Flashman in the Peninsula (28 page)

Abandoned by their ally and with nearly a hundred and forty thousand fresh veteran French troops pouring over the border, the Spanish insanely decided that this was the moment to liberate Madrid. They sent two armies towards the capital in a pincer movement with entirely predictable results. Initially they caught some French forces by surprise and pushed them back, but then a large Spanish army of fifty-five thousand men met a French army of thirty-four thousand men at a place called Ocana. The Spanish general left his flank completely exposed on a flat plain, and as a result his demoralised troops faced French infantry to their front and rampaging French cavalry in their rear. Spanish losses, including those captured, amounted to over a third of the army while another ten thousand deserted. The Spanish also lost nearly all their cannon and supplies. Against this French casualties amounted to just a few hundred men. The second, smaller Spanish army of thirty-two thousand men was beaten a week later by a French force half its size. Again divisions were routed and huge numbers of men deserted. The surviving army units fled to the nearby mountains where thousands died over the winter from disease and starvation.

The whole campaign had been a reckless gamble and it left southern Spain virtually defenceless. To make matters worse, the city of Gerona finally fell to the French after a six month siege that had killed two-thirds of the garrison and half the citizens of the town. In response the Central Junta abolished all exemptions from military service and desperately tried to raise new armies. But the people were now on the verge of revolution, and even if the men had come forward there were no arms to equip them.

The French had the Spanish at their mercy, only the guerrillas now offered them any resistance. In January the French swept through Jaen, Cordoba and Granada and by the end of January they were at the gates of Seville, which fell without a fight. Maria had stayed with the British throughout the Spanish collapse as it seemed the safest place. Word came through that the marquis had survived and reached Cadiz; the coastal fortress which was now the only city in the south to hold out against the French.

With Spain subdued it seemed certain that the French would turn their huge army on the British next and the croaking amongst our officers increased. During the march down to Talavera the previous year spirits had been high and many had expected to end the campaign capturing Madrid themselves. Now we seemed to face inevitable defeat and ignominy. Some were pressing for leave and others writing tales to the government of what they perceived as mismanagement and incompetence by Wellington. Well, I had started to croak too as I could not see how we would beat a French army three times our size, but Maria had stopped me.

‘He has a plan,’ she had told me of Wellington one evening when we were alone.

‘Do you know what it is?’

‘Yes, but he has sworn me to secrecy. It will work Thomas, trust me. The French will not be able to push the British out of Portugal.’

‘Oh, come on,’ I protested, ‘I am your cousin, we are of the same blood, surely you can tell me.’

‘I have given my word,’ she said, smiling. ‘But I will tell you this: he will use what the French perceive as their strengths against them.’

She was right, Wellington definitely had a plan, but if other officers knew about it then they weren’t talking. Even senior officers grumbled that they were being asked to put their trust in unknown phantoms of his imagination. But despite all the griping and groaning and letters from politicians and articles in the press, Wellington remained close lipped and resolute. The only time I heard him refer to the matter at all was when one exasperated officer shouted at him that the French could bring a hundred and fifty thousand men against our force in the next few months.

‘The more men they bring the better,’ he replied with an enigmatic smile, and then he walked away before the man could ask another question. Whatever he had in mind it was clear that we would be relying on his brain beating French brawn in the months ahead. Having seen the luck he had ridden during the Indian campaign I was not sure if I found that comforting or not, but a strange event a few days later seemed almost a good omen.

With other officers I was staying in a large requisitioned house, which according to rumour was built on an old roman villa. Certainly there was the stump of a roman pillar in the centre of the courtyard that all the rooms faced on to. As Avery was also sharing the building, a ring bolt on this pillar became the mooring point for Brunhilde. The damned creature snarled and lunged at the end of a long rope tied to the pillar, at everyone who entered through the gateway, forcing us all to move around the edge of the courtyard to get to our rooms. One evening I returned to my chamber up on the first floor to find Boney sitting by the window. As usual, he was staring at his heart’s desire as she paced around the column outside. He had spent hours intently watching the slobbering bitch prowl about on her rope, but every time we walked past her together she would fling herself at Boney with jaws snapping.

I was quickly getting ready as I was expecting Consuella in a few minutes, and sure enough her arrival was soon signalled by snarling and barking outside. Boney got up on his hind legs with his front paws on the windowsill to watch. Consuella, grinning up at him, edged round in our direction, while Brunhilde ran around the column after her.

I put my arm around the dog’s shoulders, which were now at the same height as my own. ‘I think I am going to have more fun with my girl tonight than you are with yours,’ I told him as I watched Consuella reach the bottom of the stairs that led up to my room. ‘You need to forget about that one and find a willing bitch that will not try to take a chunk out of your arse. Now get going, you know I don’t like you in here when I am entertaining.’

The dog reluctantly dropped to the floor and padded out of the door as I opened it for Consuella, who patted him as he walked past. We shared a cup of wine and I was just getting her stripped for action when a cacophony of barking came from outside. There were the usual snarling growls from Brunhilde, but this time there were excited barks from Boney too. I tried to ignore it at first; if the daft mutt wanted to risk another mauling that was up to him. I did not see why it had to stop me. Consuella was whispering ardently in my ear and it looked as though my attentions were going to be far more welcome than Boney’s. But as I tried to concentrate on matters in hand the continual barking and snarling was a distraction, and then other officers billeted around the courtyard started shouting for me to do something.

‘For God’s sake Flash,’ called Avery, ‘pull your flea bitten hound away from Brunhilde’

‘Those bloody dogs should be shot,’ called another unknown voice.

Reluctantly, I pulled myself away from Consuella and went to the window. I took a deep breath to bellow down for Boney to desist.

‘I say Flash, hold on,’ called a voice to my right. It was Campbell who was leaning out of the window of his room next door.

‘What do you mean?’ I bellowed back over the din.

‘Look at Boney, he is reeling her in.’

‘What?’ I shouted back.

‘Look at the pillar, man. He has taken her around that column four times already; I swear your hound is deliberately reeling that German brute in.’ I looked down and he was right. There were already four tight lines of rope around the pillar and Boney, darting backwards and forwards, was leading her clockwise around a fifth time. To this day I am not certain if what followed was sheer dumb luck or animal cunning, but given subsequent events I am inclined to believe the latter. Certainly there were a couple of occasions when Boney did move half a turn counter clockwise, usually to dart in and tease the German dog. He would spring back from the snapping jaws with ease and then as she strained towards him he would resume his clockwise movement. Apart from Avery and one red faced major who hurled lumps of firewood at them from the opposite side of the courtyard, most of the officers had appeared at their windows and were watching proceedings with open curiosity as it became clear what Boney was attempting.

‘Never seen anything like it,’ called the man who occupied the room to the left of mine. ‘Do you think he actually knows what he is doing?’

I shrugged my shoulders in response and felt Consuella press her naked body up behind mine, so it could not be seen from outside, as she peered over my shoulder. Even she was curious to see what was happening. Avery’s plaintive appeals for me to intervene were now met with jeers as the spectators wanted to see what the outcome of this confrontation would be. Some were even wagering on it.

Eventually as her leash shortened to just a few feet, the German dog began to sense her vulnerability. She was panting heavily and showing the whites of her eyes as she struggled against the rope trying to understand what was happening. Boney darted towards her again; she only seemed to know one response to this and lunged forward once more. A few moments later and the Teutonic hound was trapped fast against the stone column. Boney stood in front of her for a moment watching her confusion as she strained to reach him, then with a few eager steps he moved around again until he came up behind his prey. The noise Brunhilde made as Boney mounted her was one of the strangest I have ever heard from a creature. There was an initial snarl as she felt Boney behind her which changed into a yelp of surprise and then a pitiable howl as she understood she had been mastered. The rest was drowned out by a cheer from most of the watching spectators and bellowed threats of a lawsuit from Avery if my dog had whelped a litter on his pedigree killer.

‘Now I want you to do that to me,’ Consuella whispered huskily in my ear before moving back to the bed.

‘You want me to put a rope around your neck and tie you to a pillar?’ I asked, grinning.

‘Well, maybe we can try that later,’ she said as she waved her ‘tail’ invitingly in my direction.

Chapter 20

Brain might have beaten brawn in the canine contest of wills, but for the British, as spring turned into summer, very little changed. Wellington kept disappearing for his mysterious tours of inspection and rumour had it he headed west when he did so. But while Spain collapsed under French domination the British army continued to sit quietly in its Portuguese quarters. The fighting men found it a huge frustration to do nothing while French marshals routed every Spanish force they could find. We all knew that sooner or later the French would amass their armies and head in our direction in numbers that seemed unstoppable. There had been rumours that Napoleon himself would lead this huge army but he was now distracted with his new Austrian princess bride. Instead, word was that Marshal Massena had been given the command. Son of a shopkeeper, Massena had risen through the ranks from private to become one of Napoleon’s most trusted and able marshals. Bonaparte had heaped glory and titles on him in recognition of his victories, he was now also Duke of Rivoli and Prince of Essling, but more worrying from my perspective, he seemed to know what he was doing.

Instead of rashly charging west to beat the British, Massena was systematically destroying all major opposition in Spain first so that he would not be interrupted when he did move on the redcoats. Only Cadiz and a handful of fortresses such as Badajoz were left in Spanish hands, but they were in no state to go on the offensive. Eventually he turned his attention to the northern routes into Portugal which were guarded by the fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo held by the Spanish and Almeida in Portugal garrisoned by the British. The French finally laid siege to Ciudad Rodrigo early in the summer and immediately there was a cry from Spain for us to march to its relief. This was supported by much of the army who were fed up with doing nothing while its allies’ forces were picked off one by one. It did no good, Wellington refused to move and the Spanish commander of Ciudad Rodrigo was forced to surrender.

Croaking against Wellington now rose to new heights. Like an African swamp in springtime, nearly everyone was at it, claiming that our gallant commander did not know what he was doing. Of course while most people agreed that Wellington’s inaction was wrong, there was no consensus on what he should be doing instead. All sorts of lunatic schemes were discussed, with hotheads pressing for an immediate attack, while some wanted to join the Spanish at Badajoz and others wanted to retreat to the coast. While Maria kept assuring me that Wellington had a plan and all would be well, it was hard to put complete faith into such vacuous promises.

The situation only became worse when the French besieged the British garrisoned at Almeida. The fortress was expected to hold out for at least a month but a day after the cannonade started a French shell ignited a trail of gunpowder that led straight to the magazine. When the news of the resulting disaster came through, many people claimed that they had heard or felt the explosion in our winter quarters. The castle, the cathedral and the whole centre of Almeida was completely destroyed. Hundreds of the garrison were killed and the few survivors had little choice but to surrender.

We were now getting reliable reports of French numbers, they were less than expected but still a formidable force: around sixty-five thousand veteran soldiers were with Massena. Now that Almeida had fallen they were only thirty miles away. Against this the British still had just twenty-five thousand men, most of which had stood at Talavera. The officers who pushed for us to fight pointed out that there were a similar number of Portuguese troops now available which General Beresford had been busy training up over the winter. Robert Wilson had long since sailed home after endless snubs from Wellington but his Legion had been absorbed into this new Portuguese army. While they had been impressive, I also remembered the Portuguese militia at Alcantara who had run away. Wellington ignored suggestions to stand and after some prevarication, ordered a retreat fifteen miles south west to Gouveia. For the first time he seemed hesitant and uncertain. When a man with such immense self-confidence looks worried it is time for lesser men to look for a fast horse and a way out.

By chance just such a way out presented itself. Maria had over the last few months received several messages from her husband. Initially he had been in Cadiz but later he escaped back to his lands in Granada. Since then he had been working with partisans and other groups to plan a route of safety for his wife back to Granada. On the day that we heard of the destruction of Almeida, a pair of swarthy men arrived in the camp looking for Maria. They were her guides to take on her on the first part of the journey, fifty miles south east to Fuentes de Onoro, where she would meet a bigger troop of men to take her over the mountains.

As a British officer I had a duty to the army but as a gentleman I had a duty to protect ladies, especially of my own family. Most important of all, as a man determined to protect my own skin at all costs, I had a duty to get out of harm’s way as soon as possible. With my unearned reputation, no one would suspect the gallant Flashy of running out on the army just as it seemed an engagement with the French was likely.

It was fortunate that the guides that the marquis had sent looked a proper pair of cut throats. You would think twice before entrusting an impoverished grandmother to them, never mind a pretty aristocratic woman and her maid carrying jewels and other valuables. When Maria came to take her leave of Wellington I made sure that the villains were on hand and I saw him give them a disdainful glare. While I had my story ready, I did not even have to use it as Wellington had the same idea.

‘Do you know those guides your cousin is using?’ he asked me quietly once Maria had left the room.

‘No sir, and I don’t like the look of them above half. I was thinking…’ I replied, before he interrupted me.

‘Flashman, I think it would be best if you went with them, at least to Fuentes de Onoro. Make sure she is put in safe hands or bring her back. I am very fond of your cousin and I cannot think of a better bodyguard for her. Don’t worry, there will be plenty of time for you to get back before we are likely to see action.’ One of his aides stiffened at that for it was the first time I think he had referred to any imminent battle, but I was too busy stopping my face breaking out into a relieved grin.

‘You can count on me, sir,’ I told him. ‘I will do my best to ensure that she does not come to harm.’ I meant it too; even if I had to travel all the way to Granada, or at least close enough to Granada to get a boat and slip to the British bastion of Gibraltar for safety. For if Wellington was planning a fight then odds of nearly three to one, excluding the unproven Portuguese, did not sound appealing. If by some miracle the British won, then I could slip back down from the hills loudly cursing my luck at missing the fight. On the other hand if, as seemed likely, they were chased into the sea, I would be safely out of it and on my way to safety.

I was feeling well pleased with myself as we slipped away late that afternoon. Never have I escaped action so easily. One of the guides, called Rodriguez, led the way then Maria and I followed. Consuella and the other guide brought up the rear. The guides each led a baggage mule for the small amount of luggage that the ladies were able to bring with them over the mountains. The two guides, despite their appearance, seemed capable men. They treated Maria respectfully as their mistress, although they looked wary of me. You can never be too careful and I made sure that I had a loaded pistol in each coat pocket just in case of trouble. Boney bounded alongside our group, glad to get away from Celorico at last.

‘It was generous of Arthur to let you come with us,’ said Maria as we rode along the path.

‘Well, he wanted to make sure you got through safely. I am to report to him as soon as I am back from Fuentes de Onoro,’ I told her. ‘But if things do not look safe there I am to bring you back or possibly go further with you as escort until I am sure you are safe.’

‘That is very thoughtful of him with a battle coming. He must need you for that as well.’

‘Oh, we both want to beat the French but the safety of you two ladies,’ and here I looked round and winked at Consuella, ‘means a lot to both of us.’

‘Still,’ persisted Maria, ‘Fuentes de Onoro is only two days ride, with luck you will be there and back long before the French attack.’

‘I am sure I will,’ I agreed, while deciding that whatever we found at Fuentes de Onoro, I would deem it insufficient protection and insist on going further. I turned to the guide, ‘Where in Fuentes are we meeting the rest of the escort?’

‘We are not meeting them in Fuentes,’ the guide replied curtly.

‘Really?’ asked Maria, puzzled. ‘I thought you said that was where we would find the rest of the party.’

‘We meet them in the hills behind Fuentes, at an old stone windmill.’ I felt the first prickle of alarm at this change in the story and then the guide gave me something I could really worry about. ‘By now,’ he added, ‘the French are probably in the town of Fuentes, so we will have to keep to the hills.’

‘They are in Fuentes already?’ I asked in surprise. ‘I thought they would march from Almeida,’

The guide looked at me curiously. ‘They are everywhere east of here,’ he stated simply.

I was started realise that my escape might not be as straightforward as I thought. While the French had three hundred thousand men across Spain, I had imagined that there would just be pockets of French to be avoided and the bulk of the populace and the territory would be friendly to Spanish partisans. Now I began to realise that in this area at least, with Massena’s army on the move, the reverse might be true. I trotted my horse up a slight incline to get a better view across the hills. We could see for miles, but equally, soldiers miles away would be able to see us.

Rodriguez, seeing me scanning the horizon, grinned at me for the first time. ‘Do not worry
señor
, the French are not nearby.’ He rode up alongside so that Maria could not hear the rest. ‘When they enter a village they are looking for food, valuables, women, anything they want. They usually burn a house or two to get any villagers to hand over these things. You can see their progress from the smoke.’ He was right as we saw the next day, when several plumes of smoke marked the north eastern horizon. By then we had also seen several groups of refugees, hurrying south to escape the French, with small bundles of food and any possessions that they could easily carry. They would often stop to speak to our guides, telling them where they had seen the French forces.

Towards the end of the second day as we were riding higher in the hills, Rodriguez turned to me and asked if I wanted to see Fuentes de Onoro. I rode up with him to the top of a nearby hill, then dismounting, we crept cautiously to the rocky crest. There below us about a mile away was a sizeable town. I took out my glass and studied it. I had never been to Fuentes so did not recognise the buildings, but I did see familiar French troops. There were hundreds of them: an infantry column was marching around the town to avoid clogging up its streets which were already congested with artillery trains and other wagons that needed the smoother roads. Cavalry companies could also be seen patrolling the road in both directions.

‘
Señor
, may I borrow your glass?’ the guide asked as I finished studying the scene.

‘Of course,’ I passed it over. ‘Those cavalry patrols, will they come up here?’

‘Not unless there is something up here that they want. Small groups will not stray far from the main army unless they have to.’ He studied the town for a minute, carefully looking in all directions, and then passed the telescope back. ‘Did you see the square to the right of the large church?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I took up the glass again to find it. It took a moment before the scene swum into view. It was a tree lined square but wooden beams had been found and pushed into the branches of the trees to join the gaps between them. Hanging from these beams were some two dozen bodies; the whole square had been turned into a giant gallows. ‘Good God,’ I breathed. ‘Are those partisans?’

‘One or two might be,’ replied the guide. ‘But the French probably wanted to make an example and dissuade anyone from causing trouble. They could be the mayor, someone who did not want his wife raped, or people who just happened to be in the wrong place when they were looking to make a point.’

‘You mean that they are killing people for no reason at all?’

The guide gave me a pitying look. ‘You British in your comfortable camp have no idea what it has been like in a Spain occupied by the French. This is nothing. I have seen them kill everybody in a village that they suspected was helping the partisans, men, women and children.’

‘I have heard stories, but I was not sure if they had been exaggerated. But you have seen it, you say.’

‘They do it to cow the populace into submission. But for every person they kill they create more hatred and more partisans. They know that if we find a French sentry on his own we will cut his throat. If we can tempt a small group away from the rest we will ambush them. And the people help us,’ he added. ‘Children have poisoned their wine, old men and women have stabbed them. Just last week we used a group of pretty girls washing by a stream to tempt a patrol of lancers into a valley. We killed all but two, who we tortured to get information.’