Fortune's Bride (20 page)

“‘M’ out o’bullets, sir,” one man shouted.

“Anyone short of ammunition, help himself to the bullet bags
and powder horns of the wounded,” Robert ordered.

More and more men were pouring down the hill into the
shelter of the wood, but as soon as they saw their fellows standing quietly or
busy scavenging ammunition or reloading their pieces, they too steadied. After
about fifteen minutes the flow downhill stopped. Although there had been a
pretty free play of bullets into the wood at first, that tapered off without
doing any damage.

Robert looked around and judged that he had about a hundred
soldiers and that they were not beaten men. Indeed, from the remarks he heard,
he was sure that they were ready, in fact, determined, to assault the French
again. However, there did not seem to be any officer with them. Robert would
have loved to lead the attack himself, but he dared not. His duty was to
continue his search for General Hill, particularly because the reserves might
be necessary. On the other hand, he did not like to leave the men without any
officer in charge.

“Has anyone—” he began when a horse burst through the brush
on the far side of the wood.

“Who’s in charge here?” the officer roared.

Robert recognized Captain Leach of the Ninety-fifth, which
surprised him since the men in the wood were mixed companies of the
Twenty-ninth and the Ninth. Normally an officer confined his attentions to his
own men, but Leach might have been sent by a superior officer to try to stem
what looked like a rout.

“The men halted on my command, Captain Leach,” Robert
called.

By then Leach was already headed in his direction, having
spotted the single mounted man. They met about midway, in front of the troops,
some of whom were leaning on their guns and others sitting on the ground
catching their breaths. As they approached one another, Leach recognized
Robert.

“Why the devil don’t you get yourself a line regiment,
Moreton?” he asked, laughing. “Every time I look around, there you are in the
midst of the action, waving a pistol or a sword.”

“M’ father won’t hear of—” Robert’s voice was drowned as a
cannonball hit a tree with a tremendous crash and rolled among the men slowly
enough, owing to its original impact, for them to step aside, “—it,” he continued,
curbing his horse, which had taken violent exception to the sudden increase and
change in the noise. “And m’ mother has the vapors every time she sees me in
regimentals.”

“And you went and married?” Leach remarked with mild
astonishment.

“Merry’s not like that at all!” Robert exclaimed.

Another cannonball crashed through the trees. This one did
not strike any object large enough to impede its progress and rushed in among
the men. The sound had given warning, however. Some dodged, some threw themselves
flat on the ground. One man was bruised as the ball barely touched his shoulder
going by, but no one was seriously hurt.

“One’s a mistake,” Leach said, “but two means they’ve found
us.” He turned his head toward the men. “On your feet, there,” he bellowed.
“Form into your companies, smart.”

“Do you know where General Hill is?” Robert asked, holding
Hermes on a tight rein.

“On the left wing,” Leach replied.

“I’m off, then.” Robert gave a casual salute and loosened
his reins. Hermes bounded forward, but Robert had to curb him almost
immediately, the ground being unsafe for too rapid movement. His eyes were busy
between watching the ground and seeking General Hill, but his mind had somehow
stuck on his statement that, “Merry’s not like that at all.” It was true. Merry
never made a fuss. She never had, right from the beginning when she was really
in a terrible situation without money or identification. She hadn’t even
mentioned her troubles until she had to explain why she was so eager to travel
with him.

Had he been wrong, Robert thought suddenly, to assume she
didn’t care what happened to him just because she said it wasn’t necessary to
tell her every time he was delayed? That was part of the same thing, not
wanting to make a fuss. And then, with a terrible feeling of guilt, Robert
remembered he had not sent her a note that morning. She would know a battle was
about to take place. Tom Pace would have told her that if she had asked, and
Robert, knowing how much interest Merry took in anything to do with the army,
was sure she would have asked.

Tonight he would have to ride back to Caldas, no matter
what. Just as he made that decision, a burst of shouting came from over a rise
of ground to Robert’s front. A horse came trotting forward, followed by a wave
of men. A second company followed, led by an officer on foot with bare saber in
hand. Robert angled Hermes in that direction, but had to hold back until the
troops passed. Then, before he could cross the ground, he saw a group of
horsemen led by General Hill charging forward on the far flank.

He turned to follow and heard the first roll of musket fire,
an answering roar, and a reply to that. As he drove Hermes up the last steep
rise, bullets were flying pretty freely about, but most of them were directed
too low to do him any harm. The fourth volley sounded ragged, and Robert
muttered an obscenity, fearing that the charge had been broken. He drove his
heels into Hermes’s sides, urging him to greater speed, but topping the rise
seconds later, he was relieved to see the redcoats still moving forward. The
weaker gunfire must have come from the French, and then another rolling volley
came from the British line. Robert cursed again because the gunsmoke obscured
his view and he lost sight of Hill and his staff once more.

Driving forward in the general direction, Robert was
startled to see a figure rise out of the smoke almost alongside him.
Instinctively, he slashed with his saber, which he had not even remembered was
still naked in his hand. As he struck, he cried out himself, fearing that he
had injured one of the Ninety-fifth, whose dark-green uniforms could easily be
mistaken for those of some French regiments. His conscience was immediately
salved, however, for a ball whistled by his head as his blade came down, and the
shrieked word the man uttered was not English.

A minute later another gun went off so close that Hermes
screamed, shied, and stumbled. Robert thought he had been hit, but he recovered
and leapt forward. He must have stepped on the wounded man who had fired the
gun, Robert realized, hastily thrusting his saber into its scabbard and drawing
and cocking a pistol. He was just in time, as another soldier ran at him with a
bayonet. He fired, and the man twisted away as he fell.

For a while longer he was too busy to look for anyone, but a
new wave of red-coated troops soon flooded into the area, and Robert was able
to abandon self-defense. Fifteen minutes later he found General Hill and
delivered his message, although it was fairly obvious that the British were now
well lodged on the crest and assistance from the reserve would not be necessary
unless a massive French counterattack was launched. Since this was most
unlikely, considering Delaborde’s limitations in numbers, the general confirmed
Robert’s unspoken opinion, added his thanks, and scribbled a brief note for Sir
Arthur about the current situation.

But Wellesley was little easier to find than Hill, and by
the time Robert caught up with Sir Arthur, the French were beginning to retreat
in earnest. There was no panic. Robert could feel nothing but admiration for
the French, who fell back in regular formation, two battalions holding off the
somewhat disordered British troops while the other two retreated.

Robert felt immense pride in their own men also. Although they
were not as disciplined, owing to lack of experience in the field, their spirit
could not be faulted. Their organization was not nearly as good, largely
because their officers were too enthusiastic and excited to control them
properly, but they went forward hotly, driving off several charges by the
polished
chasseurs à cheval
and pursuing the French with such
determination that in the narrow pass behind Zambugeira they managed to capture
three of Delaborde’s five guns and take a number of prisoners.

The steady retreat took on some aspects of a rout then, but
it was growing late and Sir Arthur was not willing to allow his raw troops to
pursue farther than Cazal da Sprega. In the more open ground there was too
great a chance of the French re-forming and the British getting completely out
of hand. By the time all units were informed of this decision, every staff
officer had ridden several horses into trembling exhaustion, and Sir Arthur’s
young gentlemen were themselves not in much better physical condition than
their horses. Emotionally, however, they were exultant.

No matter that the force opposing them had been smaller than
their own. The troops actually involved in the battle had been nearly a match
in numbers. And possibly Delaborde would have tried to hold the ground with
more determination had the British not outnumbered him, but they
had
dislodged him from the heights of Columbeira, a very strong position, with no
more men than he had.
The British had beat Boney’s “invincible” troops
.

The army was ordered to camp on a ridge of high ground above
the road leading to Lourinha while Sir Arthur set up temporary headquarters in
Cazal da Sprega. As soon as they could, all senior officers rode in to consult
and receive orders. They found Sir Arthur in good humor despite Colonel Lake’s
ill-considered advance. Sir Arthur said more than once that he had never seen
more gallant fighting than that of the Twenty-ninth and the Ninth, and he
complimented all the senior officers on the behavior of the troops.

Under the circumstances, the wine bottles passed with
unusual freedom during dinner, and even after the ADCs who were off duty were
dismissed, they had no inclination to curtail their celebration. Someone had
unearthed a new supply of wine, and they settled down in a house adjoining Sir
Arthur’s temporary headquarters to describe to each other their individual
battle adventures.

The family of the house they had taken over had at first
been terrified, however, when the young men brought out money and Robert
explained to them in their own language that they would be much safer with
British officers quartered in their home, their welcome became quite
enthusiastic. The eldest daughter of the house, who was helping her mother
serve the young men, was particularly free with her smiles, the wannest of
which along with the most frequent offers of food and more wine were bestowed
on Robert. Naturally, it was not long before his fellow officers noticed this
favoritism.

“I think,” Colin Campbell said, “I am going to start a
petition to get you sent home, Moreton, or at least to get you quartered in the
next town. It was a pleasure at Alcobaça and Caldas when you rode back to
Leiria. The girls paid attention to
us
for once.”

“It’s damned unfair,” Burghersh complained. “You’ve already
got a wife.”

“Wife,” Robert said. “Good God, Merry will be worried! I’ve
got to ride back to Caldas and tell her we won. She’ll be so glad.”

“Can’t ride back alone.” Campbell shook his head. “There are
bound to be French stragglers. Shoot you for your horse.”

Robert glanced out the window. “Not dark. No more than ten
miles altogether.”

“Horses are all half-dead,” Burghersh pointed out. “You
won’t get much speed out of any of them. It will be dark before you pass
Roliça.”

“Got to go back anyway,” Robert insisted. He was just drunk
enough to make him stubborn. “God knows what we’ll be doing tomorrow.”

“Sweet woman, Mrs. Moreton.” Captain Williams’s voice was
slightly slurred. “Wouldn’t want her to worry. Some of us can ride back with
him. That would be safe enough. No sense staying here anyway. Once a girl’s
caught sight of Moreton’s pretty face, the rest of us might just as well not be
alive. We’ll do better in Caldas. There was a girl in a wine shop there—”

“No, that was in Óbidos,” Campbell said. “But you’re right.
Let’s ride back, push Moreton in with his wife, and be rid of him. Save him
from himself. New-married man, don’t want to see him in the petticoat line—at
least, not so soon.”

Young and active as they all were, their exhaustion had
mostly been cleared after dinner and the few hours’ rest they had taken.
Moreover, enough excitement remained from the action they had seen and the
perils they had personally experienced to make them restless. Thus, the idea of
escorting Robert back to Caldas was seized upon with enthusiasm.

Burghersh had sent his servant to get the least exhausted
horses saddled. Not wishing to waste time or permit their high spirits to be
dampened by exercise, each young man took along a bottle. Whether Campbell had
exaggerated the dangers or the group was just large enough to discourage
attack, they saw no one except a few belated carts carrying wounded into
Roliça, French and British mixed together with a fine indifference.

The village was hopelessly crowded, and with the stench of
blood and death and moans of the wounded, not inviting as a spot to pause.

Besides, as Burghersh had predicted, it was getting dark.
They pressed on toward Óbidos at the best speed the jaded horses could make. On
the way, however, the argument between Williams and Campbell broke out anew
about whether the wine shop where the girl had flirted with them was in Óbidos
or Caldas.

Each held firmly to his own opinion, claiming he knew
exactly where the wine shop was and what it looked like. Then, since the
bottles were empty and it was quite dark by the time they reached Óbidos,
Burghersh suggested a logical way to end the argument. They would find the wine
shop Campbell said he remembered in Óbidos, buy some more wine, and wait there
for the moon to rise. If the girl Campbell remembered was there, he could stay
in Óbidos while the remainder went on to Caldas to leave Robert with his wife
and perhaps discover the wine shop Williams remembered. Thus, everyone would be
happy.

This program was immediately accepted. Campbell did lead
them unerringly to the wine shop, no great feat since it was on the main street
and there were only two. Moreover, the serving girl certainly did greet them
with most delighted smiles. But Williams still insisted that it was not the
right wine shop, though he was not averse, any more than the others, to sitting
down and having a few sustaining glasses until the moonlight illuminated the
road.

Williams was still determined to find the wine shop
he
remembered, and several others also clung to the jolly notion of Mrs. Moreton’s
happy surprise when they returned her husband to her intact. They were not
quite steady when they mounted, but they assisted each other with the greatest
good humor, and Campbell rushed out just before they got their horses into
motion to be sure that each had a bottle to take along. He was still absolutely
certain that Williams’s memory was at fault and did not want his friends to
suffer if there was no welcoming wine shop in Caldas.

Drunk as he was, and by then they were all very drunk,
Williams found his wine shop when they reached Caldas. To call the process by
which they got off their horses dismounting would be a gross exaggeration.
However, all reached the ground without injury, and that was a considerable
accomplishment. When all were standing—more or less—and dusted off, they surged
forward toward the door. Here, Captain Williams and Robert collided. Each
staggered back and turned toward the other with grave politeness to bow—a
somewhat perilous activity that required deep concentration—and to beg pardon,
and each began to gesture the other forward, but Captain Williams aborted his
gracious gesture and stared at Robert with a puzzled frown.

“You’re not shupposed to be here,” he said thickly.

“I’m not?” Robert asked uncertainly. “Where’m I shupposed to
be?”

But the answer had escaped Williams’s mind. They turned to
their companions and explained the problem to them. After some deep thought all
agreed that Robert had been supposed to leave them at some point, but they had
no idea where. Finally Burghersh asked where they currently were. If they knew
that, he pointed out gravely, it might be easier to decide where Robert was
supposed to be. Then one of the others had the brilliant idea of inquiring in
the wine shop. This suggestion obtained instant approval, but it seemed only
polite to order some wine before asking questions.

The arrival of the bottle temporarily diverted them from the
less immediate problem of determining their location. Having sampled the wine
and found it very good, they decided they wished to order more.

“The trouble ish,” Burghersh said, each word very carefully
enunciated, “I don’t believe m’ father’sh vin-vintner carriesh thish.”

“Silly thing anyway,” Robert remarked, with even more care,
having noted that Burghersh’s speech was not all that it should be and resolved
that, being older, he would control his tongue better “Why sh-send an order to
England? Wine’s right here. Order it here.”

“Where’sh here?” Burghersh asked. “Need the direcsh-direction
t’ shend an order.”

“Right.” Robert nodded approval of this perceptive point.
Vaguely he heard Burghersh calling to someone and asking where they were. It
seemed silly. After all, they
were
here. Why ask about it?

A moment later he felt his shoulder being shaken. “It’sh
weird,” Burghersh said apologetically. “Don’t shpeak English here, only
Portuguese. You shpeak it, don’t you? Ash them where to shend an order for
wine.”

That was entirely too complex a question for Robert to
compose in his present condition, however he did remember that none of the
others spoke Portuguese and one must, of course, do one’s best to oblige a
friend. The compromise he reached was simply to ask where they were.
Indulgently, the wine shop owner replied that they were in Caldas.

“Caldash!” Robert exclaimed, the name having struck a chord
in his muddled memory. “Merry’sh in Caldash.”

“There,” Captain Williams remarked with enormous
satisfaction. “I shaid you weren’t sh-supposed to be here. You were shupposed
to tell Mishush Moreton about the battle. Doeshn’t matter, though. The girl’sh
not here, either. You can shtay.”

“No. Can’t,” Robert said, reminded of his purpose and
determined to carry it out. “Merry’ll be worried. Ish very late.”

“Right,” Williams agreed. “Sh-sweet woman. Mushn’t worry.
Take you home now. Come back and fish-finish the wine.”

This, however, was easier said than done since no one,
including Robert, could remember how to get to Esmeralda’s lodgings. The
situation was resolved by Burghersh, who suggested with rare
perspicacity—considering his condition—that, owing to the fact that he lived in
the town, the wine shop owner might know. Restraining his mirth at the mangling
of his language when Robert asked for directions, and realizing that Robert was
probably incapable of understanding them, much less following them, the man
suggested that he provide a guide.

Esmeralda had descended from the church tower in San Mahmed
in considerable doubt as to what her next move should be. From what Dom Aleixo
had told her, she would be able to make out mass movements from Amiais, but no
individual figures. Was it worthwhile to take the chance that Robert would hear
of this crazy excursion to watch maneuvers she would not even understand? But
that was not completely true, Esmeralda admitted. She had understood that the
French had withdrawn.

Perhaps the battle was over? As she and Carlos walked toward
the wine shop to reclaim Luisa and Boa Viagem, Esmeralda voiced this hope.
Carlos’s laugh was answer enough when her own common sense agreed completely
that it could not be so. More likely, she thought, it was only more pickets
that had been driven off. The real action would take place farther away in the
ring of hills she could see in the distance.

As Esmeralda mounted with the help of a bench Carlos dragged
from the wine shop, she was still in some doubt as to what to do.

Then, as Carlos scrambled to Luisa’s back, he pointed to a
narrow lane at the side of the shop.

“This goes to Amiais,
Senhora
Moreton,” he said, his
eyes gleaming with expectation.

It can do no harm just to look, Esmeralda told herself. She
was much calmer than she had been all the previous day, which was the advantage
of doing
something
, even if that something was rather pointless.
Besides, there could be no risk at all because both the French and English
armies were moving away and would be farther from her when she was at Amiais
than they had been when she had been in San Mahmed. She nodded, and they set
off for Amiais.

Although the people of the tiny village were very excited
because the Portuguese units of the British force had passed right by the town
earlier in the day, Esmeralda found no sign of either army anywhere in the
vicinity of Amiais. But when she mentioned that she had a spyglass and might be
able to see what was happening if she were high enough, a woman with a house on
the edge of town a little way up the hillside eagerly offered her a place from
which to look. However, all she could report was that a march was underway. She
was then offered refreshment, bread and cheese, melons, figs, grapes, with milk
or wine. While they were eating, a distant, dull thudding began. At first no
one paid much attention, for the sound was certainly not threatening. After a
few minutes, however, the regularity of the thuds impressed themselves on
Esmeralda, and she jumped to her feet with a gasp. That was the sound of
cannon.

She rushed up to the loft and leveled her glass through the
tiny window. Sure enough, there was smoke rising in the air, but a shoulder of
the Roliça hill hid the actual position of the guns. Desperately Esmeralda
adjusted the glass, but she had no idea where to aim it, and it took her more
than half an hour before she made out the patches of red that were probably
whole brigades. Still, she watched eagerly, but more and more of the red coats
disappeared into the brush and trees on the rising slopes of the farther hills,
and no matter how carefully she swept the area within her view she could not
catch the smallest glimpse of Sir Arthur or his dark-coated staff.

Her frustration increased. It was ridiculous to go on
staring at virtually nothing. Either she should go back to Caldas or find a
closer vantage point. As she moved impatiently, the glass swung left, showing
her the slope of Roliça hill. She stared at it blankly at first, then with more
attention. Perhaps she would be able to see better from Roliça. Even as the
thought formed, Esmeralda knew it was unwise. She was not worried about the
French. She could see they were retreating, and Robert had said the British
would win, so it must be so. What worried Esmeralda was that there might be
some British units in and around the town and someone might recognize her.