by Lynn Bryant
As his officers scrambled to horse, Paul collected his wife and her companions and set off quickly into the darkness towards the camp and possible action.
Chapter Four
After a little more than a fortnight at Rueda, it was a relief to Paul to get his brigade moving. Night marches could be difficult, depending on the terrain, but most of his men were very experienced and followed each other through the darkness, relying on the voices of NCOs and officers to guide them. The clink of horses and the thudding of hooves followed the progress of the cavalry who were advancing with the light division. Paul rode up the long column to find General Charles Alten in conversation with his big German orderly. Peering through the darkness he recognised Paul and waved him forward.
"Colonel van Daan, I am sorry to have interrupted your festivities this evening."
"It's a relief, sir, I've had enough of waiting. French on the move?"
"It seems so, although I know very little, just that we are to advance with the cavalry and await orders."
Paul pulled a face which Alten could probably not see in the dark. "When we get there, why don't we play a hand or two of 'lets all sit around and guess what the hell Lord Wellington is doing now', sir?" he said. "I should have gone up to see him instead of prancing about with the Rifles for the evening."
"Where is your wife, Colonel?"
"I left her in camp for the night with half a company of the KGL to guard the baggage and supplies. They'll pack up early and follow us up. Where are we going?"
"We will halt behind Castrejon and await Lord Wellington."
"That's always a treat," Paul said gloomily. "I hate marching around for no apparent reason and I've got a feeling that's what we're doing."
Alten gave a soft laugh. "There is usually a reason, Colonel. It is simply that you hate not knowing what the reason is."
Paul acknowledged the truth of this over the next few days of monotonous, repetitive marching interspersed with several fierce skirmishes as Lord Wellington and Marshal Marmont began a cautious facing dance which each day failed to result in a battle. There was nothing urgent or frenetic about their movements. Facing each other across the river and the rolling plains around Salamanca, the two armies manoeuvred in perfect timing, attempting to outflank each other without forcing a pitched battle on any ground of which the two commanders were unsure.
"It's like a pavane," Anne said, on the third day. She had ridden up to join Paul and was looking over the lines of Wellington's army and then beyond to the distant columns of Frenchmen on the opposite bank. "I've never seen anything like this before."
"Nor have I," Paul said. "What the devil is a pavane?"
"It's a dance. A bit like the Allemande but slower and more stately; it's very old."
"What is an Allemande? No, don't tell me. How do you know all this?"
"There was an Italian dancing master," Anne said, and laughed aloud at his expression.
"Your stepmother should have locked you up," Paul said grimly.
"If she had, Colonel, we probably wouldn't be where we are now."
"True. But it's a lesson to me about keeping an eye on my daughters as they're growing up. I'm shocked at how young girls behave."
"You did not say that to me in a shepherd's hut in Thorndale," Anne said serenely. "How long is he going to keep this up?"
"I don't know," Paul admitted, looking out over the lines. "He's not saying much even to me. I don't think he's sure."
Anne followed his gaze. The countryside was a vast plain with low rolling hills and the river snaking between the two armies. An occasional shot was fired when the two came too close but for the most part, the forces moved watchfully along, ready to fall into position at a moment's notice. They passed villages and small towns and the people came out to watch them sombrely. There was none of the excitement and joy of their entry into Salamanca. It was as if the locals knew that the generals were contemplating battle and dreaded the consequences for their crops, their homes and their families.
At night, Wellington's army bivouacked with no tents, the baggage kept to the rear, ready to retreat. Paul lay with Anne wrapped in his arms and thought back several years to the retreat from Talavera when they had slept like this for the first time. He had been astonished back then at how adaptable Anne was and at how well she coped with hardship; these days he knew he took her hardiness for granted.
Marmont's army remained nearby, growing larger by the day as reinforcements began to arrive. The two armies were marching ever closer together, separated only by the river, and Marmont moved several times to threaten to cut off Wellington's supply line back to Portugal. Paul understood his commander's sensitivity about these movements. Wellington had the reputation in London of being an over-cautious general at times, but Paul, who had known him since India, disagreed with the assessment. His chief was capable of flashes of sheer brilliance and had the best eye for terrain and surprise in battle that Paul had ever seen, but he had learned long ago of the importance of keeping his supply line open. Sir John Moore's disastrous retreat to Corunna four years earlier and Wellington's own difficult retreat after Talavera had taught him that he could not maintain a campaign with starving troops and that the Spanish, even the most well-meaning of them, could not be relied upon to provide for him.
Since his early days in Portugal and Spain Wellington had improved his supply train out of all recognition, aided by a commissariat often in disarray, a quartermasters department frequently understaffed, and his own administrative brilliance. With the help of his quartermasters and his wife, Paul had set up a system for the third brigade which Wellington had begun to introduce to the rest of the army, organising the building of bullock carts and wagons, buying his own pack animals and employing teams of mainly Portuguese drivers who were paid for and responsible to the army rather than self-employed and open to corruption and inefficiency. The system was still in its infancy but it was already beginning to pay off and Paul agreed with Wellington's determination not to risk a breakdown in supplies at this crucial juncture.
At the same time, Paul's nature rebelled against the sheer frustration of being within sight and sound of the French and not giving battle. He knew that Wellington was watching closely, receiving intelligence daily about the activities of the other French commanders around Spain. His intelligence service had always been better than Napoleon's and he had continued to refine and improve it with the help of a team of exploring officers who spent lonely and dangerous lives beyond enemy lines gathering information and sketching and mapping the terrain. Major George Scovell and his corps of guides had done a brilliant job of co-ordinating his intelligence services with very few resources, and had broken open Bonaparte's codes several times so that letters intercepted by the partisans and local armies could add to Lord Wellington's knowledge of enemy intentions and troop movements.
Under carefully controlled conditions, the French had moved their army to the south bank of the Tormes and it was clear that they were attempting a flanking movement by marching south. Invited to a rare meeting at headquarters, along with General Alten and the other divisional commanders, Paul thought that Wellington seemed very unsure.
"It's possible we'll have to retreat," he said abruptly.
"To Salamanca, sir?" Major-General Pakenham asked. Paul glanced at him in some gratitude. He was so accustomed to the silence of the other generals at Wellington's pronouncements that it was a relief to hear another voice. Ned Pakenham, who had been given temporary command of the third division in Picton's absence, was the brother of Wellington's long absent wife Kitty. Paul was aware of his commander's extremely tepid regard for the mother of his two sons, but he liked Pakenham, who was not especially intelligent but was personable and likeable with immense courage in battle.
"To Portugal, Ned," Wellington said, somewhat gloomily. "If they've cut our supply lines their forces are going to be able to join up and we'll be very outnumbered. I'd hoped to be able to force a battle before that happe
ned but conditions have not been right."
"Sir, I think we can still do it," Paul said. "It only takes one wrong move by them. We're still well supplied..."
"It's a mistake," Sir Stapleton Cotton said forcefully. "We don't have their numbers and if they manage to join up we'll be running for our lives. Better to make an orderly retreat now..."
"What makes you think it will be orderly, sir, once Marmont sees us running?" Paul said evenly. "The first thing he'll try to do is chase down our baggage and supplies and we have the choice then of fighting for them at a place of his choosing or abandoning them and retreating with our tails between our legs. Again."
"Colonel van Daan, are you suggesting that Lord Wellington retreats because he is afraid?" Marshal Beresford said.
"I do not think that the colonel was suggesting anything of the kind, Marshal," Alten said calmly. "After all, this is just a conversation. His lordship will make up his own mind."
"Lord Wellington knows I don't question his courage, sir. And I've been through a few retreats with his Lordship, we all have. They tend to lead to something fairly useful. I'm just not sure we're quite there yet, but to be fair I don't have access to his intelligence."
Wellington gave Paul a withering stare. "Thank you for your confidence, Colonel. General Alten, what is your opinion?"
"Like the colonel, sir, I lack your knowledge of the enemy's movements but I think that something has happened which causes you concern."
Paul shot the German a look of some surprise. He had been wondering himself what had happened to shake Wellington's confidence but he had not realised that Alten shared his ability to read the commander-in-chief's moods. Wellington's expression suggested that he had also been taken by surprise.
"Very perceptive, General. The Mayor of Pollo has ridden in to inform me that a large cavalry force has reached the area on its way to join up with Marmont."
Beresford shook his head. His expression was doleful. "We need to retreat, sir, I am in agreement with you."
Wellington looked around the tent, collecting eyes. He finished with Paul. "You disagree, Colonel?"
"Yes, sir. But I'm trying to be tactful here, the last time I had this argument in your tent you threw me out."
Alten gave Paul a questioning look and Wellington gave a snort although it was one of his more cheerful ones. "It is true, General Alten, I did. On that occasion Colonel van Daan was preaching caution. But then we were about to storm Badajoz and the colonel dislikes storming a citadel."
"Unless it's wearing skirts," Le Marchant murmured. Several of the men laughed and Paul lifted a hand to acknowledge the hit. Even Wellington was almost smiling.
"Not these days, Le Marchant, Mrs van Daan has him very much in hand, I am glad to say. I am not ready to order a full retreat, we will play a waiting game a while longer, I believe, but I am detaching the baggage and sending it on the first leg of the journey back to Portugal. Colonel van Daan, it will include my carriage, which is at your wife's disposal should she require it."
Paul had bitten back an instinctive protest and was glad he had done so. He fully understood Wellington's reasons, but he hated the idea of Anne travelling even a short distance without him. He realised that his chief understood very well.
"Thank you, sir."
"She may prefer to ride if the weather is fine, but I would recommend she make use of the carriage if there is the slightest concern about a French attack, it will make her status very clear. I am sending an escort of General D'Urban's cavalry to escort it."
"It's good of you to think of her, sir, she'll be very grateful. As am I."
Paul found himself beside Pakenham as they walked to their horses. Pakenham glanced at him. "What do you think, Colonel?"
"I think he wants to make a fight of it," Paul admitted. "Whether he'll find the opportunity or not, I don't know. How is it going with the third division, sir?"
"Well, I think. It's busy. I need to find myself a couple of extra ADCs, I'm spending all my time searching for a man to take a message and suchlike."
Paul felt a stir of interest. "Is that so, sir? Would you be interested in taking a young officer on temporary secondment for a few weeks?"
General Pakenham surveyed him in some surprise. "One of yours, Paul?"
"From the 115th. He's new out here but he's very good. He's bright and hard-working and the men like him. He'd be an asset."
"He sounds as though he'd be useful in one of my companies, we have far too many officers down with this illness. What's the catch?" Pakenham said suspiciously and Paul laughed.
"None, I swear. Not from your point of view. Look, sir - his name is Simon Carlyon and he's the brother of Nan's late husband. He's finding it difficult to settle, largely because a few arseholes from the rifles are giving him a hard time over his brother's reputation. I'm worried it's going to end in a duel or some such stupidity and then he's out. And I don't want that because he's actually a really promising officer, he just needs to shake off Robert's memory. I'll come up with a solution when I've got time, but in the meantime, if you can find a use for him, I'd be really grateful. An ADC post can't possibly be seen as a punishment."
"It might be seen as undue favour to a relative, Colonel, but if you don't mind that, I certainly don't care. Send him over and I'll find something for him to do.
***
With Simon Carlyon despatched to the third division, Paul breathed a sigh of relief and went to speak to his wife. He found Anne packing, her boxes and bags neatly lined up, the baggage wagon drawn up outside the tent and two of his men helping her.
"I see you've received your orders, girl of my heart."
Anne turned, smiling. "His Lordship sent a message," she said. "He has also provided me with my own personal escort, a dozen dragoons from the King's German Legion. I am not sure why, but it is very kind of him so I intend to accept graciously."
"I'm glad to hear it. I'm hoping you won't get very far before we either join you or you're called back, bonny lass. Are you all right?"
Anne smiled a dismissal to her two assistants. When they had gone, she came into his arms. "It's not me who's struggling with this, Colonel."
"No, it isn't. It's the first time I've had to send you off on your own since..."
Paul broke off, not even wanting to refer to it, but his wife said calmly:
"Since I was taken by Colonel Dupres. It's all right, Paul, we can say his name."
"I've no wish to. I'm sorry, Nan, I'd rather you stayed here. But Wellington has made the point, that if I can't be with you, you're probably safer to the rear. Keren and Teresa will take care of you, and..."
"It is possibly going to be the other way around, but we'll be together," Anne said.
"What do you mean?"
"Keren's a little upset. There's been something going on for a few weeks but I have finally bullied it out of her. It appears she is having some trouble with a major of the cavalry."
"Trouble?"
"He's pursuing her rather assiduously. He lays in wait for her every time she goes out alone, pestering her with advances she has no interest in. I think it's starting to get her down."
"Has he laid a hand on her?" Paul demanded. "Because if he has..."
"If he had, he would be history by now," Anne said, with calm ferocity. "He hasn't, but he is upsetting her. I have offered to speak to him about it but she does not want anybody else involved."
"Why doesn't she tell Carl?" Paul asked, bewildered, and saw from his wife's expression that he had been guilty of a piece of masculine stupidity.
"She cannot tell Carl without raising the whole question of her extremely awkward status, something she is not willing to do."
"Nan, if Carl knew some arsehole from the cavalry was annoying his girl, he would deal with it in a heartbeat, I promise you."
"Carl has absolutely no right to deal with anything, Paul, she is a camp follower, she has no actual status whatsoever in this army, other than that of a kept woman. If he end
s up challenging or accepting a challenge from Major Clifton over her honour, he is going to be the laughing stock of every officer's mess in Spain and she knows it. She will not put him in that position."
Paul knew from Anne's clipped tone that she was angry and not knowing what to say, he bent and kissed her very gently. "I'm sorry, lass, I didn't think," he said.
"It isn't your job to think about it, Colonel, but it ought to be the job of your bacon-brained friend. He got her into this situation. While she was my maid she had a position and if any of them spoke a word out of turn to her, I would have gutted him with a bone saw. Since Major Swanson took to parading her openly up and down the lines as his mistress, she is seen as a prostitute of the better kind and there are a number of wealthy officers who can easily outbid the son of a country parson who got his promotions without purchase."
"I have to confess some of this is my fault," Paul said ruefully. "I've encouraged Carl to be open about this; I thought it would keep some of the other officers of the 110th off her back."
"It has," Anne said. "To be honest, our own lads treat her as if she's Carl's wife, they're not the problem."
"But she isn't," Paul said quietly.
"No. Do you think she should be punished for that?"
"No," Paul admitted. "Look, love, this is not the time - and don't think I don't know that you've just neatly distracted me from worrying about you travelling without me. But I will come back to this, and I do take it seriously. Personally, I think a few well chosen words from me will send Major Clifton scuttling back to whatever hole he crawled out of and I am not ruling that out. What I'm not going to do is ignore it; as far as I'm concerned, she's under my protection whoever the hell she's sleeping with and if he persists he's going to end up face down in the regimental dung heap, but I'll let you talk to Keren again before I do anything. I'm sorry, I can see you're furious."
