Send Me Safely Back Again (33 page)

Hatch laughed out loud at the thought, but then forced himself to concentrate now that he had reached the heart of the letter.

At Talavera we found that the famous Spanish lady of our acquaintance is in residence. Mr W grew instantly excited, forgetting his amours of the past months, and once again began his ardent pursuit of the dark eyed – and wealthy! – Dulcinea. Soon he was seen, haunting the street outside her grand house, mixing with the pedlars and
wastrels of the town, in the hope of a glimpse of the lady or better yet some words with her. He waited outside, because he was not permitted within – the servants forbidding him whenever he requested an audience and the lady ignoring his pleas when she drove past in her coach. Poor simple fellow, W is unable to understand just how unwelcome his attentions are, and is convinced that the servants, and not the mistress, are to blame! He cannot see that so fine a lady – and she a widow and soon to be a mother – would at no time even glance in the direction of so uncouth a suitor, or indeed any foreign officer save of the most exalted rank
.

Actually, Hatch had happened to pass the house and seen Major Wickham being ushered in by the doorman, but there was no reason to concern his readers with such details. Nor need the knowledge that Williams had been nowhere near the place even for a moment spoil a good story.

No doubt due to his frustrated passion, Mr W’s manner has grown rougher and it is the unfortunate soldiers of the Light Company who suffer as a result. He bawls and shouts at them in a savage manner and still they train for hours on end as the poor fellow struggles to understand his duties and vents his spleen
.

He has also become more distant in his relations
[that was a good and suggestive word]
with the soldiers’ wives and no longer spends as much time regaling them with tales of his exploits. Opinion is uncertain as to whether he now spurns such companions in the hope of better, or if those stalwart souls grew weary of his boasting. Whatever the cause, his anger now extends to these women as much as their husbands. Marauding is a serious problem in the army, and often the female followers are the worst culprits. Each day new orders come for ceaseless vigilance to prevent them riding on their donkeys ahead of the column and buying or stealing provisions intended for the commissaries, or simply abusing the inhabitants. In another division of the army, some wives were arrested and trussed up to the halberds in the public square to be flogged on their lower back. W is much taken by the story, and openly dares the wives of the Light Company to
misbehave in like manner, boasting that he will ‘take his cane and himself give them six and thirty strokes on the bare —— if they be caught in the act
’.

Hatch wondered whether the unwritten, but suggested, word was too much. Mrs Davenport would blush, he had no doubt, but he judged that she would read on none the less. Mrs Wickham would pretend to be as shocked and all the while laugh uncontrollably. In fact, Hatch had heard the dour Caledonian sergeant in the Light Company give this stern warning to the followers, and the man – he neither knew nor cared to know the fellow’s name – had said ‘bare doup’, which presumably was some Scotch vulgarism. A dash was better, allowing the reader to be as chaste or coarse as their imagination permitted.

W is a simple fellow, and perhaps little is to be expected from one of his background, but there was a gleam in his eye when he spoke which hinted at dark instincts, mingling rage with disappointed passion. An unkind observer might wonder if he longed for the chance to commit such brutality, and whether or not he had his eye on one or two comely victims, but I think that this is mere gossip
.

And so to less amusing themes. May I pass on the best wishes of
. . .

He closed with a few lines of pleasantries, and then leaned back in his chair well satisfied. The words had simply flowed, and he had finished this longer letter far more quickly than its predecessors. Hatch drank happily and wondered whether his fiction of an ardent, brutish Williams would actually excite passion in the bosom of Lydia Wickham. The girl was an outrageous flirt, and he suspected would prove willing for more in the right circumstances. A comical image of her pursuing the confused Williams took shape and delighted him, one scene following another. Wickham calling the lieutenant out – perhaps drilling him through the heart with a ball, for the major was
reputed to be a fine shot – and even if he survived ruining his career.

His friend reappeared, a fresh bottle in each hand.

‘Have you finished?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ Hatch sealed the letter. ‘Although I am pondering whether I have it in me to write a romance,’ he said more than half seriously.

The officer grinned, revealing small and misshapen teeth. ‘An admirable ambition, I am sure, and there was I planning to idle my time away in drinking.’

‘An even better enterprise, and you inspire me to join you!’

His wound cleaned and bandaged, Hanley went through his story once again.

‘Espinosa?’ asked Murray.

‘It seems unlikely and I cannot see what he would gain from killing me.’

‘If he meant to do so,’ said Baynes.

Hanley touched his side ruefully. ‘The man appeared to be serious.’

‘Yes, but not competent. If the man was any good you would not be here now. You admit that you were surprised?’ There was little trace of the jovial merchant as Baynes spoke with cold reason.

‘Yes, I suspected nothing until I came out into the courtyard.’

‘Then either he was no good or he was not really trying. It would make us more inclined to believe his story.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Hanley, ‘but is the story not plausible enough?’

‘Oh, aye, it all adds up,’ conceded Murray, ‘although God alone knows how he found out about it. Spying on Joseph’s court is one thing. Knowing what the Junta or Venegas are up to is another. Makes you wonder how much he knows about us – and who he’s telling. For the laddie spoke no less than the truth when he said this is all worth more than we are paying.’

‘He also spoke of a traitor in the Spanish camp warning the French of our attack,’ said Hanley.

Baynes rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘He did, and there may be one, or indeed several.’

‘Cuesta may just be an old fool and no general,’ said Murray.

‘And he fears rivals – Alburquerque, Venegas and half a dozen others generals, let alone our own Sir Arthur. Any one of them could take his command and he is convinced that he is the only man able to save Spain.’ Baynes shrugged. ‘It could be jealousy, or simple malice.’

‘Or it could be his bad instincts as a general. There need be no great mystery in any of it,’ said Murray pragmatically, ‘least of all in Victor realising he is facing long odds. He’s a sly old fox.’ It was now clear that the French corps had retreated.

‘Do you trust Velarde, or La Doña Margarita?’ asked Hanley.

‘Trust is a very grand word,’ said Baynes with a smile.

‘She has lied about her condition. Presumably without the prospect of an heir her importance to the old count is greatly diminished.’

Baynes nodded his head. ‘Yes, although I am told the old man was fond of her as a child. She and her husband were distant cousins. It may simply be that she wishes to keep his favour, although surely such a deception would be unmasked in due course, unless . . .’

Hanley thought of Wickham. ‘Would the late appearance of a child not cause comment?’

‘No doubt, no doubt.’ Murray tried to bring them back to the matter in hand. ‘She has been a useful courier, let us leave it at that since we know no more at present. Velarde is considered loyal by at least some senior Spanish officers. They may be in league, they may be lovers, or they may be loyal patriots working to free their country.’

‘They may indeed be all of those things and more,’ added Baynes.

Murray frowned. ‘The news of Soult is worrying, since it may in time pose a grave danger. Time is the key. From what I saw of the state of his army during the retreat from Oporto I cannot credit him ready to take the field for another fortnight at the very
earliest. Now I cannot but regret the obstinacy of General Cuesta in not placing stronger garrisons to hold the passes.’ If Soult were to move against them rather than attacking Portugal, then the most direct route ran through the passes in the mountains to the north.

‘We can do no more now,’ said Murray decisively. ‘Temper trust with secret suspicion. There is a big lie somewhere, I am sure of it, a great deception. Pray God we do not discover it when it is too late.’

‘Amen to that,’ said Baynes, and then laughed when Hanley crossed himself. ‘You are getting used to playing the Spaniard!’

22

B
lack smoke blew dirty embers into Williams’ eyes and made him blink.

‘On reflection, it may have been unwise,’ he said to a captain from the 5/60th foot, whose green-jacketed riflemen extended the piquet line on the flank of the Light Company.

‘Too much of a temptation,’ said the captain. It was four days after the aborted attack and Williams and the 3rd Battalion of Detachments were once again on the west bank of the Alberche. ‘The lads would not like to think of the Frenchies sleeping snugly in their old camp.’

Marshal Victor’s men had made themselves very comfortable during their stay, running up row on row of little thatched huts. The British had now burned them because the French were coming back. Williams had also felt that the redcoats – and many officers – had enjoyed the simple boyish destructiveness of setting torches to the roofs. Then the wind picked up and blew strongly from the east, sweeping the clouds of thick smoke across the river. As outposts of the division, the Light Company could see very little.

The Spanish were behind them once again, having passed through them earlier in the day. On 24th July General Cuesta had led his army in pursuit of the French. The British stayed at Talavera. Sir Arthur would not advance until the promised supplies and transport were delivered and none had appeared. Daily rations were reduced once again. In three days the Spanish were back, chased by a heavily reinforced Marshal Victor, and the Third Division was part of a British covering force sent out to
protect them as they retreated. The redcoats burned the old French huts because they were there, and because it would have seemed a shame to let them stand.

‘If you will excuse me, I had better check on my left flank,’ said Williams.

‘Well, good day to you. Do not forget that we’ll be going back any minute now so make sure the order is passed along.’

Williams passed Rudden. ‘Anything to report, Sergeant?’

‘No, sir. Can’t see a lot, though.’ There was the faintest hint of disapproval in his voice, as if Williams were personally responsible for the smoke.

‘I know. Be ready to pull back to the brigade.’

‘Sir.’

The brigade major appeared, riding carefully between the stunted trees and scrub. With him was Hanley, who hailed his friend and dismounted to walk with him as the piquet line pulled back.

‘What news?’ asked Williams as soon as the Light Company was formed up and moving. He let McNaught lead them, and walked at the rear.

‘The French are coming. Forty-five, maybe fifty thousand of them with King Joseph and Sebastiani’s corps as well as our old friend Marshal Victor.’

Williams whistled softly. The numbers were daunting, far bigger than anything he had ever seen. With the Spanish and British there might soon be almost one hundred thousand men meeting to shoot and stab each other. ‘Will the Spanish fight?’ he asked.

‘Cuesta was all for making a stand on the other bank of the river.’

Williams shook his head at such folly.

‘It took hours for Wellesley to persuade him to cross to this side,’ continued Hanley. ‘The old man is boasting that he made Sir Arthur go down on his knees and beg.’

‘Why?’ Williams was genuinely baffled.

‘Well, he has so few victories to his name.’

‘Maybe Dobson and I should not have rescued the old fool.’

Hanley laughed. There was a simplicity about his friend which was so very refreshing after the last few days. ‘He is grateful. Indeed, there is a gift waiting for you – at least if any of his staff remember about it. It is a fine Andalusian mare.’

‘Side of beef might be more welcome.’ Williams and the others had watched the Spanish drovers and servants driving large flocks of sheep and herds of pigs and cattle ahead of their army. Their allies appeared to be enjoying everything they failed to provide for the redcoats.

The Light Company marched for a mile, following the main track through the trees until they reached a patch of more open ground filled with parties of redcoats. Several battalions were there, their arms piled into neat pyramids, their packs off and laid out in rows for each company. Some groups had already lit fires and were starting to cook, although no doubt the stews they were making were short on everything apart from water and wistful hope.

‘Looks like we are settling in for a while,’ said Williams. It was barely one o’clock and seemed too early to halt for the night, but perhaps they would rest for a few hours. ‘Will you stay and see Billy?’