Cuesta that I will be there. I shall take a small escort and ride ahead of my army. Your guide can meet me on the road and take me to this fort of yours. In the meantime, I would be grateful if you would inform the general—’
‘His excellency,’ O’Donoju intervened. ‘That is his correct title, sir.’
‘Of course. Please inform his excellency that my men will require supplies of food and ammunition, which the junta in Cadiz has promised us. I take it that his excellency has made the necessary arrangements in that regard?’
‘Naturally. A Spanish gentleman’s word is his bond, sir.’
‘I am delighted to hear it. Now then.’Arthur adopted a friendly tone. ‘I take it that you will be remaining with us tonight. Somerset can escort you to the officers’ mess and find you a bed for the night.’
‘Alas, I will not be able to enjoy your hospitality, sir. I must return at once.’
‘In the dark?’
‘I know the road well, sir. If there are any enemy patrols, I can avoid them easily enough.’
‘As you wish. I will see you again on the tenth.’
They exchanged a bow and then O’Donoju left the tent, to be shown back to his horse by Somerset. Arthur eased himself forward in his seat and folded his hands together as a rest for his chin as he stared at the canvas wall of the tent opposite his campaign desk. He was under orders to co-operate with the Spanish yet he could not help a degree of anxiety at the prospect of relying on their promise to supply his army. When Somerset returned to the tent, Arthur sat up and sighed wearily.
‘What do you make of our Spanish friend?’
Somerset hurriedly composed a tactful response. ‘He seemed keen enough to take the fight to the enemy, sir.’
‘That may be so.’ Arthur rubbed his forehead. ‘The fact is that our Spanish allies have won all too few victories over the French. Cuesta himself was badly beaten at Medellin back in April. Still, if we combine our strengths we should be able to give a decent account of ourselves when we meet the enemy. The latest intelligence reports say that Marshal Victor’s corps is defending the approaches to Madrid. I am told he has little more than twenty thousand men. If that’s true, then if we combine with Cuesta we should outnumber Victor two to one. That should be enough to guarantee us a victory.’
Somerset tilted his head to one side. ‘I hope so, sir. Provided General Cuesta knows his business.’
Arthur shrugged. ‘Well, I shall only be in a position to judge that once I have had the chance to meet the man.’ He paused. ‘Pardon me. I meant to say his excellency.’
Somerset chuckled for a moment before he asked,‘Do you intend to accept Cuesta’s claim to overall command of our combined forces?’
Arthur’s eyes widened. ‘By God, man, are you quite mad? Of course not. We have a common enemy, that is all. I command this army, not Cuesta. That we are here in the Peninsula is down to the pursuit of the British interest in this war. At present it suits us to assist the Spanish, but we have written them no blank cheque. On that account you can rest assured.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Somerset looked relieved.
‘Now then, the interruption is over.’ Arthur gestured to the paperwork on the table. ‘Come, let us finish this and get some rest. I suspect we will need it sorely in the days to come.’
Arthur sat in his saddle in silence. Behind him the thirty dragoons of his escort were halted, under strict orders not to make a sound as they waited in the darkness for the Spanish guide to return. He had reached the army in the morning, presenting his credentials from General O’Donoju, and been escorted into Arthur’s presence. The guide was a young peasant, dressed in a crude jerkin and filthy shirt and trousers. He wore a straw sun hat and rode on a mule which was accompanied by a swirling cloud of insects. The boy spoke only a few words of English and Arthur had been obliged to summon one of his Castilian-speaking staff officers to interpret. Despite promising that he could take Arthur to the fort, the youth had lost his way at dusk and the small party had been led up one path after another into the hills, before backtracking and trying yet another. The map that Arthur had brought with him was useless, with little reliable detail beyond the course of the river and the towns and villages lining the route to Madrid.
There was a sudden scrape of gravel on the track ahead and Arthur felt his muscles tense. His mount sensed the change and raised its head, ears twitching. The sound came again, stopped, and then a low voice sounded from the shadows.
‘English . . . English, where you?’
Arthur felt the tension drain from his muscles as swiftly as it had come. ‘Here!’
The guide clicked his tongue and flicked a cane on his mule’s rump as he came forward and then reined in a short distance from Arthur.
‘I find the fort! You come. This way.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Come, come.’
Arthur held up his hand to stop the guide and turned back to the column. ‘Lieutenant, I’d be obliged if you translated.’
When the dragoon officer had joined him Arthur nodded towards the guide.‘Ask him if he is certain he has found the right path this time.’
There was a brief exchange before the lieutenant turned back to Arthur.‘He says it is. He also says that General Cuesta is not pleased that you failed to arrive at the appointed time.’
‘Really? Perhaps if he had provided us with a proper guide instead of this halfwit then I would have been there long ago . . . No, don’t translate that, you fool. Just tell him to lead us to the fort without any further delay.’
The youth beckoned to Arthur and turned his mule back up the track and Arthur hurriedly spurred his horse into a walk before he could lose sight of the guide. The track wound its way between two hills and then began to climb a steep incline. At length Arthur could see a glow at the top of the slope above them and then, as the track evened out, he saw the walls of an old fort ahead of them, brilliantly illuminated by the torches that flickered along the battlements. As the guide led them towards the gate Arthur could see that a company of soldiers had formed up on either side of the track, muskets resting on shoulders as they waited. A figure on horseback sat before the gate, watching and waiting. He shouted an order over his shoulder and there was further commotion within the fort as men hurried to take up their places. Arthur recognised the officer as General O’Donoju and offered a salute as he rode up.
O’Donoju’s sword rasped from his scabbard and the men of what Arthur realised was an honour guard shuffled one foot out and presented their muskets to greet the English general.
Arthur bowed his head to either side and then smiled at O’Donoju. ‘My thanks for such a fine greeting.’
The Spaniard shrugged. ‘His excellency gave the order to welcome you formally, some five hours ago.’
Arthur took a sharp breath. ‘And I would have been here five hours ago if I had been provided with a guide who knew the route.’ Arthur gestured to the boy, who smiled uncertainly as the two officers conversed in English.
O’Donoju glanced at the boy. ‘He claimed to know the area well enough. He lied and I’ll have him flogged.’
‘There’s no need for that. The fault is with the man who hired him.’
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