Blood and Famine (Man of Conflict Series, Book 4)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Some point of honour I should imagine, Captain Colquhoun. The Marquis has no doubt been rehearsing his grievances sat on his own in his little room. I have small patience with the man, or with the pampered idler of a son. They should be in the field, the pair of them, facing their enemies rather than squabbling with each other and with their own government.”

  “So they should, sir. I shall be glad when my seven days is up, sir, and my company takes over on the artillery platform.”

  “Better work for a soldier, I agree there, Captain Colquhoun.”

  Septimus enjoyed his dinner that night, and was most pleased to share the Marchioness’ favours afterwards. Holding the Castle promised to be a less tedious duty than he had feared.

  The Portuguese horsemen returned in the early afternoon, riding easily, relaxed on safe ground. They reported to the Quartermaster who brought their leader to Septimus, Peter, the interpreter, with him.

  “Joao has discovered the whereabouts of the French, sir, and has observed their activities in some detail. He sat behind the crest of the hills and watched for the bulk of the afternoon, sir. They are little more than twenty miles away in and around the valley of the Tagus, but are progressing very slowly. With your permission, sir, he will make his report directly.”

  “I wish he could, Mr Black. It is very difficult, not being able to speak Portuguese. Peter, will you arrange with Joao just how you will interpret?”

  A brief discussion and the two Portuguese decided it would be easier if Peter summarised rather than attempted to translate word for word. Joao described a particular scene and Peter then put the whole thing into English.

  “Many of light cavalry, sir – the men with sabres. They come first, spread out all round and making to scout. Then come soldiers on foot, then heavy cavalry, the ones who wear armour on the chest. Behind them are the wagons of the baggage train and then more on foot. They are in columns, sir. Joao thinks they are marching in three or four river valleys, side by side, like the fingers on a hand. He saw very many, at least twenty battalions of foot, and many regiments of cavalry. It may be that each column has twenty thousands, sir. He does not think they have the right number of wagons, sir. Not to carry food for them all.”

  Septimus nodded.

  “What of artillery?”

  “Many, sir. Batteries of big guns. A few little ones, too.”

  Twelve pounders in all probabilities. They would be well-served and very powerful in defence. Over the rough tracks of the inland they would be very slow, could not be an offensive weapon to be pushed forward on the heels of the infantry. Four pounder galloper guns would be a greater menace, but it sounded as if there were almost none of those.

  “I have been told that they expect to live by foraging – taking food from the people here.”

  “There is almost nothing, sir. The people have gone and taken everything with them. Some of them have burned down their villages.”

  “Good. You say ‘almost nothing’. Are there some others like the Marquis who have not gone away?”

  “A few, sir. There is one valley, three leagues to the west, sir, where they have all stayed. Only two villages with one lord, sir. He pays dues to the Marquis, sir. He is taking the Marquis’ orders, sir.”

  “The French are twenty miles away, and the villages are a little less than ten… Three hours on the march. Major Perceval! Major Taft!”

  Six companies, three each from the pair, were ordered to be ready to march within the hour. There was nearly four hours of daylight left, just sufficient time.

  “What does Joao say the country is like?”

  “Over the track, sir, in the big valley, towards the sea end. That crosses low hills, up and down, tiny valleys, not very deep, for a bit less than two leagues. Then there is a valley that is not very wide but is flat at the bottom with a small river that runs fast. There is room for a field on each side of the river, and the hillsides can be grazed by sheep. The valley turns three times, and makes warm places looking south where grapes grow well.”

  Sheltered south-facing hillsides, protected from cold and high winds by the bends in the valley, the grapes should grow fat and sweet; good wine country. Even though the fields were small the vineyards would make a good living for the farmers.

  “There is much wine in the caves, sir, dug into the hillsides.”

  “They must move it, bring it away.”

  “They cannot, sir. It must not be shaken about, that would destroy it.”

  “Then it will be tipped into the river; it will not stay for the French.”

  “Two days’ rations, gentlemen. No greatcoats. We march light. Issue eighty rounds, if you please. March in close order and be ready to receive cavalry at no warning. Major Perceval – first thoughts are that you will move downriver of the two villages and form a line against the cavalry. If the information is accurate – and it may be – then we shall arrive first and will expect the French cavalry and foraging wagons to enter the valley from the south west in the morning. It should not be impossible to form squares and retreat, one behind the other, doing no little harm to the French in process.”

  Perceval saluted in acknowledgement.

  “Major Taft, you will command here in my absence. You should expect the people and all the food they can carry to be on the track to the Castle. Their animals should be with them and will require some sort of pens or paddocks here. Wine in barrels will be poured out and you should warn the men coming with me that if any are found drunk then I shall be very displeased indeed. Many of them will fill their canteens, of course, and there may be bottles or flagons as well, and I shall turn the blind eye to them, provided the men stay sober until after they have been released from duty. Be ready for our retreat after first light. Platoon patrols to watch the hills and seek out any other tracks that the French might use to come up on the valley.”

  Taft made a note of all that he had to do – he found it easier, he said, if he wrote things down.

  “What am I to do if any couriers arrive, sir? Should I send them after you?”

  “No. Read anything that comes from the General and take appropriate action – if we are ordered to move then begin to make ready, for example. If, as I much hope, we are instructed to send the Marquis elsewhere then inform him and his lady wife and, again, commence the preparations if we are to provide the escort. If men are sent then get rid of him with them.”

  Taft thought he could do any or all of that.

  “Coming on to rain, sir.”

  They peered out of the window together, agreed that it seemed very likely.

  “That will slow the march, and make it less likely that I will be able to get the villagers on the road tonight as I had hoped. Damned nuisance!”

  There was three hours of daylight left, provided the cloud was not too thick, and about two leagues of rough track over the hills before they entered the valley. The men were still fit and healthy, being early in the campaign, and should be able to make the distance in two hours. If the rain grew heavy and the track became muddy then they would be slowed, perhaps by as much as one half, and then they would not reach the village before dark. The prospect of trying to evacuate the villagers in the presence of the French first thing in the morning was not appealing, but they must be moved if it was at all possible.

  The wind was light and the rain was more of a thick mist than a true downpour; they were able to make the pace but Septimus was worried that they would not be able to keep their flintlocks dry. He remembered his Indian experience of wet powder in the pan and fretted over the possibility all of the way across the hills. Forming square was all very well, but the defence depended very much on controlled platoon volleys; on the hopeful side, cavalry tended not to be very active in the rain and mud, hating to spoil their finery and, more practically, to fall from horses that could not keep their footing.

  The track turned across the shoulder of a steep hill, thickly covered in low, thorny bushes, and the upper end of the valley opene
d before them, perhaps two hundred feet lower, and never more than a quarter of a mile wide, a fast stream winding from one side to the other, crossed by foot bridges. There was no sign of a wagon track.

  Septimus swore – movement would be slow and dependent on mules and donkeys. There was very little chance of moving the whole of the villagers’ harvests out of the reach of the French; they would be burning the barns for sure.

  “Deploy your men to the south of the valley, Major Perceval. If possible set up barriers of some sort or place the men behind walls, if there are any. If not, then hold the bank of the stream – it will provide a first obstacle.”

  Perceval’s senior sergeant was at his side, listening to the orders; no doubt he would offer advice. He doubled his men through the valley, hoping to find his ground before dark.

  The three companies remaining with Septimus marched south through the first village, watched silently from the windows; the doors of the small stone houses remained firmly shut.

  “Fourteen houses; a big barn; five large sheds that I can spot – is that a wine press, do you think?”

  Lieutenant Melksham stood at the front of his half-company, nearest to Septimus. He peered down the valley, agreed that it might be. Being Indian born he had never seen such a thing.

  “Are those caves in the far hillside, sir?”

  “Storage for barrels of wine, I believe, Lieutenant Melksham. There is some quantity produced here – but I do not see how it is to be transported from the valley. I was under the impression that the barrels should not be shaken too much, but if they are to be strapped onto pack-saddles then that cannot be the case.”

  “I see a flat-bottomed punt, sir, drawn up by the side of the stream. In dry weather when the water flows slowly then it might be possible to tow it like a little barge, sir.”

  “Down to the south to meet a roadway there, no doubt. The wrong direction and the water high and fast. There will be no punting for us today!”

  Septimus looked about him, trying to identify the largest or most prosperous house – but they all seemed much the same.

  “Peter, will you find a mayor or headman or elders or whatever there may be, please?”

  The interpreter ran to the nearest door, shouted through it. A voice sounded faintly in response.

  “In the other village, sir. They are only workers here, sir.”

  “And they will not take orders from us, of course. Mr Melksham, there is a stone wall beyond the furthermost house of the village. Not very high but it can be held, I trust. Take your half-company there and make a holding point, sir.”

  They remainder marched the additional three parts of a mile down the valley to the slightly larger village. There was a broader expanse of flat land, some used for crops but partly put to paddock and goatfolds. They discovered Major Perceval in argument with a plump gentleman, obviously the local lord – the peasants rarely ate well enough to carry fat.

  “The Count – he informs me he is so titled, sir – is unwilling to assist us in any way, sir. He insists that he will not permit his people to be moved from their village. It will interfere with their work and will cost him far too much, sir.”

  “You have told him that the French are coming and that they will steal every bit of food, kill all of the men and rape all of the women and girls?”

  “He does not believe me, sir. He says this is all a lie spread by the English to help them in their war and to hide the fact that we have come here to steal his harvest and drink his wine. He says that he has men with rifles in the hills and they will attack us from hiding and kill us one by one if we do not go away.”

  “Well sod him, Major Perceval! Put skirmishing parties out to the edge of the village and we shall see what trained soldiers have to say to his hunters. Inform him that he has the choice – he may put his people on the road with all of their possessions or he may watch as we burn the whole village. Place him under arrest; his house and barns will be first to burn!”

  The Count folded his arms across his chest and offered silent defiance.

  “Put him in irons, Major Perceval.”

  The senior sergeant had brought a set of manacles with him, carrying the weight solely so that he could amaze his officer with his forethought; he ordered four privates to grab the Count and then subjected him to the indignity of being manhandled by the lower orders and chained like a common criminal. The poor gentleman bellowed his outrage and called for his feudal inferiors to come to his aid.

  A few of the male villagers appeared from cover, where they had been listening to all that was said. They asked Peter whether it was true that they would be burned out by the English or be sacked by the French if they did not leave their homes.

  “French horsemen are less than three leagues away. They will be here soon after dawn. They will kill the men and boys and take the women and even the smallest of the girls, killing them when they are finished with them. They will steal all of the food before burning the village. We will escort you to the Marquis’ Castle if you pack up and go now. Carry everything you can. We must burn any food you leave – the French must not have any. You will live, we shall feed every man, woman and child who comes to the Castle, and we shall keep your breeding animals alive as well.”

  “What of the wine, they ask, sir?”

  “It is to go. It cannot be carried, so it must be poured out on the ground.”

  The men were not happy – the wine was sold each year and paid their dues and rents to the Count. Without that income they would all be evicted, put out on the road.

  “That is up to them. Was it me and I owned a rifle or a fowling piece, then I would not be evicted.”

  “Oh, I say, sir!” Major Perceval was outraged. “That is to call for bloody-handed revolution. The Count has his rights, sir!”

  Septimus shrugged; the world was changing, he suspected. Just a few years before and he had thought the same – or perhaps he had not thought at all – now he had more sympathy for the peasants of the world than for their aristocratic masters.

  One of the villagers had drawn Peter to one side, was speaking earnestly to him.

  The interpreter came to Septimus a minute or two later.

  “Sir, he says, that man over there, that if we will take the Count away then the villagers will all go. He says as well that he and his brothers work in the pine forests in the hills and that they make a thing that is called meths to sell to the boatyard down at the mouth of the river. I have seen it, sir, and it is used to protect wet wood from rot; men sometimes steal this from the yard to make themselves drunk and often they are hurt by it, becoming blind or crippled. He says that he has several big earthenware jugs full of this stuff and he will pour it into the wine barrels and then let the French steal them if they wish!”

  “Major Perceval, march the Count away; he is to be taken back to the Castle. If he will not walk, drag him! Send a platoon under a sergeant to the big house and burn it, now. Another platoon to empty the stables and byres and sties and then to burn them. There should be grooms and farmhands there who can drive the animals up the track. He may set an example!”

  Perceval obeyed, though he could not understand why they could not burn out some of the villagers if an example was really needed. The Count was an aristocrat, when all was said and done; they should be protecting the rights that God had given him.

  Less than an hour passed before flames were billowing from the manor house, watched by appalled servants and a bloated Countess and her massive brood of children of varying ages from toddler to almost-grown.

  “Peter! Inform them that they may walk to the Castle or take their chance with the French. We cannot take a wagon over the track and it is too great a risk to attempt to use the roads to the south. If they have horses to hand then the grooms may lead them for the children.”

  Peter came back with the message that the lady would not entrust herself to the barbarians who had burned her house and all of her possessions. They would wait for the French to
come and cast themselves on the mercy of a civilised nation; whatever happened, she could not be expected to walk, on her feet, like any common person.

  “Silly bitch! Bad luck for her children, but at least they will not be a burden on the villagers in future.”

  Major Perceval did not know what to say – he knew that Junot’s troops in their first invasion of Portugal had sacked every village and town without mercy or care for rank or station of their victims. There was no reason to expect Soult and Massena’s armies to be any better behaved, and he had seen British troops on the march to Corunna and knew them to be equally vile once released from the bounds of discipline. The Countess was being more than foolish, but she was of the blue-blooded and had the right to be protected – she could not be expected to comprehend the harsher realities of the world, they should not be part of her existence.

  “Can we not bring her away with the Count, sir?”

  “We have too few men to spare any for the cosseting of a self-indulgent, blue-blooded idiot, Major Perceval, and I certainly will not place the lady under arrest and force her to come.”

  Septimus watched over the contamination of the wine barrels, to ensure that the village men were not trying to make a fool of him. He put a sergeant’s guard over the caves.

  “The wine has been poisoned, Sergeant Exton – I don’t like it, but the villagers are angry that the French will wish to steal it. Make very sure that none of the men get hold of any of it!”

  “I have seen the results of that stuff, sir. When I was a raw recruit, sir, on my way to America as a boy, I saw what happened when some of the lads found their way into the Ship’s Carpenter’s store, sir. Two blind, and six more could never stand up straight again – they fell down after a pace, sir. The Major was very angry, as I recall, sir – blind or not he had them strapped up for a hundred of the thieves’ cat to learn everybody else a lesson, so he said, sir.”

  “My word, sergeant, I had thought that I was a hard man!”