Flashman in the Peninsula

by Robert Brightwell

  The party was in full flow when we arrived, and there seemed a sense of urgency to the celebrations as though more than a few people knew that while we were rejoicing a victory, more bad news was in the offing. The palace itself dated back to the Moorish rulers of Spain, with exquisitely tiled rooms and courtyards with fountains.

  ‘It is beautiful,’ breathed Agustina enthusiastically

  ‘Haven’t you been here before?’ I asked. ‘I would have thought the Maid of Zaragoza would have been a guest of honour.’

  ‘Oh, I was paraded before the Central Junta and given my medal, but then the priests claimed that my husband had placed me in their care. They did not want me talking to anyone and word getting out that I have been with a lover in Zaragoza and not my husband. So I was hustled away again.’

  ‘Have you spoken to your husband? Is he angry about the death of his son?’

  ‘Oh, he was not the father of the child, something else the church would not want you to know. I was wild as a girl,’ she smiled and added, ‘I still am if I can get away from those wretched clerics. My parents were poor and I was pretty. I soon learned that I could earn money at the gates of the local barracks.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, realising that there was much more to Agustina than I had first thought.

  ‘Like hundreds of girls before me I found I was with child, so had to find myself a husband. His name is Juan, he knew I was pregnant but he did not mind. He wanted a pretty wife but there was no affection, he treated me like his personal whore. I was sixteen then and I stayed with him while the child was a baby, but he used to beat me and … and,’ she paused before adding in almost a whisper, ‘make me do things that I did not want to do.’

  ‘Don’t worry, that is all over now,’ I comforted her while wondering what these ‘things’ were. I knew some soldiers would lend out their wives to comrades for money and suspected that the ‘gallant’ Juan had seen his young wife as a source of income. He must have known that when she was loitering around the barracks gates, it was not to listen to the regimental band. Still, I was not going to get sentimental for I had been developing carnal thoughts for Agustina from our first meeting, which had only become more inflamed when I saw her in the ball gown. I grabbed another glass of wine for her from a passing waiter and asked, ‘So how did you end up in Zaragoza?’

  ‘When war was declared Juan had to spend more time with the army. While he was away I took Eugenio, my son, and ran away. I went to my sister who lived in Zaragoza and that is when I met Raul. I enjoyed being with the soldiers, I used to go up on the ramparts as often as I could. They had even let me fire the gun before.’

  At this point we were interrupted by one of the cavalry officers that I had ridden with from Talavera to Seville. He was already drunk, and through glassy eyes gave Agustina an admiring glance before slapping me on the back, causing me to spill half my wine. ‘What a night eh, have you heard any news of Soult? Have your redcoats beaten him?’

  ‘Sorry, I do not have any news,’ I lied.

  ‘Ah,’ he leaned towards me in an effort to be confidential. In a very loud whisper he added, ‘I am hearing rumours that you have beaten Soult but others say the whole army is south of the Tagus.’

  ‘Perhaps we will hear tomorrow,’ I predicted with a strong degree of confidence.

  ‘Yes, you are right,’ he agreed, straightening up. ‘Tonight is for celebration.’ He pounded me on the back again, this time emptying my glass, before turning to Agustina. ‘You should have seen this one at Talavera,’ he boomed. ‘The general, this captain and two aides charged the French battery without waiting for the rest us. The four of them captured one end of the battery all by themselves. I salute you sir,’ he added, raising his own full glass before staggering away into the crowd.

  ‘So you really did charge the battery,’ exclaimed Agustina grinning. ‘I thought you were lying to impress me before.’

  ‘Lie to impress you!’ I gasped in exaggerated outrage while collecting two more glasses from a passing waiter. ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘I wonder,’ she replied grinning as she took the glass, and then gave me a knowing look. ‘I am sure you would say that you were not trying to get me drunk too.’

  ‘My dear, you have a shockingly poor impression of the behaviour of a British officer.’

  ‘I hope I am not disappointed then,’ she said coyly. I grinned back. She was clearly a woman who enjoyed the company of men and must have been frustrated with the nuns, priests and monks who had guarded her over recent months. I flatter myself that I am not bad looking and if she thought I was a hero as well then so much the better. Flashy, I thought to myself, if you haven’t bedded this girl by the end of the night, well you are losing your touch. With that thought uppermost in my mind I steered her out towards the large gardens where hedging and arbours offered far more opportunity for intimacy.

  The crowd certainly thinned in the gardens but this revealed that our minders had also somehow managed to enter the palace, and the priest and the two monks dogged our every turn so that wherever we went at least one of them was watching.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ I asked, gesturing to one of our watchers. ‘You cannot spend the rest of your life with them peering over your shoulder.’

  ‘I want to get away to fight. They used me like a living talisman in Zaragoza after the first siege and before the city fell. That is why they helped me escape, but now they are doing the same here. I am paraded around like a holy relic but I want to avenge my son and Raul and fight the French myself.’

  ‘Would you join the guerrillas?’

  ‘Yes, there are already women fighting amongst the guerrillas and most of the bands would welcome the Maid of Zaragoza among their ranks. Now the allied army has beaten the French the tide will turn and we will drive the French from our country. I want to play my part in our liberation.’

  I paused, there was a gleam of passion in her eye now that I did not want to extinguish, but I had to tell her the truth. ‘The allied army has already retreated south of the Tagus,’ I told her quietly. ‘It will be announced tomorrow. If they had stayed in the north they would have been crushed between two huge French armies.’

  ‘Oh,’ she was silent for a while as she took in this new reality. ‘If the combined allied army has to run from the French, will Spain ever be liberated?’

  That was a question I had been pondering ever since I had learned the size of Soult’s army. It would take years and cost a fortune to get the Spanish infantry to a standard where they could match the French veterans. A vastly bigger force would be required from Britain too and I was not sure if there was the political will or the treasury funds to pay for that. The Navy was the first priority, to blockade the French into submission. The allies could only be sure of beating small French armies. Once the French forces combined, as they would to meet any threat, then the allies would be defeated. It seemed only a matter of time before there was another humiliating withdrawal. Not that I was going to admit that then of course. ‘Oh, the allied army will get stronger all the time and the French cannot keep a large army in the field for long, not with your guerrillas attacking their supply chains.’

  To my surprise she seemed strangely heartened. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I need to join the men fighting in the hills. I just have to prove to the priests that I am not a holy relic.’ To lighten the mood I took her back to the ballroom and we danced after a fashion, with Agustina struggling with the wide skirts. Having worked up an appetite we helped ourselves to the heaving tables of food and more of the plentiful drink. By then I was feeling well-oiled and as randy as a prize bull before tupping time. From the occasional grabs and fondles she allowed and indeed returned, I sensed that Agustina felt the same. We were both ready to boil but whenever we tried to slink away and find some private place one of those damned clerics would appear.

  I was getting to the point where I could have taken her in the middle of the buffet table and the spectators could go to hell,
but Agustina told me to be patient. Just before midnight the guests began to disperse. We mingled with a large group of people as we walked out of the gates, to make it harder for the priest and monks to follow us in the darkness. I did not want them snatching Agustina back to the convent before I had the opportunity of having my lecherous way with her. The main square was lit by flickering torches, and while some servants also lit the way ahead with burning brands, it was still hard to make out faces and colour. Several parties peeled away from the main group, and looking over my shoulder I could see the priest and monks spreading out to check out whether we were in those groups. We stayed with the largest crowd, that suited me; once past the cathedral we would be in the commercial district and then on to my lodgings in the Jewish Quarter. I was sure I could shake off any stubborn cleric there. To my surprise as we approached the cathedral doors the bulk of the group turned to go in. I grabbed Agustina’s elbow and made to pull her on but she pulled back and gestured back to the church.

  ‘Stay with the crowds, it is dark in there. They are having a midnight mass to celebrate the victory.’

  ‘But I don’t want to go to church, damn it!’ I growled at her. ‘We can have a much better time somewhere else.’

  ‘Trust me,’ she whispered, smiling over her shoulder as she let go of my arm and walked through the big cathedral doors. I stood foxed for a moment. The bloody woman was infuriating. I wanted to rush forward, scoop her up off the ground and run with her into the nearby streets. But even at midnight, kidnapping a doubtless protesting woman in the middle of Seville would attract attention and those wretched clerics would soon reclaim their charge. The last of our crowd were moving towards the church doors and I could see the priest in the distance staring about him looking for us. I had no choice but to turn reluctantly into the dark cavernous cathedral. I passed the entrance to the huge Giralda bell tower on my right and moved into the body of the church. The rest of our party had continued to move down the nave towards the altar which was bathed in candlelight, showing that a service was starting. There were candles on stands every few yards down the nave. I stared but I could not see a blue dress among the group.

  ‘Over here, Englishman.’ Her voice called from the left and I just caught a glimpse of the light silk of her dress moving between the columns.

  ‘Come back, damn you,’ I whispered as I plunged after her into the gloom. ‘What in Christ’s name are you doing?’ I called out quietly when I got to the place where I had seen her. We were at the edge of the huge cathedral with private chapels lining the walls. There were hardly any candles here, just a few on the private altars stopped it being pitch dark. ‘What the hell…’ I exclaimed as a hand reached out and pulled me behind a pillar. I relaxed as I felt her arms go around my neck and then her lips on mine. ‘Mmm, that is more like it,’ I whispered to her. ‘Now let’s get out of here so we can go back to my rooms and continue that line of thought.’

  ‘What is your rush?’ she soothed. ‘Did you know that Christopher Columbus was buried here before his bones were taken to the Americas? His brother is still buried here.’ She looked round as we heard more footsteps. We watched as the priest came in through the same door we had entered. There were candles around the entrance so we could see him clearly as he glanced around. I shrank back behind the pillar but he could not see us in the darkness. Peering round again I saw him genuflect towards the altar and then move forward towards the congregation.

  ‘I don’t care about Christopher Columbus and neither do you. Come on, the priest has gone. Let’s get out of here.’

  I saw the white of her teeth in the gloom as she grinned at me. ‘I will have you know that I am a great admirer of people who search for new territories, you never know what they will find.’ Before I could respond I felt her hands on the front of my breeches, caressing and undoing buttons.

  ‘You can’t want to do it here in the cathedral?’ I gasped hoarsely. God knows I am no prude; I have made love in carriages, boats, theatre boxes and on one memorable occasion in the basket of a hot air balloon. But I don’t take any thrill from the risk of discovery. More than once I have had to flee, boots and trousers in hand, at the unexpected arrival of a husband. You cannot concentrate fully on the matter in hand, so to speak, while listening out for a key in the lock. But some women like the spice of danger. I recall Carstairs telling me that Eliza Marchbanks once insisted he take her from behind while she leant out of the window to give instructions to the gardener.

  Agustina seemed of the same persuasion and by now her hands were busy exploring left, right and centre, particularly centre. I felt any last inhibitions I had dissolve as she reached up to nibble my ear and whisper, ‘If you want me, you have to take me right here.’ Almost working of their own accord my hands went on their own voyage of discovery down the front of her gown and she gasped as her breasts were liberated from the fabric. We were both coming to the boil nicely and while we were panting and grunting in pleasure, the sound seemed lost in the cavernous cathedral. The congregation were some fifty yards away near the great high altar and seemed intent on listening to the chants and incantations of the priests.

  I was struggling to lift the skirts of her gown – it was like peeling an onion. Every time I got some layers up above her waist I reached forward and found more layers to hinder me. The gathered folds were getting in the way between us and Agustina suddenly turned her back to me. ‘Pile the skirts over my back,’ she whispered as she bent over some waist high stonework. I did not hesitate, reaching down, grabbing all the cloth I could hold and hauling it upwards. I ran my hand over her bare thigh and stepped up behind her. She gave a deep groan of pleasure as I set to and this time I noticed a couple of ladies in the congregation turn their heads and stare in our direction. They evidently could not see anything as they turned back to the front.

  For a while I lost myself in the pure pleasure of the situation, and the regular low groans from just in front of me indicated that Agustina was doing the same. Just as I was thinking that I should enjoy carnal pleasures in church more often, my attention was taken by movement at the altar. A richly dressed priest with a mitre, who I took to be the bishop, was stepping forward and altar boys holding candles and a huge cross were forming in front and around him. More priests were lining up behind and with a lurch of dismay I realised that they seemed to be preparing to move through the church.

  ‘What are they doing?’ I hissed at Agustina.

  ‘It is the procession of the cross,’ she gasped back. ‘They walk around the cathedral blessing it and the congregation,’ and as she dropped this bombshell she gave a little giggle.

  ‘They do what?’ For a second I was stunned and then I realised that Agustina had known this would happen all along. She actually wanted the priest to discover her fornicating in the cathedral so that he would leave her alone.

  For a second I was appalled and it quite put me off my stroke. ‘You can’t stop now,’ she gasped, and she wiggled herself against me in a way that could only be described as sublime. I don’t like to be used but by God there were compensations in this case and she was right, I was too gone in lust to stop now. But I was damned if I was going to be caught ‘in flagrante delicto’ either. I grabbed hold of her hips and pounded away with even more vigour intending to bring things to a speedier conclusion. She gave a slight squeal of delight and the regular groans became faster and louder. Over the top of the piled dress on Agustina’s back I saw the two ladies in the congregation look back across in our direction. Several other heads turned too but then the procession started down the front of the church.

  An unbidden memory came into my head of my school days and the time a master had accused me of playing pocket billiards with myself in prayers. I well remembered burning with embarrassment but that would be nothing to the scandal of a British officer, Wellesley’s envoy no less, caught bulling away at a national heroine of Spain in the middle of a cathedral service. Throughout the long procession down the centre of the churc
h my mind and body toiled to bring satisfaction to us both. Agustina was undoubtedly a prime piece and normally this would not be difficult, but now as I tried to lose myself in the moment my thoughts would be interrupted by visions of laughing schoolboys and sneering masters, which took the edge off, so to speak. Not that Agustina seemed to mind my prolonged performance. Her groaning had got even louder so that she had buried her face amongst the multiple layers of the front of her dress to muffle the effect.

  I watched the procession as it neared the church door to see in which direction it would turn. A man with a large cross led the way followed by an altar boy with an incense burner. Then came the bishop walking between four more altar boys all carrying large candles, which illuminated yards all around them. The bishop seemed half asleep, still blessing on both sides even though he was well past where the congregation had gathered. Behind him trailed half a dozen other assorted clerics, with the whole mass chanting in Latin. There was an inevitability to the fact that when the man with the cross approached the door he turned right, in our direction. Flight was not an option. I was now at the point where wild horses could not have dragged me off Agustina and from the muffled noises she was emitting I sensed she was the same. Tearing my gaze from the procession I renewed my efforts with a desperate urgency. I shut my eyes and lost myself in the pleasure of the flesh.

  ‘Oh God!’ Maybe there is something in the risk of discovery after all, for I have rarely known a convulsion of pleasure like it. I had called out in English without thinking and opened my eyes just in time to see the bishop’s procession pass by ten yards in front of me. The man with the cross and the altar boy with the incense burner had apparently passed by without noticing us, lost in their own chanting and religious devotion. The bishop, though, had heard my appeal to a higher power. Still looking half asleep he turned and with his hand made the sign of the cross in my direction while muttering a blessing. The young altar boys holding the candles, with sharper eyes and hearing, had also heard me and while their vision must have been affected by the lights in front of their faces, they stared into the darkness with an intense curiosity. Agustina’s body shuddered deliciously against me, and I saw her raise her head and emit another deep groan of pleasure that had the two ladies in the congregation look across again with what I thought were looks of naked envy.