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Authors: Simon Scarrow

BOOK: The Fields of Death
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Arthur strode over to the side of the map and could not help smiling at his officers. ‘I know that some of you are perplexed by the division of the army at the start of the coming campaign. You may be glad to know there is method in my apparent madness. The Russian campaign has changed everything. Before news of the scale of Boney’s defeat reached me it had been my intention to advance towards Madrid once again. But now I believe it is within our power to put an end to French control of the Peninsula before the end of this year.’
The officers around the table exchanged surprised looks. General Beresford was the first to respond.
‘Sir, while I am sure we all share the ambition, surely it is too early for such a result? The enemy has two hundred thousand soldiers in Spain. More than twice our number.’
‘No more than half of which are available to concentrate against us,’ Arthur countered. ‘The key to the coming campaign will be to advance swiftly, before they can mass enough men in one place to outnumber us. Moreover, we will not strike where Joseph and his senior commander, Marshal Jourdan, expect us to.’ Arthur turned back to the map. ‘First we must throw them off the scent. To which end, General Hill, with a third of the army, will advance from Ciudad Rodrigo towards Salamanca. I will accompany the army to ensure that the French think that we are attempting to retake Madrid. Meanwhile, General Graham will be leading the main force through the mountains in the north-east of Portugal and fetching up on the north bank of the Douro as he enters Spain.’
Beresford frowned slightly as he concentrated on the map. ‘But, sir, that means taking the main force through the Tras Os Montes. I know the area, and the roads through the mountains are treacherous. I would even go so far as to say they are impassable.’
‘I am sure that the French share your opinion,’Arthur smiled.‘Which is why General Graham will use the mountain roads to appear where the enemy least expect us. As it happens, our engineers have been at work over the winter removing the worst of the obstacles on the route. It will be hard going but there will be no opposition and we will have turned the enemy’s flank. As soon as Graham has cleared the mountains he will march along the Douro to Toro where General Hill’s column will join him, after leaving a small garrison at Salamanca. By the start of June we will have eighty thousand men ready to take Burgos and clear the north of Spain. In the meantime, Joseph will not know which way to turn. If all goes well we can shatter his formations before they have a chance to concentrate. Any questions?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Picton grumbled. ‘This is all very well, but what if Joseph takes advantage of our position north of the Douro to strike west and cut our communications with Portugal? We have to protect our supply lines to Lisbon.’
‘Not for much longer.’ Arthur indicated the northern coast of Spain. ‘I have given orders for our siege guns to be loaded on to a convoy that is already anchored off Coruña. Our new supply base will be Santander once we have taken the port.’
His generals grasped the significance at once, Arthur was pleased to see. He continued, ‘With Santander in our hands we will dominate the north of Spain, cutting Joseph off from France. In that case, what choice does he have but to fight us? The alternative is to retreat from Spain altogether, which will not endear him to his brother.’
Beresford nodded approvingly. ‘A fine plan, sir. Why, we could hold the line of the Ebro before the year is out.’
‘The Ebro be damned! I fully intend us to reach the Pyrenees by then.’
‘And after that?’ Picton intervened. ‘What? You intend to invade France?’
Arthur was aware that every general was hanging on his reply, but he simply pursed his lips. ‘One thing at a time, eh, Picton? Even though I know you are in a hurry to reach Paris.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Well then, gentlemen, that is the broad plan. You will keep it strictly to yourselves. I will not tolerate any croaking to your friends and family back in England. We’ve had enough of that in the past, and it is my belief that by the time this year is over, the army will be the toast of our country, and any naysayers will look like complete fools. Now then, Somerset has your sealed orders. Take them back to your headquarters and prepare to march.’
The generals rose from their chairs and slowly filed out of the room, exchanging excited remarks as they collected their orders from the table by the door. Arthur watched them closely. Only Picton seemed to be unaffected by the high spirits, but then Picton was disposed towards seeing the worst in plans and men alike. But for his fighting qualities Arthur might have been tempted to dispense with his services long ago. Somerset closed the door behind them and returned to examine the map in silence for a moment.
‘Penny for your thoughts, Somerset.’
Somerset turned towards him. ‘It occurs to me that you might be thinking of ending the year’s campaign on the far side of the Pyrenees, rather than the Spanish side, sir.’
‘Really?’ Arthur raised an eyebrow. ‘And why is that?’
‘If Joseph is forced to fight you in northern Spain and we defeat him, then the game is up for the French south of the Pyrenees. That’s clear enough. But if we cross into France, in such force that we can remain on French soil through the winter, then it would be a devastating blow to French morale.’
‘Yes. I expect it would.’
Somerset thought for a moment. ‘Why did you not tell the others, my lord? It might have added to their inspiration.’
‘I should have thought you would know my methods well enough to guess by now. You saw how they reacted to the prospect of reaching the Pyrenees. Some of them are certain that I am over-extending the army. Like the French, they assume I am wedded to waging war in a defensive manner. The time for that is past. This year we are strong enough to send the French reeling. The men have never been in better condition and in better spirits, in contrast to the enemy. Beresford would have us stop on the bank of the Ebro. By offering the Pyrenees instead, I have set them a challenge, but one that they can believe in. If I said France, then I would have planted the seeds of trepidation in their hearts. Besides, my generals are not my only audience in this little drama of ours.’
‘Sir?’
‘Our political masters in London would think me mad to advance so far. So I have told them even less than the generals know. It is always better to give people a lesser ambition to aim for, so that their sense of achievement is all the greater when they exceed it. If we reach France, then I am sure you can imagine how grateful our country will be to us, Somerset.’
‘Indeed, sir. You are certain to be rewarded handsomely.’
Arthur looked hard at him. ‘Is that what you think motivates me?’
‘I did not say that, my lord.’
‘You did not
say
it.’ Arthur laughed drily.‘Oh, I have had my rewards. I was made a lord after Talavera, then an earl, and a marquess for Salamanca and now the Order of the Garter. Our Spanish and Portuguese allies have conferred dukedoms on me, and so our soldiers call me, though with some measure of jest. I dare say that in time I may even become a duke of England. But these are all baubles, Somerset. Baubles. What drives me is not a title, nor some ribbon, nor a bejewelled star, but the prospect of a Europe free from French tyranny. That is a cause worth fighting for, and dying for if need be. Do I make myself quite clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Arthur stared at him for a moment and then clapped his hands together. ‘That’s that, then. Are there any other matters requiring my attention?’
Somerset could not help smiling. ‘Just one thing, my lord. It arrived from London today. I shall fetch it.’ He hurried out of the room to his desk in the anteroom. A moment later he reappeared with a velvet case the size of a large book. He set it down on the table, together with a small note addressed to Arthur in the unmistakable spidery writing of his wife Kitty. He broke the seal and opened the letter and read the brief message.
My dearest Arthur,
I know how you dislike my intruding upon you when your mind is set on military affairs and the duty you owe to your country. It is some months since I last received a letter from you, and it seems I learn more about you from the newspapers and the gossip of the wives of your officers than I do from your hand directly. My Arthur, I know that I am not the wife you deserve. I know it more and more with the passage of each year. Yet I love you, and our children love you, and long for you to return to us. I know that you cannot before the war is over, and while we wait please know that we take the most intense pride in what you have achieved for our nation. In token of which, I forward the enclosed, sent to us from Windsor, and trust that it will remind you of the affection in which you are held by so many. Your loving wife, Kitty.
 
Arthur refolded the letter and returned it to the table. He knew that he should feel guilty, but that sentiment refused to stir in his breast. Just a deadening certainty that Kitty spoke the truth, and that he would never be able to care for her in the way that she wanted.
For an instant, he wondered what would become of them when the war did end. Assuming he survived, then what would he do? For twenty years he had known little but war. He had refined his martial abilities to a fine edge and was proud of himself, his officers and his men. What did the prospect of peace offer to such a man as himself? A return to the ennui of life out of uniform, and Kitty . . .
‘Aren’t you going to open it, my lord?’ Somerset broke into his thoughts.
‘What?’
‘The case, sir.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Arthur drew it closer, fiddled with the dainty catch and then raised the lid. Inside, cushioned on and pinned to white silk, were the insignia of the Order of the Garter, the most noble order of knighthood that England had to offer. Arthur could not help but be moved by the honour that had been bestowed on him. He swallowed, then touched the gleaming stones of the star.
‘It is a fine thing, is it not?’ he mused.
‘Not just another bauble then, my lord?’
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you do not wipe that foolish expression off your face you may find that I am obliged to bestow a very different kind of Order upon you.’ He reached down and slapped the side of his boot.
His aide fought manfully to suppress his humour.
‘That’s better.’ Arthur stood up. ‘Then, if you’re quite ready, I think it is time for us to join General Hill.’
Chapter 39
 
Towards the end of May Ciudad Rodrigo was turned over to a Spanish garrison and the southern wing of the allied army set out for Salamanca. Given the rough terrain that General Graham would be crossing to reach the north bank of the Douro, most of the army’s guns, and the cavalry, marched with Arthur. In order to conceal his true numbers from the enemy Arthur sent over four thousand horsemen ahead of the main column, screening it from enemy scouts and at the same time impressing the French with the size of the effort being made to take Salamanca.
The French abandoned Salamanca to Wellington at the end of the month and the inhabitants of the city gave a guarded welcome to the allied army. Three days later that army abruptly left the city, marching swiftly north towards the Douro where they crossed near Toro and combined with General Graham’s column. Having gathered his reserves in Madrid to meet the threat from the direction of Salamanca, Joseph had too few men north of the Douro to do anything but retreat in the face of the powerful allied army. Arthur drove his men on along the bank of the Douro as far as Valladolid and then turned north again, parallel to the great Royal Road that linked Madrid with France.
The first evening the army camped in the hills. Arthur was hunched over a map in his tent when Somerset entered in the company of a naval officer. Outside, the army was setting up camp in the cool evening air. Row upon row of the new white tents were being erected on the more level stretches of the surrounding slopes. An exhausting day’s march had left the men quieter than usual and many had not bothered to light a fire, eating their rations cold before sorting out some bracken to lie on and promptly falling asleep.
Arthur was in a fine mood and he grinned as he looked up at his aide. ‘Twenty-one miles today, Somerset! Fine progress, eh? We’re advancing faster than the French can retreat.’
‘Fine progress indeed, my lord. But progress towards what, exactly?’
‘All in due course. Who is that with you?’
Somerset stood aside and ushered the officer into the tent. ‘Lieutenant Carstairs, of His Majesty’s Ship
Apollo
. He landed on the north coast and was escorted here by a band of partisans.’
Carstairs stepped towards Arthur’s table and swept off his hat. ‘I’ve been sent by my captain to find you, my lord. He commands the frigate squadron escorting the supply convoy from Southampton. We had orders to land your supplies in Oporto but found that you had left instructions to land them at Santander instead, and if the port was still in enemy hands we were to make contact with you for fresh orders. So, here I am.’
‘Good work, Carstairs. I like an officer who takes the initiative. How was your journey?’

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