Fortune's Bride (41 page)

“I’m damned sorry we couldn’t smash Soult’s division before
we had to run, too,” he said, sitting down on the chair opposite Esmeralda’s
and holding out his hands to the flames, but speaking much more cheerfully.
“Still and all, in a way we’ve accomplished our purpose. With Bonaparte rushing
north after us, it won’t be possible for him to send any armies to southern
Spain. The Spanish will be able—I hope—to train some troops so that they can
fight, and equip them so that they have something to fight with, poor sods.
Anyhow,” he smiled grimly, “I’ll bet we’ve messed up Boney’s plans. He won’t be
able to do much more until spring, and by then we’ll be ready for him.”

By spring… Esmeralda’s throat tightened, but she managed to
nod and ask steadily, “Will we retreat to Portugal?”

“No, there’s no chance of that,” Robert said, looking
troubled again. “The French can too easily cut us off from the roads west. We
will go north toward Corunna. There are magazines of supplies in various towns
along those roads. I don’t think it will be too difficult, but to tell the
truth, Merry, I’m concerned about the men.”

“The army, you mean? But if there are supplies, why should
you worry about them?” She was considerably surprised. The men, she assumed,
did what they were ordered to do, and it seemed to her they should be delighted
with orders that would save them from a battle,

“They don’t like to retreat,” Robert explained. “I’ve seen
this problem before.”

“They don’t like to retreat?” Esmeralda echoed, confused by
what, to her, was irrational. “You mean they
like
the prospect of being
killed or wounded?”

That drew a short laugh from Robert. “Not that, but they
like the prospect of beating the French. No one else has done it, and
they
have. Those who were at Roliça and Vimeiro have been strutting around like heroes,
and all the others are just burning to match or overmatch them.” He shrugged.
“And it will be worse this time because they don’t understand why we are
retreating. Had they fought and been beaten, they would have understood the
need to withdraw to re-form, but we haven’t been beaten. Even if they had a
sight of the enemy and realized the odds were overwhelming—but all they’ve
heard about is Lord Paget’s cavalry exercise, and that was a flaming success.”

“But surely the officers could pass the word about the new
information.”

“I don’t know what Sir John will decide about that. But even
if he decides to make the information public, it might not help.” He shrugged.
“I don’t know why, but there’s something about retreat that kills the men’s
spirits.”

“I’m sorry,” Esmeralda offered. There was sympathy in her
voice, but it was for Robert’s worry. She did not connect what he was saying
with herself in any way.

“Well, it depends on the officers and the discipline, but
sometimes there are disorders, and I don’t want you caught up in anything like
that, Merry.”

“Me!” She was about to say that the men were always pleasant
and respectful to her, but she suddenly remembered how they had become drunk
and unruly during those early days in Portugal.

“There’s nothing to worry about, my dear,” Robert assured
her quickly. “I just wanted to explain why I’ve changed your marching position.
You will now ride with the Coldstream Guards. The first battalion’s commanded
by Lieutenant Colonel Cocks and the second by Wheatley. There won’t be any
trouble among the Guards, and you know Wheatley and Cocks, don’t you?”

“I have met them, of course,” Esmeralda said, controlling
her voice with difficulty, “but I am sure they will not wish to be encumbered
with—”

“I’ve spoken to them already. Both have said they would be
delighted to have you join them. I’m sending M’Guire along with you, too.”

Delighted to have her, indeed! What else could the poor men
say, since they were gentlemen? Wasn’t that what they called the Guards—“the
Gentlemen’s Sons”? Could they refuse to watch over a fellow gentleman’s wife? A
tide of fury rose in Esmeralda at the thought that she was to be thrust on two
near-strangers, handed over like a parcel to be placed in storage. That was all
she was to Robert, still—an inconvenient burden.

“And where will you be?” she asked icily. “Where will you be
while Colonel Wheatley and Colonel Cocks see to my well-being?”

“I’m not altogether sure,” Robert said.

He was aware that Esmeralda was upset by his answer, but he
did not want to tell her that he had been detached to remain with Lord Paget
and the rear guard. She would guess there would be fighting and would
worry—whether she loved him or not, he was necessary to her. He knew, too, that
Esmeralda was having a hard time and that there was very little he could do for
her. Sir John’s accommodations were no better than hers.

Robert blamed himself bitterly for selfishly having allowed
her to follow him just because he wanted her near, for letting himself forget
what a winter campaign could be like. He thought Esmeralda might be angry for
the same cause, but too just to accuse him because she herself had wanted to
come. Each time he thought of that, of the clever way she had obtained tacit
permission from Sir John without even raising the question, as if it had long
been decided, it lifted his spirits. She could have stayed in Lisbon if she
were afraid to go alone to England. It must be for his sake that she had
arranged to follow him to Spain.

He looked across at her and sexual urgency swept him. How
long had it been since they had slept together? More than a week, anyway. Damn
Moore! He said, “Merry—” and reached toward her, but she did not look up from
the mending, to which she had returned her attention, and he became aware of
how pinched and pale she was. She must be exhausted. It would be unfair to
thrust himself on her.

Besides, he was scarcely a sweet object to take into bed. He
stank of horse and sweat and mud, and it was out of the question to bathe and
change. Even if he had time, which he did not—in fact, he should be on his way
right now—he would spend the afternoon riding all over with orders and getting
himself filthy again. It made more sense to stay in the dirty clothes. He stood
up abruptly, knowing that if he stayed a moment longer he would have her in his
arms and be quite incapable of stopping.

“You’ll leave tomorrow with whichever battalion marches
first. I’ve arranged for Cocks or Wheatley to send a man for you. Stay with the
Guards, Merry. That way, if the baggage train goes or the other corps start to
straggle, I’ll know where to find you.”

“Very well, Robert,” she replied, her depression making her
nurse her resentment to hold back tears.

He stood a moment, irresolutely, duty fighting desire. If
she had looked up, he would have been lost, but she did not, and duty won.

* * * * *

Resentment, however unhealthy, is a great stiffener of the
spine, as Esmeralda knew well. It was resentment against her father that had
permitted her to keep her soul intact and outwit him, too. Now resentment
preserved her from drooping, and she greeted with a smile the young subaltern,
one of Colonel Wheatley’s ADCs, who came to guide her to her place in General
Baird’s column.

He arrived at about ten o’clock in the morning, his boyish
face wearing an anxious expression, which cleared to astonishment when he
realized that everything was packed and ready to be loaded. Obviously he had
expected the worst, perhaps that there were no pack animals or that he would
have to supervise the packing himself, for he explained, in some embarrassment,
that he had actually come rather too early. The column would not begin to move
until noon.

“Well, then,” Esmeralda said lightly, “we will have time for
a luncheon. We are experienced marchers, you know, and everything is to hand.”

They ate and chatted pleasantly, the young man growing more
relaxed by the moment as he became convinced that his task was not nearly so
onerous as he had originally thought. He looked anxious again when he saw
Molly, now unmistakably heavy with child, but he shrugged off that worry. Molly
was no business of his, particularly since her husband was with her. His duty
was to see that Mrs. Moreton was safe and as comfortable as circumstances would
permit.

It was an auspicious beginning, and from Esmeralda’s point
of view, the weather cooperated at first. There was a thaw on Christmas Eve,
warm enough to melt much of the snow they had had. Since they were accompanying
infantry, Boa Viagem was not hard pressed, but it was heavy going for those
afoot. The roads were little better than bogs. Christmas Day passed drearily as
they slowly but steadily progressed on their wet journey, but by the next day
the thaw and the continuous rain had made the passage of the Esla River, which
they crossed at Valencia de Don Juan, rather dangerous. However, Esmeralda’s
party was ferried across without trouble, and fortunately there were few
accidents.

By this time Esmeralda, who had had a good deal of the young
subaltern’s company and conversation, had begun to realize that Robert was not
simply trying to pass off the burden of protecting her and knew what he was
doing. Even among so well disciplined a group as the Guards, the men were
surly, and when they reached Astorga on December 29, Esmeralda heard that the behavior
in the other divisions had been much worse. Men had broken ranks to seize food
in towns without waiting for the distribution of rations which were available.
The countryside being virtually destitute of wood, the men had torn down sheds
and doors and even broken into houses to seize furniture with which to build
their bivouac fires. In Benavente, the castle of the Duchess of Ossuna had been
villainously damaged, the precious medieval furniture broken up to burn, the
priceless tapestries torn down, and the porcelain friezes and alcoves wantonly
destroyed.

Thus far, the subaltern remarked, trying to conceal his
pride in the superior behavior of his own unit, there had been few outrages
against persons, but if the officers did not control the troops better, that
would come, too. Had Robert appeared at Astorga, Esmeralda would have greeted
him with far more warmth than she had offered when they parted. She thought
often about him, sometimes worrying, sometimes dwelling on how she would tell
him, when it seemed safe to do so, of the child she carried.

Robert, however, did not give Esmeralda a thought. He was
enjoying himself enormously, for he was in almost constant action from the time
he joined Lord Paget. The cavalry was having a far more thrilling time than
dully plodding through mud and rain. They and the two light brigades that
remained at Sahagun had so successfully harassed Soult’s advance forces that
the marshal was left in doubt on December 24 as to whether he was about to be
attacked. He hesitated until the twenty-sixth, and even after the pursuit
began, the cavalry and light divisions continued their rearguard action so
successfully that the main body of the army was completely unmolested. And, on
December 28, they pulled off a magnificent coup, breaking a charge by about
five or six hundred chasseurs of the Guard and capturing their commander.

It had been rumored that Sir John would stand and fight at
Astorga. There were plentiful supplies at no great distance, the town itself
was walled, and although it could not be held long against forces so much
superior to their own, there was a formidable range of mountains rising behind,
cut only by two narrow and easily defensible passes. The rumors were false. Not
only was there no attempt to hold the passes beyond Astorga, but the army did
not even remain long enough in that place to distribute the huge masses of
stores accumulated there. Part of the problem was the inevitable inefficiency
of all armies, but a great deal more was owing to the growing disorder among
the troops. M’Guire, having been out trying to get shoes for himself, Molly,
and Carlos, reported that hearing they were to retreat again had exasperated
the men to the last degree. He warned Esmeralda to remain indoors and stood
guard at their door, gun in hand.

There was never any danger for Esmeralda. Before dark a
detachment of Guards was at her service, and both Colonel Cocks and Colonel
Wheatley came to bear her company at dinner and on into the evening.
Nonetheless, Esmeralda was distressed. She was bitterly ashamed that British
troops should misbehave in such a fashion. Unfortunately, the little she saw
and heard in Astorga was only the beginning of a long nightmare.

By December 30, when Esmeralda and the main body of the army
left Astorga, the thaw was over. Rain had begun to change to snow, but on that
day and the next, there was not enough to cause serious inconvenience. It was
at Bembibre, on the evening of the thirty-first, when the trouble began. The
village, unfortunately, was a local depot for the storage of wine, and
marauders from the angry, disheartened troops found their way into the vaults
and cellars.

On the morning of January 1, 1809, nearly a thousand men
were drunk and incapable. A few companies of the Guards were called out to
attempt to rouse the stragglers. Not one Guardsman was among the bodies strewn
in the streets and the houses of the village. A combination of vigilant
officers and a strong sense of pride kept them free of such excesses while on duty.
Esmeralda’s party was attached to one of the companies called out, not by
chance but because it was one of the smartest and best disciplined. However,
since she and her companions gave so little trouble, no one had remembered to
order her on ahead in the emergency.

Thus, she watched with horror as men were lifted and shaken,
beaten and dragged, in an effort to rouse them. Only a few responded. At last,
the order was given to abandon those who could not or would not stir. If they
could not be roused by the rear guard, which was a day behind, they would have
to be abandoned to the French. As it was, the Guards companies that had been
delayed in getting the stragglers moving had to step out smartly to catch up
with their regiment.

Moving with them as they passed other regiments to overtake
their own, Esmeralda saw further results of the breakdown in spirit that Robert
had predicted. Many of the companies were preceded by a motley group who broke
from the road whenever they were attracted by something they thought worth
stealing. Behind came others, limping or sick or simply unwilling to keep pace.

But the disorders on the march were nothing compared with
the scenes Esmeralda witnessed after they arrived in Villa Franca, Sir John’s
most important depot for military supplies. Sir John had ordered these to be
burnt because there was no transport capable of carrying them off and because
he had given up all notions of opposing the French. With the last hope of
facing their enemies gone, most of the troops became openly mutinous at the
idea of all the food and drink being wantonly destroyed. They broke into the
magazines and began to load themselves with everything they could carry.

Hurrying through one square, Esmeralda saw a company break
ranks despite their officers, who actually drew their swords and slashed at
them. At the next crossing, M’Guire called out that Molly could go no farther.
Esmeralda pulled Boa Viagem to a stop, and the entire group moved into the side
street to be out of the way of the steadily marching Guards while Carlos and
M’Guire rearranged the packs so that Molly could ride. Before M’Guire had
lifted her to the saddle pad, two soldiers, already drunk on the rum that had
been in the stores, staggered into the street demanding the two mules.

M’Guire’s gun was slung on his shoulder, but the two drunks
were in fact far less prepared to enforce their demand, since their arms were
full of bottles and bags. Carlos slipped around under Luisa’s nose and knocked
the legs from under one, while M’Guire hit the other in the face. There was a
roar of outrage from several other equally drunken men who were just turning
the corner. By then, however, M’Guire had his gun at the ready, and Carlos had
his knife out. The renegades paused, none of them quite drunk enough to want to
take M’Guire’s shot.

Esmeralda held her breath. It was an ugly situation. Once
M’Guire fired, the gun was useless, except as a club, because the men were too
close to give him time to reload or to fix his bayonet. But then she heard the
regular tramp of marching feet. Uttering a shrill scream and simultaneously
bringing her whip down on Boa Viagem’s croup, Esmeralda drove her mare right
through the group into the main road, knocking two men to the ground. A Guards
officer was already turning toward the disturbance. In another two minutes the
incident was over, but Esmeralda was terribly shaken.

It was not that she had been so very frightened. There had
hardly been time enough for shock and surprise to turn to fear. However, she
could not dismiss the incident from her mind as she had dismissed the attack of
the French soldier at Roliça. He was an enemy, and it was natural that he
should attack her to seize what he wanted. That English soldiers should do so
turned her world upside down. She had not forgotten that Robert had warned her
and had placed her in the care of the Guards battalions to avoid just such a
situation, but she had never
really
believed it could happen.

Seeing how white and strained she was, the officer had
remained with her, had seen her to her quarters, and had obviously reported the
incident to his superior officer, for Colonel Wheatley himself had come not
half an hour later. He had apologized for the failure of his men to protect her
and assured her it would not occur again. He was most sincere. Nonetheless,
Esmeralda cried herself to sleep that night. No matter if a thousand Guards
surrounded her, they could not give her security. She wanted Robert.

She was not to have him. Robert was only six miles away with
Lord Paget, but the French were hard on their heels and Robert could not ask
for leave, although he did think of Esmeralda. He had been thinking about her
for the last few days. Several times in the past week he had escaped serious
injury or death by very narrow margins, and it had occurred to him that, if he
were killed, she would never know that he had loved her.

When the notion had first come to him, he thought that would
be all for the best, not that he should be killed but that if he were, Merry
should be completely free of him. But Robert found he could not bear the idea.
He wanted Merry to remember him and to cherish that memory. And, as the French
cavalry and dragoons came into sight, he cursed the fixation on military duty
that had made him leave her that last night without a word or touch of love.

Esmeralda should have saved her tears. What she had seen and
endured thus far was child’s play to what was to come. For some reason unknown
even to his closest associates, Sir John decided that forced marches were necessary.
Since the draft animals were already on short rations—because it was impossible
to obtain fodder in the barren, snow-covered country through which they were
passing—they began to drop in their tracks from exhaustion. As soon as an
animal failed, it was shot, partly to keep it out of the hands of the French.
Half the time Esmeralda rode with her eyes closed to escape seeing the pathetic
corpses.

But soon there were more pathetic ones. The women and
children who had been riding on the baggage wagons were the next to go.
Inadequately clad and shod, some clung to their refuges until they froze to
death. Others tried to follow the army, only to drop by the wayside, victims of
fatigue and cold. One day—later Esmeralda calculated that it had been the
afternoon of January 5, but at the time she had no idea of the date—she saw a
woman fall near the top of a rise they were just beginning to ascend. More than
half an hour later, when they passed that spot, she was still there. Esmeralda
told M’Guire to see if a short rest, riding instead of walking, would help her.

For her, it was too late. She had probably actually died on
her feet, still struggling onward. M’Guire brought the reason for her struggle
to Esmeralda with tears freezing on his cheeks.

“‘Twas tryin’ to suck, mistress,” he said, choking, “an’ her
colder’n clay.”

“Oh my God,” Esmeralda whimpered, taking the infant and
wrapping it in her furred cloak. “God have mercy on us all.”

They did their best, although they dared not stop for more
than a minute or two at a time. They had no milk or bread, of course, but
Carlos cut a hunk of flesh from a still-quivering ox, and they pressed the
blood into snow that Esmeralda melted by holding a tin cup between her breasts.
To this they added sugar, and Esmeralda dribbled the mixture into the baby’s
mouth, but its breathing was already very bad, and it died a few hours later
while they were still struggling along the road. M’Guire did his best to bury
it when the company of Guards stopped for a half hour of rest, digging through
the snow to the frozen earth with his bayonet, The grave was very shallow, but
at least the little corpse was not exposed to the carrion eaters.

They had not plumbed the depths of horror yet. Just before
the dusk, Molly’s mule failed. It had been the weakest of the three animals,
but all of them looked at Boa Viagem and Luisa and saw that they, too, were
nearing the end of their strength. M’Guire shot the mule, and they went
forward, all on foot now, even Esmeralda. An hour later Carlos collapsed. Esmeralda
dropped beside him with a cry of despair, but he had only fainted.

When roused, Carlos denied emphatically that he was sick,
and this seemed true, for Esmeralda could feel no sign of fever, but she could
not be content, and continued to question him until he confessed that he was
nearly starving. He had been giving all his food, except the meat, which she
would not eat, to Luisa. Her tears over the mother and baby barely dried,
Esmeralda wept anew. What fodder they had was doled out unevenly, the larger
portion to Boa Viagem. No one had questioned the division, not even Carlos, for
it was known that mules were hardier than horses and could stand deprivation
better. The only thing Esmeralda had forgotten was Carlos’s devotion to Luisa
and the effect on him the shooting of the draft animals would have.

“How stupid I am.” Esmeralda sobbed. “Why should Luisa carry
what we no longer need? M’Guire, get the packs off her. We can discard the
dishes and the water bottles and most of the pots. Everything but the food, the
blankets, and Captain Moreton’s clothes can go.”

Molly had sunk to the ground, her face gray and her
breathing labored, but she began to push herself to her feet to help M’Guire,
whose hands were clumsy with cold. Esmeralda shook her head and went to help
him herself. She did not mind the work at all, but she was worried by Molly’s
quiescence. It was not like her to allow Esmeralda to work while she sat.
Perhaps Molly, too, was nearing the end of her endurance.

They had just about finished piling everything that could
possibly be discarded by the side of the road when a sergeant of the company
with which they traveled came plodding back.

“Ye must move on, ma’am,” he said. “I’m sore sorry, but ye
must not stop to rest now. If yer servants canna keep up, they must stay.”

“No, no,” Esmeralda replied, “we are coming. I only stopped
to lighten the load on the mule.”

They repacked in frantic haste, the sergeant standing by and
watching. It seemed to Esmeralda that if she had said Carlos or Molly could go
no farther, the man might have forced her on without them. Carlos was no
problem. With so much baggage discarded, he could ride Luisa until his strength
was a little restored, but Molly… Esmeralda glanced at her fearfully from the
corner of her eye and tears started to trickle down her face again. But all
through the night, somehow, with little rests riding on Boa Viagem and Luisa,
Molly managed to keep up. It was already faintly light when she moaned through
gritted teeth and said, “Oi must stop. Oi’m sorry, ma’am. Ye’ve done yer best,
but ye must leave me now.”

Esmeralda, placing one foot in front of the other like a
puppet without conscious volition, stopped and turned to look at her. Esmeralda
was not crying anymore, not because there were no tears left but because her
mind was so numb. There is a point beyond which horrors cannot be absorbed, and
the scenes they had passed, unable to help, had equaled and outdone the dead
mother and child left behind. Even the Guardsmen were failing now, steady old soldiers
falling out, some of them literally dropping dead on their feet.

“Put her up on Boa,” she said dully.

It was not a good time for it, as she had dismounted only
ten minutes before when the mare had stopped and stood trembling, obviously
near foundering. Esmeralda had pulled Boa forward, and the horse had managed to
walk with no weight on her, but she was still shaking and swaying. Luisa was in
little better condition and was already carrying Carlos, who had fallen again
and was obviously incapable of walking.

“’Tis not thit,” Molly gasped. “’Tis th’ baby comin’.”

“No!” Esmeralda cried, jerked out of her numbness by a more
personal horror. “Not here! Not now!”

But Molly had sunk to her knees and did not answer. M’Guire
knelt beside her, tears running down his face. Wildly, Esmeralda stared around,
but all she saw were splotches of dirty red on the clean white snow, marking
the places where men lay exhausted, dying, or dead. There could be no help for
them in this desolation, yet these were her people. Somehow she must find
something, but she was so tired herself that she did not know for what to look.
And a rising sense of horror and despair was making her even less capable
because, no matter how dreadful the things were that she had seen and heard up to
this point, she did not know the people who lay dead or too exhausted to move,
slowly freezing. This was different. This was Molly. Could she even think of
leaving Molly to bear her child in the freezing snow, to die with the infant in
her arms?

The horror of that thought made Esmeralda’s mind whirl. She
would not willingly leave Molly, no, but she might be forced away. The Guards
had their orders. Mrs. Moreton was to be brought safely to Corunna. As long as
she kept up, no one questioned how, but if she dropped out someone would come
seeking her. She had already been told she would not be permitted to wait for
her servants, and she was sure that if she said her horse had failed, another
would be found for her even if one of the officers had to walk. Molly groaned
again, and M’Guire put his arms around her, crying, “Whut’ll I do for ye?”