Текст книги "The Fields of Death"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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‘Would that I live to see the day when the blackguards march with us,’ Picton cut in with a surly expression. A number of officers grumbled in agreement.

‘Then I am delighted that your wish should be granted with such celerity,’ Arthur replied.‘Two Spanish divisions will be joining our army within the next few days.’

‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ said Picton. ‘Bloody people have been more of a hindrance than a help ever since we fetched up on these shores.’

Arthur turned to Somerset and nodded towards the large easel standing to the side of the table. It was covered with a loose sheet, and Somerset carefully removed it to reveal a map pinned to a board. The map indicated the territory of northern Portugal and Spain, stretching from the Atlantic to the Pyrenees. Two red labels marked the positions of the allied armies that had been forming up in readiness for the coming campaign. One was based at Ciudad Rodrigo, poised to advance along the road to Salamanca, as had happened the previous year. The other was just south of the Douro, in the north-eastern corner of Portugal.

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 Coruсa. 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 sayit.’ 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?’

‘Surprisingly easy, my lord. I have not seen a single French patrol between the coast and your camp.’

‘I’m not surprised. Joseph Bonaparte is pulling every spare man back to the Ebro. The French are in a complete flap.’ Arthur laughed, the customary whooping bark that Somerset had grown used to, but the naval officer looked at him in some alarm.

‘Now then,’ Arthur continued. ‘As to the matter of my supplies, I want your captain to have the convoy heave to off Santander until such time as we have taken the port. I take it that will not cause the Navy any difficulty.’

‘No, my lord. The escort squadron is provisioned for another two months. I am uncertain as to the arrangements of the merchant vessels, but we can feed their crews from our stores if need be.’

‘Good. I would be obliged if you would ask your captain to advise the admiralty that all supplies and reinforcements are to be sent to Santander from now on.’

Carstairs looked surprised. ‘Do you mean every convoy, my lord?’

‘I do. We are cutting our communications with Portugal once and for all. Henceforth we shall be supplied from the north coast of Spain.’

‘Forgive me, my lord, but from what I understand the admiralty has not been informed of such rerouting of the convoys.’

‘They are not the only ones,’ Arthur replied wryly. ‘Be that as it may, my new instructions stand, and need to be passed back up the Navy’s chain of command. See that your captain is informed as soon as possible, Carstairs.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now then, I expect you would appreciate something to eat, and a bed for the night. Somerset, have one of the clerks take the lieutenant to the staff officers’ mess.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Somerset bowed his head and held the flap open for Carstairs. He returned a moment later and stood awkwardly by the entrance to the tent until Arthur looked up.

‘Is there anything else?’

‘Yes, my lord, since you ask. I am concerned by the supply situation. The men have rations for two days and we are already three days ahead of our supply convoys. They in turn are more than a hundred miles from our forward depot at Salamanca. We are already operating at the limit of our lines of supply.’

Arthur leaned back in his chair. ‘You heard what I said to that naval officer. You are privy to my strategic intentions, Somerset. Therefore you know that we are shifting our lines of communication to Santander, and, in due course, San Sebastian. There is nothing for you to be concerned about.’

‘Except that we have possession of neither of those ports, my lord.’

‘Not yet. We shall just have to take them.’

‘But we have no guarantee that we can take them,’ Somerset replied. ‘What if we fail to capture them, as we failed at Burgos, my lord?’

‘We – I – failed at Burgos for want of adequate siege artillery. As you know, our siege train is aboard a convoy anchored off Coruсa. When the time comes, we will have the firepower necessary to reduce both ports, and then we shall have a direct supply route to England. Does that satisfy you, Somerset?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Somerset replied reluctantly. He saluted formally and left the tent.

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his cropped hair before turning his attention back to the map.

The army was less than a day’s march from Burgos and another two to the Ebro. The latest reports from the cavalry patrols revealed that the French were looking to defend the line of the Ebro. The enemy’s chief difficulty was that they could not be sure where the allied army was. All that was before them was Arthur’s cavalry screen and a division of Spanish troops. If the deception played out as Arthur hoped, then his army would be across the Ebro and threatening to cut Joseph and his army off from France before the French could react. The only course of action open to them would be to turn and fight. The decisive moment of the campaign would be attained, and all within a month of its beginning.

Despite his dismissal of Somerset’s concerns, Arthur accepted that there were risks. He had marched the men hard, and they were weary and might yet go hungry for a short time, but what Somerset seemed to have missed was the desire to close with and destroy the French that simmered in their breasts. They had resented the loss of the second chance to fight the enemy at Salamanca, and now were set on crushing them.

During the night, the army was woken by the sound of a great explosion rumbling across the landscape. Shortly afterwards there was a red glow in the sky to the east that shimmered against the scattered clouds drifting across the starry heavens. Arthur watched from outside his tent, barefoot and dressed in breeches and a loose shirt. The glow continued for two hours before it began to fade, lost against the first hues of the dawn. Arthur returned to his tent to get fully dressed and was just emerging when Somerset reported to him.

‘It was Burgos, my lord. One of the cavalry vedettes was close enough to see the explosion.’

‘Explosion?’

‘Yes, sir. The French set charges and blew the castle to pieces. They managed to burn down a sizeable portion of the town while they were at it.’

‘Well, bless my soul,’ Arthur muttered in surprise. The French were clearly panicking more than he had thought. That in turn introduced a new anxiety. What if the enemy’s experience of the previous years had so cowed their spirit that they dared not stand and fight? If that was the case then Arthur’s plan had to be adapted so that when the chance of battle came there would be no avenue of escape for the French. Joseph and his army would have to be caught in such a way that they would be forced to surrender, or be annihilated.

The leading division of the allied army quit the barren hills two days later and entered the Ebro valley. The change in the landscape was striking and for the soldiers, so used to tramping across the dusty, dry plains and hills of central Spain, the lush valley watered by the river was a vision of abundance. The roads along which the army marched were lined with fruit trees and vineyards and the soldiers, when their officers were not looking, filled their haversacks with cherries, oranges and apples to supplement their dwindling rations. They continued a short distance to the east before turning south towards the crossroads at San Millan.

Late in the afternoon an excited young lieutenant from the Ninety-fifth Rifles galloped up to Arthur with a message from General Alten. ‘My lord! We’ve sighted the enemy!’

‘Lieutenant, that will not do,’ Arthur admonished him. ‘Start again and deliver the message properly.’

The ensign nodded, and forced himself to speak in a calmer manner. ‘I apologise, my lord. General Alten begs to inform you that his skirmishers have seen a French division marching along a road a mile to the south of the road the general is advancing along. The two roads intersect a short distance ahead. He asks your permission to attack the enemy column, my lord.’

Arthur’s eyes glinted with excitement. ‘Ah! This I must see for myself. Take me to Alten at once.’

The two horsemen spurred their mounts along the side of the artillery train that was rumbling along the rutted track. Beyond the guns they passed the infantry of the Third Division, where heads turned at the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

‘It’s Nosey!’ a voice cried out.

‘What’s ’is bloody hurry?’ another shouted. ‘Ain’t we marchin’ as fast as we bleedin’ can already?’

The nearest men roared with laughter and Arthur stifled a grin as he leaned forward and urged his mount on. Once they had passed the Third Division, they came up to the rearmost battalion of the Light Division marching down a straight section of road. To their right was a steep line of hills that gradually fell away. Nearly two miles ahead Arthur could see a small village basking in the afternoon sunshine. A faint haze of dust showed on the far side of the village as an enemy column marched east. At first Arthur thought that the French division had escaped, but then the ensign thrust his arm out and pointed up the hill. On the crest stood a small group of officers staring down the far slope.

‘That’s General Alten, my lord.’The ensign led the way as they passed between two infantry companies and began to climb the slope. By the time they reached Alten the horses were blown, and Arthur swung himself down from the saddle, heart pounding.

‘Where is this enemy division of yours, Alten?’

‘Over there, sir.’ Alten gestured down the slope. Below, another road converged on the village. A long line of French soldiers and wagons was marching along at a quick pace. Hurrying down towards them were the green-jacketed men of the Ninety-fifth.

‘What is your plan?’ asked Arthur.

‘The Ninety-fifth will open fire on them as soon as they are within range. The Fifty-second are double-timing down our side of the hill to get ahead of the last brigade and form a firing line. My Portuguese lads are marching to the right before dropping down the slope to the road to cut off their retreat. It’s too late to catch the first two brigades,’ he nodded towards the haze of a distant column beyond the village, ‘but this one is in the bag.’

‘Very good.’ Arthur nodded approvingly.

Just then, the first of the riflemen opened fire on the French column, and the crackle of rifles spread along the slope. Several of the enemy were quickly struck down, and the others began to break ranks to look for cover. Their officers struggled to rally them and re-form their ranks ready to return fire at the Ninety-fifth. Just as they had been trained to, the riflemen targeted the officers and one by one they were cut down as they gave their orders. The survivors ordered their troops to fire a volley where they they could see the puffs of smoke, but the riflemen had plenty of time to take cover and the storm of musket balls tore up the stunted bushes and glanced off rocks and not one of the greenjackets was hit. As soon as the French lowered their muskets and began to reload they were steadily whittled down, falling in twos and threes, until, unable to bear the massacre any longer, the survivors broke and ran, streaming along the road towards the village. The riflemen continued to fire on the fugitives as quickly as they could reload and take aim, and soon the road was littered with dead and wounded men and a number of horses, shot in their traces, forcing the drivers to abandon their wagons.

‘Glorious work!’ Alten rubbed his hands together in glee. ‘And now for the coup de grвce. Look there, sir!’

Ahead of the fugitives the men of the Fifty-second were crossing the road. They halted, and turned smartly towards the French. Up went the muskets and then a wall of darting flames and plumes of smoke briefly hid the redcoats. The volley cut down scores of the enemy, and the rest turned back, running into their companions and causing further chaos. Another volley crashed out, and the riflemen kept up their firing from the slope. Hundreds of bodies carpeted the road now, and blocked from two sides the French tried to flee back the way they had come, only to find a line of Portuguese troops filing down from the hill to close the trap.

Some of the French threw down their muskets and raised their arms in surrender, but others, with more heart, or fearing capture, turned and ran in the only open direction, clambering up the slope of the next ridge. The riflemen ceased fire and hurried down the slope and across the road, ignoring those who were surrendering, and then knelt at the bottom of the next ridge and started shooting down the Frenchmen toiling up the slope above them.

Within the space of ten minutes the brigade had been destroyed, suffering hundreds of dead and wounded, and leaving over four hundred prisoners. It had been a massacre, Arthur decided, but all the same he took pride in the effective performance of Alten’s men.

‘A finely executed ambush, General Alten. Ensure that you pass my congratulations on to your men.’

‘Yes, sir. I will.’

‘Make sure that your fellows escort the prisoners to the rear as swiftly as possible and resume the advance.’

Alten nodded and was turning to give orders to his staff officers when a major of the Ninety-fifth came panting up the slope clutching a leather satchel. Unusually for an officer, the major carried a rifle like his men, and he nodded a salute as he handed the satchel to Alten.

‘Here, sir. We found this on the body of a French colonel.’

‘What is it, Richard?’ Alten asked.

‘Orders, sir. From the divisional commander. I thought you’d want ’em as soon as possible.’

The major nodded and turned away to trot back down the slope to re-join his men. Alten drew the slim sheaf of papers from the satchel and scanned the contents. At once his eyes widened and he turned to Arthur.

‘Orders from Joseph’s headquarters, sir! Dated yesterday. He’s called every available unit to fall back to a new position.’

‘Where?’ asked Arthur, his heart quickening.

‘A town on the Royal Road not far ahead, my lord. A place called Vitoria.’

Chapter 40

21 June 1813

The clouds had lifted and the sky was clear, and the air barely stirred in the morning sunshine. There was a clear view of the valley through which the Zadorra river meandered eastwards towards Vitoria. The day before, Arthur had ridden round the hills to the north of the valley to survey the French positions and make his plans, and he was relieved to see that the French army was still camped in three lines between the river and the Heights of Puebla to the south. The enemy pickets had raised the alarm at dawn when they had seen the first of Arthur’s men marching through the gorge into the valley, and now the French stood waiting. The dark lines of infantry and cavalry all faced to the west to meet the approaching threat.

Arthur smiled with grim satisfaction as he surveyed the enemy’s dispositions from the hillside above the village of Nanclares. Marshal Jourdan had played into his hands. The French assumed that they would be facing a frontal attack and that the river and the Heights would provide adequate protection on each flank. As before, they had failed to account for the audacity of the allied army. Arthur’s plan was simple enough, he reflected, as he trained his telescope across the valley. He had divided his army into four columns. General Hill’s corps of English, Spanish and Portuguese troops would begin the battle by assaulting the Heights of Puebla, working their way along the ridge to threaten the left flank of the French battle lines. The main body of the army would be directly under Arthur’s control and they would be tasked with making a frontal assault across the river. Two more divisions, under General Dalhousie, had set off before dawn to make their way round the hills to the north of the valley and then attack the enemy’s right flank. The fourth column, commanded by General Graham, had the furthest to march, passing through the same hills but striking further round to cut off the French from any attempt to escape towards the frontier. A smaller Spanish column was tasked with blocking the final remaining route out of the valley. If all went according to plan the French would be trapped and forced to surrender, or be cut to pieces.

No plan was without its danger, Arthur knew, and this one depended on each column making its attack at the same time so that the French were disrupted by having to meet each threat. If the attacks were delivered piecemeal then Marshal Jourdan would be able to defeat each one in turn. If that happened then the allies would be forced to retreat, and Arthur had little doubt that he would be dismissed from his command by the politicians back in London.