Whose Business Is to Die (28 page)

‘And Father Hernandez?’ The priest from Nogales had proved a good source of information over the years.

Baynes shrugged. ‘He is a wily one. I am sure he will find a way to escape. There is nothing I can do to change that. Nor can I leap the walls of Badajoz, sweep up Gutiérrez’s daughter in my arms and carry her to safety on my white charger if that is what you want.’ Baynes patted the thick neck of his heavy mare.

‘There are risks, William,’ he went on. ‘I do not hide them.’

Hanley raised more questions, playing with the broader idea and every detail of the scheme, but knowing that he was growing more and more enthusiastic. It might work, and it was surely worth the attempt. After a while he raised his bigger concern.

‘What if the whole thing has been a ruse? We assumed Bertrand had vital information. We assumed all those chests in the wagon had once contained money, but perhaps they wanted us to think that? Are they weak rather than strong, and so trying to bluff us into wasting all our time looking for an empty plot?’

Baynes brushed aside a damp lock of hair plastered over his forehead. He reined back and stared at Hanley with a fond smile. ‘I know, William, I know, but how would we tell? We would be fools if we assumed that it was all a bluff and did nothing. So catch Sinclair and let us see if we can find out.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘Walk on, girl.

‘Of course, you may have an even bigger worry than all of these, my dear Hanley,’ Baynes said after they had ridden in silence for a while.

‘There appear plenty already.’

‘Yes, but what if I am in the pay of the French!’

It was Hanley’s turn to smile. ‘I have considered that possibility.’

‘I should be disappointed and offended if you had not. And what is your conclusion?’

‘To keep an eye on you!’

Baynes roared with laughter, so loud that even their escort
could hear, and they stared at him with as much curiosity as anyone could muster during so soaking a ride. For a while the rain grew even heavier, the wind picking up and driving it into their faces so that no one bothered to talk. Later the wind fell and the rain slackened to drizzle and then stopped altogether. Hanley saw a dull red glow reflected off the clouds long before they could see the army’s encampment, so the soldiers must have found enough dry wood to light fires. There was a murmur of conversation and even the odd snatch of song as they rode through the camp.

The mood at Marshal Beresford’s headquarters was far less contented.

‘The Spanish are late,’ Colonel D’Urban told them. ‘Blake was supposed to be here this afternoon, but he has not come. He says that he is on the way, but it is vital that he hurry. If you will excuse me, I must send another officer to hurry them along.’

The Fourth Division was still at Badajoz, covering the withdrawal of the siege guns and other precious equipment, a task made more difficult because the heavy rain had caused the River Guadiana to rise. ‘I fear some of the regiments may be stranded on the wrong side and may not arrive at all. The remainder can scarcely be here before tomorrow morning,’ an ADC explained. ‘That leaves us with only the cavalry, the Second Division and the Portuguese, so we will be sorely outnumbered,’ he said. ‘It may mean that we shall have to withdraw. No one seems to know where Colonel Madden and his Portuguese cavalry have got to. He was supposed to join us, but there has been no word from him.’ He hurried off.

There was constant bustle among the marshal’s staff, a pervading air of nervousness and bickering. As far as Hanley could tell there were at most seventeen or eighteen thousand British and Portuguese soldiers to face twenty-three thousand French. Soult had arrived faster than they had reckoned.

‘General Long and the cavalry came back far too precipitately,’ D’Urban said. ‘I fear he must be replaced before he can do more
harm to our cause.’ There was more than a hint of satisfaction in his voice, as if this confirmed his existing doubts.

They heard a different story from a captain of the Foot Guards who was on Long’s staff and had come to seek new orders. ‘We were told to come back with all speed and so we obeyed. Left to ourselves I am sure we could have held them longer, at least until their numbers forced us back.’

Hanley wondered whether more energy was being spent assigning blame than improving the situation. They waited for more than an hour, having brief snatches of conversation, and so learned that the French were to the east on the far bank of the little River Albuera. Cavalry and infantry had both been seen before darkness fell, and the rest of Soult’s army was no doubt following them.

‘Get something to eat and a little sleep,’ Baynes told Hanley and the others after some time had passed. No one had shown any inclination to pay attention to them. ‘From what I can tell the army is staying put because the Spanish will be here in a few hours – in fact they wanted to nab you so that you could act as one of the guides to take them to their assigned position. I refused, the marshal grew angry, but thankfully Colonel D’Urban knows me well enough to explain matters and insist that I would not act so other than with good reason. He promises to provide a guide for you, but I doubt that we will receive much more assistance.’ The next words were whispered. ‘It is my impression that affairs here are not dealt with as they would be if Lord Wellington were present. Still, there is one piece of good news. General Castaños is senior to Marshal Beresford, but he has most chivalrously stated that he will not be present in any official capacity and so command will stay with the marshal. That is surely for the best.’ There was a slight trace of doubt in his voice.

The merchant woke them at two o’clock. ‘You should go as soon as you are ready.’

Hanley struggled to stir, his limbs feeling stiffer than when he had lain down with blanket and cloak over him.

‘Do not take unnecessary risks, William,’ Baynes said. ‘If there
is a chance, then take it, but do not hesitate to give up the game if you sense something is wrong. Good luck.’

‘They seem happy at such an unearthly hour,’ Truscott said to Pringle as the 106th and the rest of the brigade prepared to march. Men talked and there was a fair bit of laughter before the sergeant major’s booming voice called them to attention.

‘Glad to see the back of this place, and of digging trenches while the French take pot shots at them.’

Truscott looked back at the brooding shape of Badajoz, just visible against the night sky. All the effort and death now seemed wasted. One of the brigades of the division was stranded on the far side of the river, but even they would follow on as best they could, and only a few token pickets would be left to guard the trenches and battery positions. If the garrison decided to come out then they would have to retire and so the French could demolish and fill in as quickly as they had men and tools to do the job.

‘They do not usually care for retiring from the enemy,’ Truscott said, feeling that others ought to share his own sense of failure.

‘Well, there is the prospect of a battle, and they would prefer that to labouring. Especially my fellows.’ Pringle’s shoulders began to shake and his friend realised that he was in the throes of exercising his wit. No doubt if the light were better he would have seen Billy’s face reddening and creases spreading from his mouth. ‘After all, a tall grenadier has to make a deeper trench to shelter himself. You little chaps have a far easier time of it during a siege! I should call that … I should call …’ Pringle was unable to continue.

‘A tall order?’ Truscott suggested, as usual unable to resist smiling at Pringle’s delight.

Billy was doubled up with laughter, and only just able to recover a little when the sergeant major bellowed for silence.

The Fusilier Brigade was paraded behind several regiments of Spanish infantry, the remnants of the army almost destroyed by the French when they took Badajoz back in the winter. Truscott,
relieved for the moment of his duties as engineer, had come past them on the way to rejoin his battalion.

‘The poor devils have not a greatcoat between them, and I am not even sure that all have muskets,’ he told Pringle once his friend had calmed down. ‘I suspect this business will fall to us more than anyone else. Just like Talavera and Barrosa.’

‘At least they are here. I would not discount them, but it is much to be lamented that Kemmis’ brigade is not with us.’

‘Well, at least MacAndrews has their light bobs,’ Truscott said. ‘Oh, did I not tell you. The three Light Companies from Kemmis’ brigade were this side of the Guadiana, and so have been attached to the light battalion of our brigade. Old Mac will put them to good use.’

There was the sound of boots marching towards them with fixed intent. Sergeant Major Philips was formerly a guardsman and even in his greatcoat still managed to look smarter and more neatly pressed than anyone else in the battalion. A glance was enough to silence the two captains.

Philips turned to face the column, his boots slamming on to the ground. He filled his lungs.

‘’Talion will advance! Forward march!’

The drums rolled and their band struck up ‘The Girl I left behind me’.

Pringle chuckled. ‘I’d hardly call Badajoz a girl, but I am glad to see the back of the damned place!’

They marched into the night, and Truscott could not shake off his sense of despair at their failure. Young Sam was with MacAndrews and the Light Companies and no doubt he had not a thought in that empty head beyond his next meal and his excitement at the prospect of a battle. Truscott hoped that there would be a chance to see his brother before anything happened.

22

W
illiams watched as the shapes of the abandoned houses in the village of Albuera grew clearer. The brigade had stood to arms as usual, the drums and bugles rousing them at half past three in the morning. They were behind the village, and as the first and senior brigade of the Second Division they were on the right of its line. Next to them were the two other brigades – each with three battalions of redcoats. On their left were the Portuguese.

‘Now they should not be there,’ Dunbar said. The light was growing, a pale grey light for there was no hint of the sun and it looked as if the day would be cloudy and wet. The two staff officers had ridden up the gentle slope that hid their battalions from sight and were looking down at the village and the river beyond it. Williams could just see the dark shapes of columns of infantry over to their right and some way ahead.

‘Only the Germans and the cavalry outposts should be ahead of us,’ he agreed. The two battalions of greenjacketed KGL light infantry had the task of holding Albuera village.

Colborne joined them a few moments later, having returned from a brief meeting with General Stewart. ‘It is the Spanish under Blake,’ he explained. ‘They were supposed to take up position level with us, but went astray in the darkness.’

Dunbar snorted and then noticed the colonel’s disapproval.

‘Just be glad that they are here. The Fourth Division is not.’ Colborne looked at the dark shapes of the columns. ‘They have over ten thousand men and this is too extensive a position to hold on our own.’

The main highway from Seville to Badajoz crossed the river at Albuera and on this side divided so that roads led off east and west as well as continuing north-west to Badajoz. Marshal Beresford had stationed his forces to block the route and to give himself the option of withdrawing along the main highway if he decided against risking a battle. The British and Portuguese were behind a low ridge, in truth little more than a fold of ground, gentle enough to walk up and down with ease. This continued to the south, rising slowly, and with a couple of knolls providing little crests a mile or more away. At the moment the Allies had nothing to cover this ground, and at the very least the Spanish would extend their line a little.

‘From what I have heard,’ Colborne continued, ‘it is the Spanish generals who have urged us to fight, and so their arrival should add determination to our leaders.’ Since Campo Major the colonel had avoided direct criticism of the high command, but it was clear from his comments that he disapproved of much they did – and just as obvious that he longed to hold such high responsibilities and demonstrate to all how things ought to be done.

Dawn came, and they could see that the Spanish battalions had stood to arms just like their allies.

‘Not much sign of the enemy,’ Williams said, as he scanned the plain on the far side of the river. It presented little obstacle, for even swollen by rainwater a determined man could cross it. There were two bridges in front of the village, a rather ugly old one and an elegant newer one, as well as a clear ford not far away from them. When Colborne had led them on a ride over the ground the previous afternoon they had found another one further to the south.

‘No, probably taking their ease,’ Dunbar suggested in an effort to lighten the mood. Colborne did not smile. There were several outposts of French hussars and infantry pickets a little to the rear.

‘I suspect that soon the order will come to stand down,’ the colonel said. ‘Let the men have breakfast and ensure their firelocks are in a proper state. I have a feeling that they will need them
before the day is out.’ He lowered his glass and flicked the cover over the lens, but he kept staring past the Spanish and further to the right. Two tributaries met to form the River Albuera and the island between the two streams was covered in trees and scrub. ‘I do wish that was not there, for they may form behind it without our having any idea of their intention. It appears we expect to be attacked straight at our centre, and if so we shall be in the thick of it soon enough. That is if we have read Marshal Soult properly. Yet I am not sure, not sure at all. I do not think that is the way I should attack this position, were I Marshal Soult, but then I am a mere lieutenant colonel so there is surely much I still have to learn of the art of war.’

Williams watched the trees. It was not an unbroken line, even if for the moment the shadows were too dark to penetrate. In full daylight it ought to be possible to see troops in the trees or moving behind them, even if it would be hard to tell their numbers or purpose.