by Lynn Bryant
"No. But..."
"No buts, Paul. Remember, I'm not asking you to say this to them. But some of them are going to think it, and probably say it. Johnny, Carl, Gervase - even Leo. Especially Leo. Any one of them could have spoken up. None did. You made a mistake but so did they. Think about it and learn from it but don't let it make you miserable. It won't help."
Paul kissed her hand again. "I promise," he said.
"Good. Now lie down and sleep. What is happening to the brigade?"
"Wellington has ordered us back to Salamanca, I think - Johnny has the orders. But I don't want to leave our wounded. And I want to attend the burials, Nan."
"Well you'd better get some rest, then. As for the wounded, of course we will take them back."
"Transport is a problem, I think."
"Nonsense," Anne said robustly, because she knew it would make him laugh. "I shall deal with it immediately. What is wrong with Major Breakspear that he cannot find half a dozen wagons for hire? Honestly, this brigade falls apart when I am not present. Go to sleep, I'll wake you when I have arranged everything."
"Yes, ma'am," Paul said meekly, and Anne kissed him, and left to find Johnny.
***
Paul's brigade left Salamanca over a week later and caught up with Wellington's advancing army in Cuellar, an attractive little medieval town with a solid looking castle. The town's churches and public buildings had been thoroughly looted during the French invasion, but the buildings themselves were mostly intact, and for once the headquarters staff had enough accommodation, with the army spread out in camps nearby. Paul had been amused and somewhat touched to find that his chief had ruthlessly evicted the provost-marshals department to a nearby hamlet to provide a neat little house close by for Paul and his senior staff.
Paul's wounds were beginning to heal, although he still found moving his shoulder extremely difficult, a fact which he was trying hard to conceal from his wife. His decision to leave Salamanca had precipitated a furious quarrel, which Paul found more painful than three bayonet wounds.
He and Anne seldom had serious arguments, but when he had received Wellington's request that the third brigade join him on his progress towards the capital and had informed Anne that he felt well enough to accompany them, she had lost her temper very thoroughly. Paul knew that it was an indication of how worried she must have been about him but he could also sense that his chief was struggling to decide on his next course of action and wanted Paul with him to discuss his various options.
Paul had overridden Anne, trying hard to be gentle about it. Anne had not been at all gentle about it and the ensuing argument had been a salutary reminder to Paul that his wife did not enjoy being patronised. Knowing that she was probably right had made him defensive, and the ensuing argument had probably been heard by every officer with rooms on the third floor of the university building and possibly those above and below as well. Anne had walked out eventually and had frozen him out for an entire day and half the night until she had ended his misery in the early hours by sliding in beside him.
"I'm cold," she had said.
"I had noticed that, girl of my heart."
"I didn't mean that," Anne said loftily. "I meant that my feet are freezing, I don't know how the men sleep under those thin blankets."
"Practice. Where have you been?"
"There is a room at the end of the corridor. It smells of damp and the hangings are moth-eaten. And you knew perfectly well where I was, because you sent Teresa on a completely spurious errand to check that I was all right."
"I did," Paul said gravely. "She informed me that you were sleeping like a baby."
"I told her to tell you that. I haven't slept a wink."
"I know. I haven't either. It's a long time since I lay awake regretting what I've said to you in a quarrel."
He felt her snuggle in to his undamaged side. "You called me an interfering, managing female."
"Well I did. But that's hardly likely to upset you, given that it's true. I also told you that if you couldn't keep from meddling you should pack your bags and go back to England. I have been lying here wondering how I would keep going if you decided to do just that, and recognising that I couldn't. I am sorry, Nan, I am such an arsehole when I lose my temper."
Paul felt her body shake with silent laughter then she shifted and leaned over to kiss him. "You really, really are, Colonel."
"I am. I know it. Thank God I don't do it very often with you."
"You had better not, Paul. But I was angry too."
"You called me stupid. More than once."
"It would be less infuriating if you actually were stupid, Paul, because then you would not be able to help it. Buy you're very intelligent. You know you ought to stay here, you're doing it because he wants you there. And I shouted at you, because I can't shout at him."
"You can't exactly yell at the commander-in-chief, Nan."
His wife gave a sigh. "Of course I can, Paul, it's simply that he isn't here. If he were, that argument wouldn't have happened, because he would have got it instead of you. Now kiss me properly and then go to sleep. If you insist on this madness, you need to rest as much as you can, while you can."
Paul kissed her for a long time. Eventually she drew back, and he could see her smiling through the darkness.
"Not a chance, Colonel. You're not fit enough yet, and you need your rest."
"I bet I could persuade you."
"I don't advise you to make the attempt, Paul, I've not forgotten what you called me yesterday and I know exactly how to hurt you just now. Settle down."
Paul obeyed. "Nan?"
"Mmm?"
"I really am sorry, love. You know how much I love you, don't you?"
He heard, to his relief, a familiar gurgle of mirth. "I love you too, Paul. Goodnight."
Wellington had greeted Paul's arrival with such obvious pleasure, that Paul had been glad he had risked Anne's wrath to join him. In between scouting the movements of the various French armies, writing dozens of letters and poring over maps, Wellington found time to bring Paul up to date with the full story of the battle and the pursuit of the French. Paul had joined Wellington every day, leaving the daily business of his brigade to Johnny and Carl and spent time studying maps and listening to his chief considering and discarding plans.
Wellington had the choice of marching north, to drive Clausel's army further back beyond the fortress of Burgos or to head south over the Guadarrama to Madrid. It was tempting to push northwards to harry the already damaged Army of Portugal and possibly to take Burgos by surprise; this would have had the advantage of securing Wellington's northern flank. Paul knew, however, as did his chief, that sieges could be unpredictable and Wellington could not afford a protracted investment of Burgos which would give Marshal Soult time to march north from Andalusia. There was also the political impact of taking Madrid and its effect on the morale of both armies, and Paul had agreed with Wellington's final decision.
Wellington's army left Cuellar on August 5th and entered the Spanish capital on the afternoon of the twelfth, to a reception which put Salamanca in the shade. The French had taken the capital four years earlier and there was an explosion of exuberant joy at their departure. Riding through the city at the head of his brigade, Paul was surprised at how much it affected him. For four years he had fought and bled and suffered in this war, and he was honest enough to admit that it had not all been for the liberation of Portugal and Spain. He had felt, on arrival in Lisbon, no especial affection or loyalty to either country. The army was his chosen career, one at which he had discovered he excelled, and he served where he was ordered.
The war had changed him. He had lived among the Portuguese and had learned their language and become genuinely interested in their art, their architecture and their culture. He had ridden through villages and farms burned out and despoiled by the French and seen the corpses of men, women and children lying openly in the streets, the signs of the torments inflicted on them written pl
ainly on their bodies. He had met women who had been raped and men who had lost their wives and children and at times he had gone quietly away to cry. He had commanded Portuguese troops, got to know their officers and then watched them die beside him. They were his friends.
He did not yet have the same warm affection for the Spanish, but the jubilation of the crowds touched him nonetheless. Looking over at his wife he was amused to see a sparkle of tears in the dark eyes and he moved his horse closer to her.
"Heroes again," he mocked gently and she looked up at him.
"You have to make a joke of it, Paul. But to these people, you actually are. And I find that makes me very proud."
"Then that makes me happy," he said and leaned out of the saddle to kiss her, well aware of the swell of delighted cheering around them. It was an emotional day and a show of emotion was valued, especially among the English who had the reputation here of being a passionless race. Even Wellington seemed affected by the enthusiasm of the crowd and was smiling and waving more than was usual for him.
Paul looked around him, admiring the bedraggled spectacle of Wellington's army as it tramped up the main street into the city. The men were shabby and dusty from their days on the road. Without notice of a formal parade, even the vainest of the officers had not been given time to change into their dress uniform, and most of the men had nothing else to wear. Their jackets were dirty and faded and those who still had their shako hats no longer even bothered to try to beat them back into shape. Many wore tatty forage caps or went bareheaded. They wore a variety of trousers in shades of grey, blue and brown depending on where they had looted them from and an even wider variety of footwear. They were an army on the move, come straight from the field of battle, and they marched with unconscious authority.
There was a burning pain in Paul's injured shoulder, beginning to get worse. Paul moved it slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position and Anne made a small, irritated sound.
"I told you that you took that sling off too soon," she said.
"I'm fine, love. It's difficult to ride with a sling, anyway."
"You shouldn't be riding," Anne said shortly. "You shouldn't be here at all, you should have stayed in Salamanca until that healed properly."
"And missed the parade?" Paul teased. "You couldn't expect me to do that."
"You didn't do this for a parade," his wife said acerbically. "You did it because Lord Wellington wanted you here and you never say no."
"It's my job not to say no, bonny lass, he's my commanding officer."
"Charles Alten is your commanding officer and he wanted you to stay where you were until you were well enough. Don't talk to me about it, Paul, or we will quarrel again."
Paul wanted to point out that he had not raised the subject, but seeing the expression on Anne's face he bit his tongue. They had not revisited their quarrel, but Paul knew that he had spent the journey up to join Wellington, trying to find ways of making it up to Anne. He could see that she was scanning his face now, trying to work out how much pain he was in, and he felt guilty at how much he must worry her at times.
"I hate it when we quarrel," he said.
Anne took his hand and squeezed it gently. "You are a baby when we quarrel," she said lovingly. "You spend weeks afterwards treating me as if I were made of china and would break at a cross word. Or leave you and go back to England. As if I ever would."
"Good, because without you, I would fall apart. And without me, I wonder sometimes if Wellington would fall apart. Which would mean the army would fall apart and Bonaparte would be in Lisbon within the year. You see, the entire fate of Europe rests in your very lovely hands."
Anne laughed aloud, shaking her head at his nonsense. They had come to a halt. In the narrower streets of the city, progress was slow and at times impossible. The balconies and windows of the tall, elegant buildings on both sides were hung with drapes and tapestries and many women were spreading cloaks and shawls for the army to march over. At their head Lord Wellington was dressed as always in a plain blue coat, standing out among the gaudier Spanish generals.
"Poor Hookey," Paul said, watching his chief. "Two parades in as many months, he'll be the one wanting to sail home to England. I wonder if they'll want him to make a speech as well?"
"They'll be out of luck if they do," Anne said. "It's lovely to see this, but I'm seeing a lot more than banners and ribbons. Some of the poorer people look half starved."
"Hardly surprising," Paul said. "They've been hosting the French for four years, I very much doubt they made a profit out of that."
"No. They're unlikely to make a huge profit out of our lads either, a lot of them will be short of funds by now."
"Especially the ones who had to use their last pay in order to fund the debts they'd already run up," Paul said. "Wellington tells me he can afford to issue two months back pay but is still waiting for funds from England for the rest. I rather imagine Harry Smith is going to be hanging around the 110th for a free dinner as usual, his pockets are always to let."
Anne laughed. "Paul, you like Harry. And I'm getting very fond of Juana; she's very mature for her age."
"I presume that's how she ended up where she did, bonny lass," her husband said grimly and Anne shook her head.
"I never thought I'd hear you sounding so puritanical," she said and Paul gave a splutter of laughter.
"I never thought I'd live long enough to be called puritanical. I'm honestly not, Nan. God knows I'd hate to be called to account for some of the things I did when I was younger. Including some of my behaviour with you. I think it was just the fact that she's so young."
"I was three years older, Paul."
"I know, girl of my heart. And I'm over it. They're married now and seem ridiculously devoted, so I hope they do as well as we have. We seem to have come to a complete standstill here. Anybody have any idea about the billeting situation? I'd rather like to be able to tell my lot what they're doing before they start wandering off of their own accord."
"We're putting the men in tents to start with," Anne said. "There's a good area up to the west about thirty minutes out of the centre of town. Breakspear and Davy Cartwright rode on ahead today and have sent directions back. It was a royal hunting estate, but a few of the nobility have also built country houses in the vicinity including the Marina family. They have just removed themselves very fast from Madrid owing to their enthusiastic cooperation with King Joseph and the French, so Captain Cartwright has commandeered the palace."
"I see."
"It's apparently enormous. I did suggest to Lord Wellington that he join us there, but he is to stay in the royal palace, although he is happy to have us up there, and General Alten may join us. As soon as we can escape I'll ride up and see what there is." Anne caught his grin. "What?"
"You're amazing, bonny lass."
"The challenge is going to be restricting the men from poaching the royal deer."
"The men can poach the royal deer to their hearts content as far as I'm concerned, or anything else they find. They've shed blood trying to kick the French out of Spain this year, as have my Germans and Portuguese, his Majesty can spare a few deer. As a matter of fact when we're settled in, I'm rather tempted to slaughter a few beasts and feed some of these poor children huddled at the back of the crowd in rags and if anyone comes bleating to me about royal hunting rights they're going to get a kick in the arse."
Anne was laughing. "You're a revolutionary at heart, Paul van Daan. I wonder which side you'd have been on if you'd been in France during the revolutionary years?"
"Given the indecent size of my personal fortune I rather imagine my head would have been decorating a spike fairly quickly; I'm apt to defend what's mine. But I am a believer in taking responsibility, and it's clear looking around here, that nobody has. And I'm not sure if the arrival of the famous Spanish guerrillas is going to be much help given that when they arrived in Salamanca half of them started looting the local shops and demanding that the girls go to
bed with them for nothing."
His wife reined in to avoid a plump woman who was reaching up to hand Paul a cup of wine. Paul took it and drank from it, then handed it to Anne with a formal gesture. His wife took it and drank, her eyes on his. He knew that for all her Yorkshire hard-headedness, there was a surprising streak of romance in his down-to-earth wife which she fondly imagined was visible only to him. At moments like this Paul was aware that it was clearly visible to the entire army and half the population of Madrid. He passed the cup back to the woman with a smile of thanks.
The crowd had shifted a little and they made their way through to a wide square, where Wellington was dismounting outside the town hall. Paul moved his horse to join General Alten.
"Do we need to be here just now?"
The German shook his head. "No. Your wife tells me you have found billets already."
"Yes, she's sent our baggage over there. If you don't need me, sir, I think I might..."
"Colonel van Daan. Ma'am."
Paul pulled a face at the sound of Colonel Campbell's voice. "Another ten minutes and I'd have been out of here," he said softly, and Alten laughed aloud. "Yes, Colonel, you want me?"
"Lord Wellington's compliments, Colonel van Daan." Colin Campbell, who was an old friend of Paul's was grinning from ear to ear. "You're invited to dine with him and the senior staff at the palace later."
"Just me, Colonel?"
"How likely does that sound, Paul?"
"Sometimes I wonder what he'd do if I decided to sell out and go home," Paul said with considerable restraint. "Do you think he'd offer her a formal position as his social secretary, deputy chief medical officer and assistant quartermaster general so that she'd stay?"
"He'd probably offer her my job, Colonel," Campbell said mournfully. "Best get off and get yourself changed and ready to be social."
"I really hope this isn't going to be a repeat of Salamanca," Paul said grimly. "I observe that Don Julian has some friends with him this time. I am looking forward to the next few days."
