Текст книги "The Fields of Death"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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Текущая страница: 28 (всего у книги 45 страниц)

He took a last look through his telescope towards Vitoria. The town was surrounded by thousands of wagons and carriages. His spies reported that many of the wagons were packed with valuables from the royal palace in Madrid: paintings, tapestries, gold, silver and jewellery. More important, a bullion convoy had recently joined the baggage train gathering at Vitoria. The allied army needed the gold to pay for supplies and it was Arthur’s intention to capture the baggage train intact, before it could escape, or be ransacked by his victorious army.

‘It’s eight o’clock, my lord,’ Somerset announced, breaking into Arthur’s thoughts.

‘Yes.’ Arthur nodded. ‘Then be so good as to have the signal gun fired.’

Somerset saluted and then raised his hat and waved it slowly from side to side. Further down the slope a single gun stood ready. As soon as the officer saw Somerset’s gesture he cupped a hand to his mouth and ordered his gun to fire. Flame and smoke spat from its muzzle and a loud boom echoed around the valley.

That was it then, Arthur mused silently. He was committed now. All four columns would have heard the gun and begun to carry out their orders. Already he could see the leading elements of Hill’s column climbing the western slope of the Heights of Puebla, towards the detachment of enemy soldiers on the crest. Within the half-hour the French had realised the danger to their flank and two battalions set off to climb the Heights and block Hill’s progress along the ridge.

The faint crackle of musketry carried to Arthur’s ears as he watched the brief skirmish between the Spaniards leading the attack and the French detachment. Then the tiny figures of the enemy soldiers broke away and began to retreat to the east.

‘First blood to us, my lord,’ Somerset remarked. ‘Though I think General Morillo’s men will find the next French position somewhat harder to carry.’

Arthur nodded as he looked at the enemy soldiers formed up across the ridge. Already, two more battalions from the second line had started to climb the slope to form another line to block the advance of Hill’s column. ‘That may be so, but Marshal Jourdan is doing as I hoped he would. Let him become preoccupied with his left flank and he will be undone in due course. Send word to Hill to extend his attack along the lower slopes. The more we can do to draw the enemy’s attention towards Hill’s column, the better.’

As the morning wore on the fighting along the Heights intensified as the men on both sides fought it out across the slopes, which were strewn with boulders and stunted bushes. The French steadily fed more men into the fight, weakening the centres of the first two battle lines. At eleven o’clock, Arthur saw the third line of the French army redeploying to face the north as it began to cross the river.

‘See there?’ Arthur raised his arm and pointed the movement out to Somerset. ‘The French must have spotted Graham’s fellows.’

Somerset tilted his head slightly and strained his ears for a moment. ‘I cannot hear any sounds of firing to the east, my lord.’

‘Nor I. That is to be expected. Graham’s orders were not to begin his attack until after Dalhousie emerged from the hills.’ Arthur frowned. ‘Where the devil isDalhousie? He and Picton should have reached the river by now.’

‘Do you wish me to try to find them, my lord?’

‘Not yet. They are sure to appear soon. Meanwhile, it is time that we attacked the front of the French line.’ Arthur gestured to the wooded slopes to his left where the Light Division was waiting for the order to advance.‘Order Alten to move forward to the river. They are to take the bridge at Villodas and begin crossing to the far bank. Cole’s division is to cross here at Nanclares.’

By the time that the orders had been given and the two divisions were advancing, the sound of cannon fire was echoing across the valley from the east. Through his telescope Arthur could see banks of powder smoke forming either side of the river as Graham’s column began to contest the crossings north of Vitoria. He swept his telescope to examine the hills to his left and muttered a curse when he could still see no sign of Dalhousie’s men. If they did not appear soon and divert the enemy’s attention then Marshal Jourdan would be able to meet the attack of the Light Division and Cole’s division with every available man and cannon.

‘Somerset, send an officer to find Dalhousie. Tell the general to cross the river and engage the enemy at once. I’m riding forward to that knoll there, by Villodas.’

Somerset stared towards the village and saw that there were still Frenchmen defending the small cluster of houses that made up the village. Pairs of riflemen were rushing from cover to cover as they closed in on the Frenchmen amid a steady, uneven crackle of gunfire. Somerset cleared his throat. ‘My lord, isn’t that a little too close to the fighting?’

‘Can’t be helped,’ Arthur replied as he grasped the reins and urged his horse forward. ‘I must have a better view of the battlefield.’

He nudged his spurs in and the horse cantered forward across the lush green grass of a meadow, where a handful of goats that had evaded the French foragers scattered at his approach. He passed between two regiments of the Light Division and the men raised a hearty cheer as he rode by. Shortly before he reached the knoll he came across General Alten and his small staff.

‘Good day, my lord.’ Alten touched the brim of his hat.

Arthur returned the greeting and indicated the top of the knoll. ‘Ride with me, Alten.’

They urged their horses up the slope and reined in at the top where they had a clear view of the village below and the old stone bridge over the Zadorra. No more than two hundred yards ahead the rifles were still duelling with the French skirmishers. At the sight of the two British officers a number of muskets were pointed in their direction and a handful of shots whipped through the air close by. Arthur felt the familiar tightening of his guts but forced himself to retain his calm facade.

‘The Light Division will cross the river and form a line to the south, linking up with Cole’s men once they have crossed at Nanclares. Then both divisions will advance on the French line.’

Alten cocked an eyebrow. ‘Two divisions against the main French battle line? As you wish, my lord.’ He scanned the dense enemy formations waiting less than a mile beyond the river. ‘A frontal attack will cost us dearly.’

‘It will, but there is no alternative. The French will have men and guns covering every available crossing point. We must cross here and prepare to attack.’

Alten puffed his cheeks and nodded. He was about to reply when the sound of hoofbeats from behind caused both men to turn. Somerset was galloping up the slope to catch up with his commander. A short distance behind him rode General Alava and another man, a Spanish peasant, on a small pony. Somerset reined in and saluted Arthur.

‘Who the devil is that?’ Arthur gestured towards the peasant as the other two riders joined them.

‘My lord, if I may?’ Alava broke in before Somerset could reply.‘This man is Jose Ortiz de Zarate. He owns a farm by the river over there, near the village of Tres Puentes.’ Alava pointed to the north where the river curled round the slopes of a small hill on the far bank.

‘Well, that’s very nice for Seсor Zarate, I am sure,’ Arthur replied tersely. ‘But what of it?’

‘He says that the bridge there is undefended. There is not a Frenchman within a mile of it.’

Arthur stared at the peasant, and then looked towards the village, which was all but obscured by the hill. There was no sign of the bridge. Arthur felt a sudden thrill of excitement as he turned back towards General Alava. ‘Ask our friend if that hill masks the bridge from where the French are positioned.’

There was a hurried exchange before Alava turned back to Arthur. ‘He says it does. Or at least he could not see the French when he stood on the far end of the bridge less than an hour ago.’

Arthur fixed Zarate with a steely glare. ‘He is sure that there are no French soldiers nearby? And that the bridge has not had charges set beneath it?’

‘He says he is certain of it, my lord.’

Arthur’s pulse quickened as he viewed the ground and the positions of both armies in his mind’s eye. Then he nodded his thanks to the Spanish farmer. ‘Tell Seсor Zarate that if he is right, then he has done his people a fine service.’

The Spaniard stiffened proudly in his saddle as the words were translated, then Arthur continued. ‘Ask him if he would be prepared to guide our men to the bridge. If he knows the lie of the land then we may need him once we gain the far bank. Tell him I will reward him greatly if we win the day.’

The farmer bowed his head graciously and then made a short speech.

‘He says that he needs no reward. It will be enough to have played his part in defeating the French. However,’Alava could not help smiling, ‘Seсor Zarate would not dream of causing any offence by turning down your offer of a reward.’

‘Hah!’ Arthur barked out a laugh. ‘Very well. Alten!’

‘Sir?’

‘I’ll take Kempt’s brigade over the river by Seсor Zarate’s bridge. If he’s right then we will appear on the enemy’s flank before the French can react. With Cole and the rest of the Light Division pressing them from the front there is every chance that we can break through the right flank. Somerset, I must know the moment we have any word of Dalhousie’s column. Meanwhile, order the cavalry forward to Tres Puentes. Let’s be about our business, gentlemen.’

While Alten’s men chased the French out of Villodas and began to cross to the far bank, Arthur and the three regiments of Kempt’s brigade hurried north, following the river as it bent round the hill. General Alava and Zarate rode with him as he galloped ahead of the infantry, sweating as they double-timed towards the bridge. As they came round the bend and saw the bridge ahead Arthur felt a surge of relief to see that there was still no sign of anyone at either end. A short distance beyond lay the village of Tres Puentes, where a handful of figures had emerged from the shelter of their homes to stare across the river at the battle being fought along the Heights to the south.

‘Come!’ Arthur waved the other two on and they galloped to the bridge, and then a short distance beyond to a small rise by the river where Arthur had a clear view of the enemy line. He reined in and Copenhagen’s flanks bellowed as the horse recovered its breath. The extreme right of the French line was less than half a mile away. Already they had been spotted by a French artillery officer, who gestured towards the three horsemen. A moment later the end gun was turned towards them. Arthur ignored the gun as he strained his eyes towards the Heights of Puebla. A pall of smoke indicated the extent to which Hill had pushed back the enemy, past the end of the enemy’s left flank. Soon they would have to divert yet more men to hold their position, or fall back. To the east, the rumble of cannon indicated that General Graham was heavily engaged with the French forces holding the line of the river to the north of Vitoria.

There was a boom from the far bank as the French gun opened fire. Then a thud as a column of earth lifted up from the river bank, twenty paces to Arthur’s right. Zarate flinched and then, seeing that Arthur and Alava seemed utterly unperturbed, he hastily straighted up and composed his expression to match theirs.

‘That’s the spirit.’ Arthur smiled at him. ‘Never show the enemy you are afraid, eh? General, ask our friend if he knows whether the other bridges along the river are in French hands.’

‘He says that the next bridge to the east is guarded by some infantry and six cannon. Beyond that bridge he does not know.’

That would be the bridge that Dalhousie’s column would be using to launch its attack on the flank and rear of the enemy line, Arthur reflected. He glanced to his left but there was still no sign of any movement immediately to the east. He was aware of a distant flash out of the corner of his eye as the French gun fired again.

‘Ask Zarate if there are any—’

Arthur was interrupted by a wet crack and a splattering sound. He turned and saw the body of the Spanish farmer in the saddle, the hands tensed like claws. His head was gone, smashed apart by the second shot from the enemy gun. General Alava had caught the worst of the spray of blood and brains, which had spattered one side of his body and face. The corpse slowly toppled to the side and thudded on to the river bank.

‘Good God,’ Arthur muttered. ‘General, are you all right?’

Alava had raised a gloved hand to wipe the gore from his face, and was staring at the vivid crimson streak on the back of his kid leather gloves. He looked round at Arthur and nodded.

‘Then we’d best not continue to make a target of ourselves. Let’s be off.’

‘What about him?’

‘What? He can be buried later. I’ll see that his family has his reward. Come.’

They rode back to the bridge, where one of the battalions of the rifle regiment had already crossed and was hurrying up the hill as the rest of the brigade doubled over to the far bank. Arthur joined Kempt on the far bank and the latter looked anxiously at General Alava.

‘Are you injured, General?’

Alava shook his head. ‘We lost our Spanish guide. He was struck by a roundshot.’

‘Poor fellow.’ Kempt pursed his lips. ‘Bad luck, eh?’

Arthur pointed to the hill. ‘Have your men form up on the crest. It is likely that the enemy will see the danger to their flank and attempt to force your brigade back over the river. You must hold your ground until our cavalry crosses.’

‘You can depend upon my lads,’ Kempt replied grimly.

‘My lord,’ General Alava interrupted, gesturing towards the bridge where the infantry were pressing to one side as a mounted officer edged through. ‘One of your staff officers.’

No more than a minute later they were joined by the officer, a young dragoon cornet whom Arthur recognised as one who had recently joined the headquarters staff.

‘Williams, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Well?’

Williams swallowed and did his best to compose himself. ‘My lord, I was sent by Somerset to find General Dalhousie.’

‘You found him then?’

‘No, my lord. I came upon General Picton instead. He was approaching the river a mile to the east of here. He asked me if you had orders for him. I told him that my orders were for General Dalhousie, to tell him to cross the river and make his attack, and that Picton’s division was to support him.’ The cornet paused nervously. ‘Well, my lord, General Picton flew into something of a rage. He said that General Dalhousie had lost his way in the hills and would be delayed by as much as another hour before he could reach the river. He also said that he would be damned if the Third Division was going to support anyone. Then he gave me a message to deliver to you, my lord.’

‘Did he, by God?’ Arthur felt the familiar irritation that Picton so frequently roused in him. ‘Then tell me. His precise words.’

The young officer swallowed and did his best to recall. ‘Tell Lord Wellington that the Third Division, under my command, shall in less than ten minutes attack the bridge and carry it, and the other divisions may support me if they choose . . . That was it, sir. Then he sent me on my way and turned to order his men to advance.’ Cornet Williams paused. ‘I didn’t know what to do, my lord. I had orders to find Dalhousie, but General Picton had given me fresh orders, and I thought it best to find you directly rather than continue to search for General Dalhousie.’

Arthur nodded. ‘You did the right thing, Williams. Now report to Somerset and then go back to seek out Dalhousie.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ the cornet responded with evident relief, then turned his horse away and trotted back towards the bridge.

‘Picton . . .’ Arthur muttered the name through clenched teeth, furious at the man’s petulant belligerence. That was the very reason why he had given command of the third column to Dalhousie, but with the latter not yet on the scene it would be best to let Picton lead the attack on the enemy flank before it could be reinforced enough to prevent any more British troops from crossing the Zadorra from the north of the battlefield. A burst of small-arms fire sounded from the east and Arthur pushed aside his ill humour and spurred his horse up the hill to the crest to get a better view. Kempt and Alava followed him, joined shortly after by Somerset who had given the orders for the main attack and now returned to his commander.

From the elevated position Arthur could see most of the valley. Further along the river he picked out the leading formations of Picton’s division as they closed round the end of the bridge and engaged the small force posted to guard it. The fresh attack from a new direction had not gone unnoticed by Marshal Jourdan and already the right of the French line was falling back so as not to present its flank to Picton’s men, while a body of cavalry and a battery of horse guns galloped to support the men defending the bridge.

‘Picton is going to be given a good pounding when he tries to cross the bridge,’ said Arthur, ‘unless he is supported. General Kempt, you must take your men forward and cover Picton’s flank as he forces his way across the bridge. Have your riflemen do what they can to harass the enemy cavalry and those guns.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Kempt nodded. ‘But what of this hill? Are we to abandon it?’

‘It has served its purpose,’ Arthur replied. ‘It hid your brigade from view while you crossed the river. Now, get your men forward.’

Kempt bellowed his orders across the crest of the hill and the three regiments began to descend the far side and marched east, screened by two companies of riflemen. Arthur hurriedly assessed the positions of his forces to the south of the hill. Away in the distance the column on the Heights of Puebla was still grinding its way along the ridge, pushing past the left flank of the French line in the valley below. Closer to, from the crossing at Nanclares to the Villodas bridge, the men of Cole’s division and the bulk of Alten’s command had crossed the river and were forming a battle line across the gently rolling landscape between the Heights and the river. The allied army had won the advantage. Now it was time to press forward and deliver the decisive blow.

Kempt’s riflemen hurried forward and taking shelter in folds in the ground they opened fire on the battery of horse guns that were, in turn, firing grapeshot at any of Picton’s men who attempted to get across the bridge. From his vantage position Arthur could see that scores of men had already fallen along the approaches to the bridge. Now the tables were turned as the green-jacketed riflemen steadily shot down the French gunners. Behind the riflemen, the rest of Kempt’s brigade stood in manoeuvre columns waiting for the command to advance, or form square if the enemy cavalry showed any sign of moving in their direction. With over twenty men and several horses down, the officer in charge of the French horse battery gave the order to fall back and his crews hurriedly limbered their guns and began to rumble back towards the main French line.

Once the guns had ceased firing, Picton’s leading regiment hurried across the river and formed a line on the far bank. Arthur saw a shimmering ripple of steel as they fixed bayonets and then advanced towards the cavalry still barring their way. The line halted and a volley crashed out, knocking down several French hussars and many more of their horses. A second volley added to the enemy’s losses and then the red line rippled forward, passing through the bank of powder smoke and charging home. Arthur felt a moment of anxiety at the rashness of the charge, but Picton had judged it well, and before the French could react the infantry were in amongst them, stabbing with their bayonets. In less than a minute the fight was over, and the French light cavalry were fleeing east, to the safety of the new line forming across the undulating ground just beyond the twin hillocks where the village of Arinez nestled.

As Picton pushed his men forward, driving back the remaining French soldiers either side of the hillocks, the first of General Dalhousie’s men began to cross the river and follow up Picton’s attack. Arthur beckoned Somerset to his side and pointed out the new line the French were hurriedly forming to repulse the forces pouring across the Zadorra.

‘See there, where the French are massing a battery in front of the centre of their line?’

Somerset briefly glanced towards the enemy. ‘Yes, my lord.’

‘I want every available gun brought forward to form our own battery. While the other columns push in their flanks and threaten the enemy’s rear, we can pound their centre to pieces. I doubt the French line will hold for long under such concerted pressure.’

As the allied centre formed and the guns rumbled forward, the attacks on either flank continued with Hill steadily pushing eastwards along the ridge. Picton and Dalhousie pressed on, but now their men came in range of the French cannon and the leading battalions suffered grievously as heavy iron shot ploughed through their ranks, cutting bloody lanes through the ranks of advancing redcoats. Arthur had ridden forward to the hills near Arinez, sending for his field headquarters to join him there, and felt sickened by the sight of so many of his fine men being cut down. However, severe though the losses might be, it bought time for the rest of the army to move up into position for what Arthur hoped would be the decisive attack on the French line.

Shortly after four, the allied army was ready and Arthur gave the order for Colonel Dickson’s massed battery to open fire. Arthur had never before fielded so many guns in a battle and the seventy artillery pieces made a deafening roar as they belched fire and smoke and bombarded the French line, less than half a mile away, with heavy iron shot. Now it was the turn of the French formations to endure terrible destruction. Arthur watched with grim satisfaction as each shot tore through the enemy’s battalions. Soon the guns of both sides began to target each other and the valley filled with the continuous crash and rumble of artillery as the men working the guns were whittled down, struck by shot, or by slivers of wood and metal when one of guns was hit, sending deadly splinters flying in all directions.

For a quarter of an hour the massed guns of both armies pounded each other, and so deafening was the noise of the barrage that Arthur did not hear Somerset address him and so was surprised to have his aide pluck his sleeve. He turned away from the spectacle as Somerset cupped a hand to his mouth and called out, ‘We’ve had a report from Graham, my lord! He has been held along the north bank of the river, and Longa’s division has been unable to cut the road to the French frontier.’

‘Damn,’ Arthur muttered. He had intended to block the enemy’s line of retreat. At once he realised that it was vital that he attacked and broke the French army as swiftly as possible before it could withdraw from the battlefield in good order. Already, he could see the first vehicles of the baggage train heading east along the road to Pamplona. He leaned towards Somerset and spoke loudly into his aide’s ear.‘The attack begins now. Tell Alten and Cole not to stop for anything. They are to keep pushing the enemy back and give them no chance to re-form and hold another line.’

‘Yes, sir.’

As he waited for the line to advance Arthur saw that Hill’s column was once again threatening to outflank the enemy. The surviving French guns fell silent and were hurriedly limbered up as Marshal Jourdan saw the threat and ordered his battered formations to withdraw. But before they could move, the centre of the allied army began their advance, pacing steadily across the open ground, their regimental colours swirling to and fro above their heads. Even as they approached Arthur saw the left flank of the French line give ground, and then form column before they began to march away to the east, leaving the rest of the French line to fight it out.

As the redcoats closed on the remaining French division holding its position, the British guns fell silent, and apart from the sounds of fighting from the Heights and away to the east, where Graham was struggling to fight his way over the river, a brief, dreadful quiet hung over the heart of the battlefield. The French were waiting in line, to bring every possible musket to bear as the British approached. Behind the infantry of Cole and Alten the cavalry trotted forward and deployed into lines, ready to charge and pursue the enemy the moment they broke and began to flee. There was a sense of inevitability about what was to come and the soldiers of both sides knew it. Arthur could not help admiring the courage of the Frenchmen waiting for their foes to strike the fatal blow. It was a terrible thing that it took war to bring out such a noble quality, he reflected.

His thoughts were interrupted as the French unleashed their first volley at the approaching redcoats. All along the front of the approaching line men staggered or fell to the ground under the hail of musket balls. Their sergeants bellowed the order to close up and the leading formations advanced another ten paces and halted, leaving a scattered band of red figures, dead and injured, in their wake. The British managed to fire their first volley an instant before the French replied with their second and a thick pall of smoke billowed between the two sides as hundreds of men were struck down. The soldiers of both sides reloaded and fired as quickly as possible, ignoring the cries of their stricken comrades and the sprawled bodies of the dead on either side.

After the fifth volley, the order was given to charge and the British surged forward, momentarily disappearing into the smoke before bursting out the other side, straight at the startled French. Arthur watched the two lines clash, the leading ranks merging into a bloody, merciless mкlйe as the men fought hand to hand. More redcoats surged through the slowly dissipating cloud of powder smoke and the French began to give ground. The British pressed on, and then, as if caught by some herd instinct, the enemy broke and ran, streaming back across the open ground towards Vitoria.

Arthur turned to look expectantly towards the waiting cavalry. Unlike his previous battles in the Peninsula, when lack of cavalry had removed any chance of a successful pursuit, this time his mounted arm was a force to be reckoned with. Five cavalry brigades, nearly six thousand men, stood ready to be unleashed. As the French began to flee the regiments began to walk forward. The rear formations of the infantry line opened up to let the horsemen pass through and then the cavalry spread out again, picking their way over the bodies of those who had fallen in the exchange of fire shortly before. As the leading formations of the infantry saw the cavalry approach they hurriedly clustered together to avoid being trampled. The riders continued to advance at the walk until they had cleared most of their comrades in the infantry. Then the bugles sounded, the rising notes sounding thin and tinny from where Arthur watched the magnificent drama as they increased the pace from walk into trot, and then the canter, and finally the gallop as their riders spurred their mounts on and advanced their sabres with a throaty roar that drowned out the sound of the bugles.

Across the width of the battlefield the cavalry surged forward in a massive wave, their swords, and the helmets of the dragoons, glittering in the sunlight. Then the magic of the moment was lost as they surged amongst the French soldiers. Swords slashed left and right as the horsemen, caught up in the bloodlust of the charge, carved their way through their enemy. Here and there, small knots of men banded together around their eagle standards and tried to make for high ground as they held the British cavalry off at bayonet point. A handful of battalions in the French reserve line had the sense to form square and slowly made their way eastwards as the horsemen flowed round them.

Arthur gestured to his staff to follow him and galloped down on to the plain to follow the cavalry, ordering the infantry to join the pursuit as he passed them. Glancing towards the Heights he could see that Hill’s column had taken the length of the ridge and was now descending towards Vitoria to join in the destruction of the French army. Towards the river the sound of cannon fire was fading away and as Arthur rode over a small hillock he could see the first columns of Graham’s men marching on Vitoria. Beyond them, a host of French soldiers was retreating towards the rolling country to the east. All around Arthur and his party the ground was littered with dead and wounded Frenchmen. A number of guns had been abandoned as their crews had cut the horses free of the limbers and ridden off in a frantic attempt to escape the pursuing cavalry.

Ahead, as they approached Vitoria, Arthur could see the cavalry flowing round each side of the town. A short distance further on and he saw that the landscape to the east of the town was covered with wagons and carriages, their drivers whipping their horses on in a frenzied attempt to escape as the fleeing infantry caught up with them and hurried on. A few paused by abandoned or overturned vehicles to snatch up any easily available loot before running on, with terrified looks back over their shoulders. Behind them, the British cavalry came on, many of them forced to slow down as the riders threaded their way through the wagons to get at the enemy. Other units, commanded by cooler heads, had managed to direct their men around the sides of the wagons to avoid being caught up in the tangle of vehicles, soldiers and camp followers. Arthur reined in on a small knoll just to the north of Vitoria.