Flashman in the Peninsula (30 page)

By the time I had buried myself back in the thick foliage with the animals, the voices could be heard quite clearly. From the sound of them, the Poles were relaxed, laughing and joking with each other like soldiers the world over. The voices were getting louder though, and I realised that they would pass close by. I crawled forward on my belly to get a glimpse of them from between the leaves. There were around twenty in the group. They all wore blue tunics similar to those of the French with white cross belts and looked like other French cavalry apart from the tall lances with points that glistened in the sun and their helmets. Instead of the normal round tops, their shakoes finished in a square shape with points fore, aft and to the sides. They looked damned comfortable on their horses too which were all good quality, fast mounts. Slowly I shrank back into the foliage. I stayed still for a good five minutes to give them time to get away. When all was quiet again I emerged from the undergrowth keen to put some distance between me and those lances. I had put one foot up into the stirrup and was just bouncing to swing up when across the top of the saddle I saw two more lancers enter the clearing.

Quite why they were so far behind the others I never found out, nor at that moment did I particularly care, for their intentions were all too clear. With a shout of triumph they both spurred their horses forward with lances lowered to the horizontal. I realised instantly that I did not have time to mount and get away, by the time I could get settled in the saddle their lance points would be in me. I still had my hand on the reins and I pulled my horse to obstruct the path of the lancer to my left and ducked my head under the height of the saddle. The lancer to my right gave another shout, this time of delight as he saw his fellow blocked and me exposed to his approach. I reached down to grab my sword, but the lance tip was just a yard or two away with the Pole’s face grinning in triumph as he judged which part of me to impale on his point. I realised that I would not have time to draw my weapon before I was skewered. In desperation I raised my hands to try and deflect the lance, with little hope of doing so given its horse driven momentum. But then just as I thought I was about to die, something grey flashed across my field of vision. Boney jumped and hit the lancer in the chest. The man raised his arms to fend off the snarling teeth from his throat. The lance point rose, its shaft hit me a glancing blow to the head, but then the lancer was alongside, with Boney still half in his lap, the dog’s jaws snapping and growling. The lancer was reaching down trying to draw his sword but I grabbed hold of his right boot and hauled it up, tipping both man and dog into the dirt on the far side of the horse. That, I thought, would give Boney better odds and hopefully take one man out of the fight, but the second lancer was already wheeling around.

If Boney expected me to intervene further in his fight he was destined to be disappointed. I was grateful to him for saving my life but now it was every man and animal for himself. Staying in the clearing would be fatal and I darted into the nearest, thickest undergrowth making it harder for the horseman to follow. But from his higher vantage point the lancer could see my path, and he spurred his horse down a deer run in the forest. As I stumbled blindly through the bushes in panic, with twigs whipping my face, I could hear the thunder of hooves to my right. Then a lance point jabbed at me through the leaves. I twisted and turned to try and shake him off. I could hear more shouts from behind now as his comrades charged back to join the fray. By now I had lost all sense of direction and just stumbled from one clump of undergrowth to another, but whatever I tried my pursuer always seemed just a few steps behind. I was panting with panic and exertion and knew this could not last. The undergrowth was too thick to draw a sword, but I had the presence of mind to put a hand in my pocket and draw out one of my pistols. It was in the nick of time too, as when I flung myself around the next tree trunk the lancer was already there just a yard or two away, raising his lance to stab down at me over his horse’s neck. Instinctively I rushed towards him so that I was too close for him to use the weapon, raised my hand and discharged the pistol into his chest.

We stared at each other. I was still panting but it seemed a moment of calm after frantic activity. Time almost seemed suspended as the smoke drifted slightly from my pistol muzzle and his horse moved several steps to the side. I remember he stared down at me with an expression of surprise. He was only young, just out of his teens I guessed, and he did not seem wounded at all. For a heart sickening moment I thought the pistol had misfired. Surely even I could not have missed at that range? Then slowly a small red dot appeared in the middle of his shirt. He looked down and we both watched it grow, it was quickly the size of the top of a cup. He looked up at me again then, his clear blue eyes locking onto mine, and then with infinite slowness he toppled from the saddle to land at my feet. I stood frozen for a few seconds more and then the sound of another pistol shot broke the spell. This one came from some distance back and was followed by the yelp of a dog.

I would like to say that I spared a thought for poor Boney, but I didn’t, for now there seemed to be the sound of lancers crashing around the forest in all directions. I could hear several heading towards me so I turned and ran. I found myself in another deer run through the trees and hurtled down it as though the hounds from hell were on my tail, which they pretty much were. In hindsight, I think using the path must have saved me, for that way I was not moving foliage which would have given away my position. Gradually the shouting and crashing fell behind, but I did not stop. I must have run as fast as I could for nearly half a mile before I fetched up by a tree trunk, gasping for breath and retching from the exertion. I opened my mouth to breathe quietly, taking in big gulps of air as I strained my ears for the sound of further pursuit. There was still some shouting, but now it was distant and as I listened it did not seem to be coming closer, if anything it was moving away. I sat with my back against the tree and listened as the voices receded behind me. I waited for silence to settle again over the forest, but when the voices behind me had stopped I noticed a new noise, a very faint murmuring sound, this time from the opposite direction. I got up and walked forward towards the noise. I soon saw that I was approaching the edge of the forest and what I saw there took my newly recovered breath clean away again.

As I crept to the edge of the trees I had heard more distant voices ahead and I dropped to the ground and crawled the last few yards. I emerged from the middle of a bush and stared at the sight in the valley below. There, along a road at the bottom of the slope as far as the eye could see in both directions, were men. Thousands and thousands of them; the French army was on the move. They were heading west, towards the retreating British. Cavalry rode as pickets on either side of the army column. Just the men I could see matched the size of the British army but neither end of the army was in sight. I watched in wonder for a while and then it dawned on me that this lot were now between me and safety. Murderous Polish lancers to the rear and just about every French soldier in Spain to the front. There were trains of artillery, supply wagons, regiment after regiment of infantry, dragoons, hussars, even other lancers, but I could not see any Poles. It was an amazing sight and I must have been watching transfixed for around five minutes when I heard a twig snap behind me. I froze.

While I had been watching the French, had the Poles tracked me down? A bush rustled behind me; it was not the wind, someone else was there. With immense care I eased myself silently back into the foliage of the bush. I had not reloaded the pistol I had fired earlier but I still had a second gun in my other coat pocket. I eased the loaded pistol out and tensed as another twig snapped on the far side of the bush. I thought there was only one person, and as they had not yet found me I might still have the advantage of surprise. I stepped out of the bush, making as little noise as possible, and moved quietly around it to where I thought the intruder stood. With a leap I sprang forward, cocking and raising the pistol. There was no one there, and I had given away my position. I spun round in case someone was stalking me, only to find a pair of brown eyes looking at me with a quizzical look. Boney sat on the ground with his head cocked to one side.

‘Hello, boy,’ I called, reaching out to stroke him, but he turned his back on me and went to sit further away. He clearly had not forgiven me for running out on him after he had saved my life. ‘Look, I had to run, the other lancers were coming back through the trees. We would both have been killed if I had stayed.’ I know it made no sense talking to a dog, but let’s face it, we have all done it when we think we are alone. I looked over the hound. There were some blood smears on his chest but no apparent wound, although he had a scorch mark on one flank with burnt hair, presumably from a pistol muzzle flash. We had both been fortunate, but unless we could out of here, our luck would soon run out. What I needed was a horse. Boney had done well to track me down and that gave me an idea.

‘Come on, Boney, let’s see if you can track down my horse.’ The animal had run off when the lancers attacked, with luck it could still be roaming around the forest. I started to walk back down the deer run I had travelled down before, but instead of leading the way, Boney walked reluctantly behind. We had walked a fair way into the forest, and Boney was ignoring all my encouragement to find transport, when I heard a horse whinny. I froze. You get to recognise animal noises and it did not sound like my horse. Could the lancers still be patrolling the trees looking for me? On the other hand I needed a horse, so again I drew my loaded pistol. Moving stealthily through the trees I approached the source of the sound. It took several minutes to approach the animal without making a noise, but then suddenly I recognised a tree and realised that we were safe. I was in the little grove where I had shot the young lancer. He had fallen with his hand twisted in the reins. The horse had dragged the body a few yards to graze but the corpse acted like an anchor to stop it going too far.

I was surprised that his comrades had not found the body, but the woods were particularly thick here which was why I had run into them in the first place. Well, at least I had a horse, and that gave me a start. I could work my way back along the hills and hope not to run in to any patrols that the French were bound to send out to stop partisans attacking the outskirts of their army. The horse was nervous with a stranger and I was disentangling the reins from the dead soldier’s hand when another thought occurred. An old drover had once told me that the best place to hide rustled sheep was in another man’s flock. I needed to get past an entire French army and lying at my feet was a uniform of one of their allies.

The horse had pulled the corpse over onto its front. I could see that there was no exit wound in the back or blood on the blue cloth of the jacket. The more I thought of it, the better this idea seemed. I spoke reasonable French, but not as a native. I had been to Russia a few years before and heard enough Russians mangling French, the language of diplomacy, to approximate what people would assume was a Polish accent. I reached down to pull the jacket off the body; it was even roughly my size. Searching the pockets I found a stub of a pencil, a locket with some hair in it and some letters addressed to a Jan Zeminski from someone called Magda. I put them back in the pockets, they would add some authenticity if I was challenged. Transferring the pistols from my old coat I then stuffed that in the saddle bag of the horse. I found the lancer’s helmet a few yards from the body. I had not seen my own hat since the windmill and this one seemed tall and ungainly. But it was certainly distinctive. I swept some dead leaves over the body of Zeminski to cover him up if anyone came looking for him, then picking up the lance I mounted up. Feeling faintly ridiculous I spurred the horse back down the deer run to the edge of the forest with Boney following on behind.

Reaching the edge of the forest, the scene was much as it had been before. Thousands of French marching west. I took a moment to gather the courage to carry out my plan. The thought of being among so many, disguised as a friend, was only slightly less intimidating than the risk of being found by them as an enemy. My biggest worry was running into more Polish lancers, as then my disguise would soon fall apart. I scanned the troops but could see no sign of their strange helmets among the cavalry screen, hopefully they were still searching for me over the hills. I took a deep breath and spurred my horse down the sunny slope into the valley. The main cavalry screen of hundreds of different horsemen was lower down the valley, some two hundred yards on either side of the main force. It made sense to ride alone if I could to reduce the risk of discovery, so I only rode part way down the valley. Then, with Boney loping alongside, I turned to ride parallel with the other horsemen.

For the first few hours it was ridiculously easy, I was half way between the woods on my left and the main cavalry screen on my right. With my distinctive Polish helmet and the tall lance resting in a cup on my right stirrup it was obvious which unit I belonged to and people let me be. The lance had a little red and white guidon flag at the point which would have made other Polish lancers stand out in the screen, but despite scanning regularly in all directions none were to be seen. All that morning I rode with the French army and spoke to no one apart from Boney. When I was not challenged I gradually increased my speed to start travelling slowly to the front of the giant column. For my plan to work I had to overtake it and get out in front to find the British. Some units stopped for a rest and for food at noon, but I pressed on. A cursory inspection of the saddle bags revealed trooper Zeminski had been expecting to find repast elsewhere as there was nothing to eat all. At least his canteen was half full of watered wine as the heat was making me drip with sweat.