The Ravishing of Lady Mary Ware (22 page)

‘You would be mad to do so. In it every hand is against us. Even those of the children.' The Marshal shuffled among the papers in his desk, drew one out and went on:

‘Just listen to this. It is a translation of a catechism that the Spanish priests make the children learn by heart:

‘
Question. Child, what art thou
?

Answer. A Spaniard, by the grace of God
.

Q. What do you mean by that
?

A. An honest man
.

Q. Who is our enemy
?

A. The Emperor of the French
.

Q. What is the Emperor Napoleon
?

A. A wicked being, the source of all evils and the focus of all vices
.

Q. How many natures has he
?

A. Two; the human and the diabolical
.

Q. How many Emperors of the French are there
?

A. One actually, in three deceiving persons
.

Q. What are they called
?

A. Napoleon, Murat and Manuel Godoy, the Prince of the Peace
.

Q. Which is the most wicked
?

A. They are all equally so
.

Q. What are the French
?

A. Apostate Christians, turned heretics
.

Q. What punishment does a Spaniard deserve who fails in his duty
?

A. The death and infamy of a traitor
.

Q. Is it a sin to kill a Frenchman
?

A. No, my father, heaven is gained by killing one of those heretical dogs
.'

The Marshal laid the paper down. ‘That shows you the hydra-headed monster to which we are opposed If once it was discovered that you are a Frenchman, these fiends would roast and eat you. No, Breuc. You must stay here as one of my A.D.C.s. Since you understand their infernal tongue, you can be of use to me interrogating prisoners and translating captured documents.'

Roger agreed and thanked the Marshal. The interview being over, he then went off to find quarters and secure for himself a suitable uniform.

In the next few days he learned from his brother officers how matters had been going in other parts of Spain. There were several large Spanish armies and, whenever they joined battle with the French, they were always defeated. But the survivors faded away into the mountains where they re-formed to attack again; and they showed great courage in defending their cities, often refusing to surender
until half the citizens had been killed or wounded and a great part of the buildings reduced to rubble.

The previous autumn, Soult had invaded Andalusia. He now had his headquarters in Seville and had subdued the whole of southern Spain except for Cadiz. The red-faced, self-opinionated, ex-drummer boy Victor was besieging it. But, as the city was situated at the end of a nine-mile-long spit of land, without the assistance of a fleet there was little hope of taking it.

In the north-west Ney had earlier made a joint plan of campaign with Soult. When attacked by a large Spanish army, instead of coming to Ney's assistance, Soult had marched off to the south. Declaring that he had been betrayed and abandoned, Ney had evacuated Galicia and withdrawn his army into the plain of Leon. Thereupon the Emperor had ordered him home. A heartrending scene had followed, when Ney had had to say farewell to his famous Sixth Corps, which had been formed in 1804 at Boulogne as part of the
Grande Armée
that was to invade England, and which he had commanded ever since. But Ney was now back in Spain, commanding a corps under Masséna, as also was Roger's old friend Androche Junot, Duc d'Abrantès, who had failed so lamentably to hold Lisbon.

In the north-west, St. Cyr had been sent to subdue Catalonia. He had defeated the Spanish armies in the field, then laid siege to Gerona, the great fortress that blocked the eastern road through the Pyrenees from France to Spain. With great gallantry it had held out for six months. To take it cost the French twenty thousand men and when it did fall they were still harassed by clouds of enemies.

Angered by St. Cyr's lack of success, the Emperor had recalled him and sent Augereau to take over his command. Augerau had hung every Spaniard he could lay his hands on, in the hope of intimidating that rebellious people. His ruthless measures had proved useless. The
Catalans continued to fight on and so many of the Marshal's enterprises failed that Napoleon had recalled him in disgrace and replaced him with Macdonald. But the Marshal who had recently won his baton at Wagram fared little better.

Only further south in Aragon had the French done well. In that province General Suchet had reduced the people to obedience by initiating a policy entirely contrary to that of all the other French Generals. He cleared the country of brigands, who blackmailed the peasantry into maintaining them, paid a fair price for everything he commandeered, suppressed corruption, refused to allow King Joseph to steal works of art in that part of Spain, gave Spaniards a say in local government, began to rebuild Saragossa, restored its bullring and endowed hospitals and orphanages in the city.

But in every other part of Spain French armies were cut off, bogged down, half-starving and unceasingly harassed. Over three hundred thousand men were locked up there and only their numbers prevented their annihilation.

It was early on the morning of March 3rd that Masséna called his senior officers together and glumly informed them that they must now face the fact that their campaign had proved a failure. He said that he had appealed again and again for reinforcements, which would have given him sufficient strength to break through the lines of Torres Vedras; but the Emperor had not sent them. An alternative hope had been that Marshal Soult would bring his army up from the south, so that they might combine in an attack on Lisbon; but Soult also had failed them. Masséna then praised the extraordinary endurance his officers and men had shown all through the terrible winter months. Finally he said that, having been reduced to such straits, he could ask no further sacrifices of them, so he had decided to retreat and preparations were to be made to move in two days' time.

Roger had hoped to secure longer warning of the Marshal's intentions. Now, with less than forty-eight hours before the retreat began, it was imperative that he should get the news to Wellington with the minimum of delay. But he could not simply mount a horse and ride off toward Lisbon. He had to have a pretext for leaving the headquarters, and he had already thought of one which might serve the purpose.

After the meeting, Masséna returned to his office. Roger followed him, asked permission to make a proposal and, on receiving it, said, ‘Your Highness will naturally have foreseen that, as soon as milord Wellington learns that you are withdrawing, he will come out from Lisbon and fall upon our rearguard?'

‘Of course,' replied the Marshal tartly. ‘The man is not a fool.'

‘No, and therefore, Marshal, he would not dare to throw his whole force into the pursuit if Marshal Soult was coming up from the south to take him in the rear.'

‘True. And I would to God it were so; but it is not.'

‘It might be, if you sent a despatch to him, telling him of your difficult situation and asking for his help.'

Masséna shrugged. ‘The Duc de Dalmatia has no love for me; otherwise he would have come to my assistance weeks ago. That apart, to ensure a despatch reaching him I'd have to detach a whole regiment of cavalry as escort for my courier; and I've no mind to do that.'

‘It could be attempted in another way,' Roger suggested. ‘If I put off this uniform that was found for me and instead put on the civilian clothes in which I arrived here, by passing myself off to the Portuguese as a Spaniard, I believe I could get through.'

With his one eye, Masséna stared at him. ‘Then it is not without reason that people speak of you as
le brave Breuc
. Since you volunteer for this dangerous mission, I gladly accept your offer.' Dipping his feather pen in the
inkpot, the Marshal at once set about writing a despatch to Soult.

As Roger watched him, he was smiling to himself. The countryside for many miles outside Lisbon was under the observation of the British and their allies; so he had little to fear and, while he had on occasion acted with great courage, it was largely through such deceptions, when he was believed to be facing danger that did not exist, that he had earned the soubriquet of
le brave Breuc
.

Half an hour later he was on his way, riding hard through the deserted no-man's-land. By midday, when he was within five miles of the lines of Torres Vedras he saw a vedette of British Lancers. Turning his horse toward them, he hailed their Captain and two minutes later said to him:

‘Sir, I have information of the highest importance for milord Wellington. Marshal Masséna is breaking camp and the day after tomorrow will begin his retreat. My horse is no longer in a state to travel fast. I pray you carry this news to Lisbon with all possible speed. Tell His Lordship that it comes from the man against whom the de Pombals threaten to bring an action. It is for that reason I do not want to enter the city. Be good enough also to tell him that I'll be found at the church of Father Joao not far from here, and that I am anxious to hear as soon as possible from Mr. Lessor, the Legation lawyer.'

The young Captain instantly realised the importance of the news. Telling his sergeant to carry on with the patrol and taking only an orderly with him, he set off at a gallop.

Now walking his horse, Roger covered the last mile to the church and, early in the afternoon, went through the ruin down into the crypt. Father Joao was there and made him welcome, producing a bottle of wine, bread and meat. Then, when Roger said that he would like to pass the
night in the crypt, the chubby little priest took from a chest a palliasse for him to sleep on.

Tired after his ride, he slept until the evening, then joined his host in another meal. Soon afterwards, the A.D.C. who had first brought Roger there arrived, and with him was Mr. Lessor. The A.D.C. conveyed Wellington's warmest thanks for the valuable service Roger had rendered. Then Mr. Lessor took him apart and told him the result of his negotiations with the de Pombal lawyers.

Dona Cristina had flatly rejected the offer of a bribe, but it was possible that an accommodation could be arrived at with the
Senhora
de Arahna. She was prepared to withdraw the accusation if Roger would forego his inheritance in favour of her son, the new Marquis.

Roger did not hesitate for long. Until de Queircoz had drawn his attention to the fact that he was the heir to Lisala's fortune, that had not even occurred to him. He had ample money for his needs, so was not being called upon to face a crippling loss and, in any case, he had meant to make over the de Pombal estates to the family.

He therefore agreed. But, wary of falling into another trap, he said he would not enter Lisbon until the transaction had been concluded, and he wished to be present himself when the
Senhora
signed the document stating that she had now received proof that it was not he who had murdered her brother; so she and her lawyer must come out to the church and sign it there.

As she would not be in any danger so close to the lines, Mr. Lessor said he saw no reason why she should not do as Roger wished. He and the A.D.C. then rode back to Lisbon.

The following afternoon he returned, accompanied by the
Senhora
, de Queircoz and her lawyer. De Queircoz, having been robbed of his revenge, only bowed stiffly and regarded Roger with silent hostility; but the
Senhora
,
having promised the duenna a handsome pension to lie, knew that Roger was innocent and she had succeeded in securing a great fortune for her son, so she greeted him very civilly.

When the terms of the documents were discussed, the
Senhora
pointed out that it was not sufficient for Roger to renounce the inheritance, since Lisala had been carrying his child. He must also do so on the child's behalf, as otherwise it would become the next heir.

Roger had already thought of that, so he agreed and had the deed drawn up to read that he renounced his claim on behalf of himself and the heirs of his body.

The papers were signed, witnessed and exchanged. Then, with a cynical little smile he bowed and said:

‘Now,
Senhora
, I have some information for you which will, I fear, somewhat distress you. Lisala's child was duly born at Erfurt. It was a son. I took him and Lisala's old nurse back to Paris and made arrangements for their support and wellbeing at a farm outside the city.

‘The boy was a fine, healthy infant so, no doubt, he still thrives there. As soon as it is possible to do so I will arrange for him and his nurse to come to you here in Lisbon. To spare you an unpleasant surprise at the child's appearance, I must now tell you that he is a black piccaninny. And with the best will in the world I am incapable of begetting a Negro.

‘He is not my son. His father was your slave, Baob, to whom Lisala shamelessly gave herself when in Brazil. I have renounced the inheritance on behalf of myself and the heirs of my body. The boy is no heir of mine, but he is Lisala's. So he, and not your son, will now get the de Pombal fortune.'

Furious at having been outwitted, the
Senhora
and her companions left the crypt. Shortly afterwards, having thanked Father Joao for his hospitality Roger, accompanied by Mr. Lessor, followed them back into Lisbon.

Although the village was less than two miles outside the lines, it took the best part of half an hour to reach them, because Wellington's army was at last leaving behind the great earthworks that, during the winter months, had served to protect it so well. Along the road advanced a steady stream of British and Portuguese infantry, guns, limbers, wagons and, behind each contingent, the little band of male and female camp-followers that all Generals detested, because they embarrassed troop movements, but could not get rid of without risking mutiny from their men.