by Iain Gale
Wellington looked Grant hard in the eyes. ‘We all have much to lose. You know the situation, Grant. If we are driven from the Peninsula, then Bonaparte has all of Europe at his feet. And through Spain and Portugal he will have land in the Americas. We may rule the waves at present, but should he sign a treaty with the Americans, what then?’
‘Yes, sir. It is very grave.’
‘It all devolves upon us, Grant. The fate of the civilized world. If Marshal Massena can beat us here –’ in emphasis he pointed to the map of Portugal – ‘if he can invade Portugal with success and make a stand and keep to it, then we must leave. From the south of Spain this time. That is to be our route of escape. From here, by way of Cadiz. We shall embark in boats for the fleet. Just as we did at Corunna.’
He gazed at the map again. ‘And the Portuguese will away to the Brazils. Those are the orders. The Cabinet believes that we cannot hold. What say you, Grant?’
‘I am with you, Your Grace. I believe we can do it.’
‘Yes, I too. I’m damned if they will make of me another Sir John Moore, God rest his soul. We merely need to make sure of certain things and then we can beat them. We must train up the Portuguese. I will not fight alongside the Spanish. Not any more, not after Talavera. The men are of good quality, sure enough, but their generals are impossible. General Cuesta in particular. Second, we must hold on to the key forts of Elvas, here –’ again he pointed to the map – ‘and Almeida, here. And finally we must make for ourselves a fortified camp. The whole of this benighted country, the entire Portuguese frontier, must become a fortress from which we can then take the initiative – to sally forth and beat the French. When the time comes. The autumn, Grant. That will do.’
Grant nodded. ‘Colonel Fletcher and the engineers have the project of the defences advancing by the day, Your Grace. The lines are rising, from the Tagus to the sea.’
‘And all that is secret, is it not? Nothing is known to the French?’
‘Nor even to our own government in London, Your Grace. Just as you instructed.’
‘Pray God then that the press in London do not get hold of it. They are Bonaparte’s chief source and my hidden enemy. Those gentlemen do me more harm than ten thousand of Bonaparte’s sons.’
He muttered something that Grant could not make out and stared at the map for a few moments, before going on. ‘You said that Keane was on his way?’
‘He’s only lately returned from the field, sir. Brought with him a prisoner and dispatches.’
‘A prisoner?’
‘Courier, sir. From Marshal Massena.’
An orderly officer entered the room. ‘Captain Keane is waiting outside, Your Grace.’
‘A timely arrival. Well, show him in then, Ayles, show him in.’
Grant signalled to the young ADC, who opened the door to admit Keane.
Wellington’s face brightened. ‘Captain Keane, I hear that you have news for us.’
Keane entered and, advancing towards the commander-in-chief, nodded his head in salute. ‘Yes, Your Grace. Marshal Massena has crossed the border, at Ciudad Rodrigo.
Wellington smiled. ‘You know that for certain?’
‘I have it from a courier whose word I do not doubt and from the dispatches he carried… His word was better.’
Wellington smiled. ‘At Ciudad, damn me, as I had thought he must. With how strong a force?’
Keane hesitated for a moment, knowing the gravity of the information he was about to give the duke and how vital it was that it should be accurate. ‘Over three hundred thousand men of all arms. He received one hundred thousand fresh troops, sir, before the advance.’
Wellington looked at Grant. ‘There, Grant, I told you. Come down from Austria.’
He turned to another red-coated officer, who up till now had stood, almost unnoticed, a little way off from the duke and Grant, in conversation with a fourth, similarly invisible officer.
‘Murray, remind me again who holds Ciudad for us?’
Colonel George Murray, the duke’s quartermaster general, and de facto chief of staff, did not need to consult the notebook he carried inside his coat, which contained information on the locations of every brigade, battalion and regiment in the Anglo-Allied army. The answer was ingrained on his brain.
‘General Herrasti, Your Grace, with five thousand Spaniards.’
Wellington nodded. ‘Herrasti. He’s a good man, one of their better officers. Brave as you’d like. But he’s old, Grant. He won’t surrender, though. He’ll go down fighting.’ He shook his head. ‘It’ll be a bloody business. I cannot do anything immediately to raise the siege. I have neither the men nor the equipment to help. To try would be to weaken our position. But you can be sure Massena will take the town too soon, unless we act.’ He looked at the map and, as if his mind had completed an equation, barked the answer. ‘Murray, have General Craufurd’s Light Division move to Ciudad directly, with a brigade of cavalry in support. I can spare no more. Instruct the general not to engage the enemy but to observe him and to harass him if possible. The Rifles and a few squadrons of Light Dragoons will do the job nicely.’
Murray nodded. ‘Yes, Your Grace. We could send a division of Portuguese also. Or more cavalry.’
Wellington shook his head. ‘No. No more. I told you, I cannot afford to raise the siege. I can merely divert the French. To move on Ciudad would imperil our own lines. There is nothing for it. Herrasti will have to succumb eventually. There is no need to go on wasting men on him. But Craufurd will hold them up for long enough, long enough for us to act. And he knows not to commit his men. No point in sending the cavalry. Once they’re off, they’re off, and we lose them. Good in the saddle, but damned uncontrollable fellows. Every one of them.’
He turned back to Keane. ‘In the meantime, Keane, I shall need to know more if I’m to outwit Marshal Massena. I have not the men nor the resources to meet him on equal terms in the field, so we shall have to achieve by guile what we cannot by force of arms.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You have the Germans with you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. You will take them with your own men and make a reconnaissance in force. Attach yourself to General Craufurd’s force, but keep out in front of it. I don’t want you drawn into any large actions. By all means you may give the French a bloody nose, Keane, if you find the opportunity. But just that. No more. Remember, your job is not to fight; it is to observe and report. That is how you are of the best use to me.’
He looked back to the map. ‘Once Ciudad falls, Marshal Massena can do one of only two things.’
He pointed again. ‘He can advance down here, to the south, towards Elvas and Badajoz, or he can move here, quickly to the west. Against the fortress at Almeida. It is my guess and indeed my hope that he will do the latter. The road through Elvas is too heavily defended and soon he must know that. If he comes by way of Almeida, we can hold him off there for two months. Which will give us the time we need to complete the lines of defence. Then we can meet him, or part of his army, on ground of our choosing and beat him before we take to the lines. That way we can force him to withdraw.’
Keane looked at the map and saw the simple, brilliant genius of Wellington’s plan by which he would win against a force three times his in number.
‘That is what I require from you, Captain Keane. Assurance that Massena will advance upon Almeida. I know that you cannot change the marshal’s orders or his decision. But let me know what he intends and I will be able to steal a march on him. That is all I need: time. I must have three months to complete the fortifications. Three months. We are now in June. The engineers tell me that it will take until September.’
He looked away and gazed out of the window across the town. ‘London is opposed to me, Keane. Outside here, in the anteroom, as you came in, you will have noticed another officer waiting to enter.’ He turned quickly. ‘Did you know him?’
‘No, sir. I can’t say that I did.’
&n
bsp; ‘That, Keane was a Major Cavanagh. Lately arrived from the Horse Guards. Major Cavanagh enjoys the patronage of the prince regent and he comes bearing a message for me.’
‘Sir?’
‘A message, and with it an order. He bids me to engage the French immediately. The prince regent wants a victory. He wants me to dazzle our friends in Austria and his own friends at court. But he cannot have it.’
‘No, sir?’
‘He will not have it, Keane, because should we engage the French as he would wish, my army would be beat and pushed from this country into the sea.’
He paused and then engaged Keane with his piercing blue eyes before continuing. ‘The prince regent will have his victory, Keane, God willing. But in my time and on my terms. Three months. You must do what you can. We must delay the French as much as possible. Anything, Keane. We must do anything that buys time.’
He looked at Murray. ‘Very good, gentlemen. You may go.’
They nodded and made to leave, and Keane made to go with them. But Wellington held up his hand in a gesture that indicated he should stay.
‘Captain Keane, a moment further, if you will.’
Keane stopped and turned back. Grant, who had remained in the room, closed the door behind the others.
Wellington spoke. ‘There is another matter which we now have to conclude, is there not? A matter somewhat closer to home.’
Keane had known that this would come. The matter of the spy.
Wellington looked at Keane directly. ‘We must rid ourselves of this traitor. It has been harmless enough to play him these few months, and we had hoped he might betray himself, but the time has come.’ He picked up a sheaf of printed papers which lay on a desk at his side. ‘Have you seen these?’
Wellington thrust them towards Keane, who scanning the topmost of them saw that it was a copy of the Morning Chronicle.
Wellington continued. ‘How is it that I can read in the British press, in our own newspapers, the exact size and dispositions of my own force? How the devil can such a thing happen?’
Keane responded. ‘There are tongues that wag everywhere around us, Your Grace. That and the fact that we know the French have spies of their own, here and in Lisbon and London.’
‘And not least this viper in our own midst. We must act now. Keane, what news on this?’
‘My man has not yet managed to find the damning evidence that we had sought, sir.’
Wellington shrugged. ‘Yes, I thought as much. He’s clearly a canny one. Like his masters. Well, we shall simply have to confront him. That is, you will have to do it, with your man. Remind me of his name.’
‘Morris, sir, Tom Morris, lately of the artillery.’
‘Ah yes, Captain Morris. A popular figure in the mess, is he not? The two of you must do it. Take the man, before it is too late. And don’t delay, Keane. I know how quickly you tire of life with the upper echelons.’
Wellington was right. Keane was not a natural staff officer. His life had been in the field, and every time he was confined to business of the headquarters he grew restless within a few days. Others took to it as ducks to water, and indeed there were some who while in later years told great tales of their exploits in the Peninsula, in truth had spent most of that time behind a desk at Lisbon, Coimbra or here at Celorico.
But he knew that there were times when his presence was needed and that now was one of those times.
There was, as Wellington had said, a snake in their midst, a serpent who for a year and more had been stealing information and passing it to the French. Keane knew who it must be, but they had agreed that to out the man, it must be done subtly and with guile. But it was clear that it should be done soon. Last year’s campaigning season had been a triumph, culminating in the rout of the French at Talavera, and the winter had yielded little of note for the French spies, but now, with Massena’s men about to descend upon Portugal and Wellington making plans designed to engineer his destruction, it grew too dangerous to tolerate the presence of the traitor any longer. His time had come. But Keane had not thought that it would be he who would be selected to confront the man. Of all that he had done, from common soldiering to meeting with guerrilla captains and any number of fights, this task he now faced was surely one of the most onerous. To have to accuse a brother officer of treason, to his face, even though he felt sure that his information was right. Heredia had sworn as much and had been acquitted on the proof. Nevertheless it rankled with him.
‘You want me to do this, sir?’
‘I can think of no one who would do it better.’
‘Can you tell me where I might find Colonel Pritchard?’
Grant spoke. ‘He is attending to some paperwork, I believe. His quarters are close by, in the Rueda della Casa. When will you take him?’
Keane nodded at Grant. ‘I’ll do it now, sir.’
Wellington spoke. ‘He was a fine officer, you know. Connections with Ireland, I seem to recall. Joined shortly after the Egyptian affair. I would never have had cause to suspect. But Grant is convinced of his guilt.’
Grant nodded. ‘There is no doubt in my mind, Your Grace. I would have taken him months ago.’
‘Yes, I am aware that it is my insistence on proof that has caused us to delay in this matter. Still, that’s in the past now. It is too late for him. The fact is that the French seem to know our moves to the extent of cheeking us by passing the news to hacks in the Strand. It must be Pritchard’s doing, and I will not have it. And I should like to see our turncoat, Keane, before he stands trial, if you will.’
‘Yes, Your Grace. I’ll bring him here directly.’
They left the room and, once outside, Grant stood with him at the closed door. He was about to speak when one of the aides rushed up to him.
‘Major Grant, sir. May I have a word? It is a matter of some urgency.’
He noticed Keane. ‘My apologies, Captain Keane. I must have Major Grant for a moment.’ The young man moved away with Grant, and Keane heard only the words ‘very drunken lieutenant… Portuguese lady… inexcusable… relations.’
Keane smiled, concluding that some young fool of an officer had taken advantage of the amicable relationship between the two nations and imperilled the honour of one of their allies. He pitied the major his responsibility for such things. Knowing that Grant wished to speak to him, Keane waited, staring at the map of the Peninsula that stood propped up on a table by the hearth. It was then that he noticed Major Cavanagh. He stood close to the window, a slender man in his forties with greying brown hair tied back in a queue. As Keane looked, the major caught his eye, then smiled at him and approached.
‘Captain Keane, is it not?’
Keane nodded. ‘Sir.’
‘Major Cavanagh. Late of St James’s.’ He looked Keane up and down and nodded. ‘We’ve heard of you, Keane. You’ve come to our attention. The prince keeps a watchful eye on the Gazette, you know. He’s taken notice of you. Oporto, weren’t it?’
‘Indeed, sir. I’m honoured.’
‘And Talavera. You’re a spy, ain’t you?’
‘Exploring officer, sir. Yes, sir.’
The major nodded again. ‘You know, you’re just the sort of fellow that might profit from the prince’s patronage. He’s most generous.’
Keane knew instantly that he was being suborned. He nodded and smiled. ‘Do you really think so, sir? How might that be.’
‘The prince will reward officers well who are inclined to do his express bidding. We have a task on our hands here, Captain Keane, do we not?’
‘Sir?’
‘The French, Keane. The prince is most anxious that we should engage the French with the utmost speed and defeat them. We cannot delay. Agree?’
‘Of course not, sir. Quite agree. I will not pass up any opportunity to engage the enemy. My men are the eyes and ears of the army. We see them first. I will ensure, sir, that as soon as we find the French I will report their position and their state.’
Cavanagh nodded
and smiled. ‘And you will, naturally, Keane. You will advise in any report you make that an immediate attack would be advantageous. For whichever general as should receive that report? Whether or not it might be the commander-in-chief.’
‘Naturally, sir. I only have the victory of the army in my mind.’
Cavanagh smiled and nodded. ‘I see that we have an understanding, Captain Keane. I will make sure that I acquaint the prince of your particular loyalty.’
Grant had broken free now of the aide, who hurried from the room. He walked towards the two men.
‘Apologies, gentlemen. A domestic matter. Most embarrassing. But nothing more. Major Cavanagh, His Grace will see you shortly. May I trouble you for a moment? I must speak to Captain Keane.’
Grant took him to one side and moving across to another end of the large room, spoke in hushed tones. ‘You met our Major Cavanagh then?’
‘He spoke to me, sir, yes.’
‘And?’
‘He attempted to persuade me to go against the commander-in-chief’s orders, sir, and contrive some means by which we should engage the French at once.’
Grant laughed. ‘Did he, by God. The man’s a sly one, right enough. And you said… ?’
‘I replied merely that it was clearly vital that we should have a battle and that personally I would lose no opportunity to engage the enemy.’
Grant laughed again. ‘By God, Keane, we’ll make a diplomat of you. Well done, my boy, and thank you for warning us. We’ll need to keep an eye on the major. But you’d best be off now. You will find Captain Morris in his quarters. I know he is anxious to see you.’
Keane nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Morris will know the colonel’s ways better than I, should anything go amiss.
‘You’ll need a few men, Keane. Take the provosts. Morris will find them. They know him well enough.’ He patted Keane on the shoulder and turned to Major Cavanagh.
