‘It’s night, why should they move?’ Delaborde was in no mood to be cheerful. He knew Thiebault to be a good soldier, and knew what his brigade had done on the Pratzen Heights at Austerlitz. He also knew that the chief of staff was clever, and well read for a former private soldier, and that for all his talent there was no one he trusted less. Thiebault never shared credit, but was generous with blame and acid in his readily expressed views of others.
‘Nevertheless, the duke’s plan appears to be leading us to a great victory.’ As always with Thiebault, his words were carefully chosen.
‘We’re not going to get there by nine.’ Delaborde was deliberately gruff. ‘Worse than that, he’s split up my division. More than half of my lads are off poncing about with Brenier somewhere over there.’ He waved his arm back to the north-east. The brigade he had led at Roliça had been detached and marched by a different road.
‘They will swing round the enemy’s left flank and pin them just as we attack them from the front. It is a neat plan.’
‘If they arrive on time and if the British sit around with their eyes closed.’
‘As I say, our patrols report that they are not moving. Why should they expect an attack?’
Delaborde snorted at that. ‘We’ve spread out too far. Half of my division is with Brenier, and the other brigade coming up behind us. How the hell am I supposed to control them?’
‘As you know, the divisions were only formed a few days ago. Our brigades are used to operating independently.’ Thiebault remained suave. ‘I am sure the duke will make excellent use of both you and the brigades.’
‘Better than if we fought together as a division?’ Thiebault shrugged, but Delaborde did not want to leave the matter. ‘I tell you, he is scattering the army when we should be concentrated. These aren’t just peasants or militia. It’s an army.’
‘A small part of a very small and minor army. The English are famous for their sailors, not their soldiers. It is not as if we are facing Russians or Austrians.’ The reminder of Austerlitz was blatant.
‘True, but it is an army none-the-less. I have fought them. They can manoeuvre and are stubborn when they fight. Oh, we can beat them, but only if we treat them with respect. We’re not chasing rebels any more. This will be tough, and I for one would be happier if the army was still concentrated.’
‘Much must be risked in war,’ Thiebault declared airily. ‘We have surprise on our side.’
‘The sun is almost up. I’ll wager you a thousand francs that they see us coming.’ Delaborde gave a knowing grin. ‘You can afford it, after all.’ Stories of Thiebault’s looting were legendary even in the army that had stripped Portugal of everything it could find.
The chief of staff refused to be drawn. ‘I must rejoin the Duke. Perhaps you should check on your second brigade.’ Delaborde resumed his cursing of the army’s high command as he rode back down the column.
The 106th stood down with the rest of the army when it was fully light and the enemy were nowhere to be seen. The men breakfasted and set about the many tasks that had been too difficult in the dark. Hanley borrowed a small mirror from Truscott and after he had shaved Pringle and Williams took their turn. After he had finished Pringle rubbed his smooth chin and smiled.
‘It does make it easier to think, doesn’t it,’ said Hanley.
Williams then set about cleaning his musket, checking the flint and spring. He honed the already sharp point of his bayonet and did his best to put an edge on Hanley’s sword.
‘Probably be better off finding an armourer with the Light Dragoons,’ suggested Truscott, who had come to retrieve his mirror.
‘Where are they?’
‘Somewhere down in the valley, I think. This side of the village,’ ventured Truscott.
‘Is there time for me to go down, Billy?’ asked Williams.
‘Better not risk it. We might be sitting about for hours or moving in five minutes. Mirabile dictu, Sir Arthur has failed to confide in me.’
‘Oh, the benefits of an Oxford education. “Wonderful to relate” even sounds pompous in English. Anyway, I had better return to the less erudite conversation of Four Company. Private Knowles has secured a ham for us, so I have no doubt that the three of you will arrive when it is time to dine. That being so, I might just as well invite you. You can provide the wine.’ Truscott waved lazily as he headed off.
Williams wanted to read his Bible and soon walked off to the edge of the brigade area. It was Sunday and a Highland regiment from the next brigade was holding a church service. They had posted sentries facing outwards around the semicircle of seated men as a reminder of the days when the Presbyterian kirk had been illegal. The minister had a quiet voice and Williams could catch only a few of the words. He sat on a rock, laying down his pack and resting his firelock against it, and tried to read. His eyes scanned the pages, but the words did not seem to register. It was not fear now. His mind just seemed empty.
‘Am I interrupting?’ The voice was the one that filled his dreams. Williams sprang to his feet, turning as he did so, brushing against Jane MacAndrews, who had been leaning to look over his shoulder. She stepped back in surprise, steadied herself, and then smiled.
Williams was overwhelmed by her beauty. Her face seemed so fresh, her eyes so bright, and that striking red hair mutinously strayed from under the broad-brimmed straw hat she wore. A ribbon bound the brim close to her face to guard her white skin against the power of the sun’s rays. He recognised the russet riding habit she had worn in England and that time by the river. The apology decayed to murmurs and then collapsed into silence. Williams just looked at her, struggling to find the courage to speak. His resolution of the early morning, that he would tell her how he felt or at least how highly he esteemed her, battled with his shyness and lost.
Jane was a little puzzled and eventually decided that this conversation would require considerably more effort. ‘Well, I must say I am surprised. I had expected to find you at least a captain by now!’ She laughed and Williams laughed easily with her. There was no malice in the joke, and he thrilled because her tone conveyed genuine affection. Jane MacAndrews smiled again. In spite of his freckles and peeling skin she thought him not ill favoured in appearance and bearing.
‘Still just a humble volunteer.’ He was tempted to tell her of his refusal of a commission, something which he had not even spoken to his friends about. Instead he let his curiosity triumph. ‘Has your father said anything?’
Jane made a face. ‘Father has said nothing to me at all save for a brief hello and an even briefer kiss. Mother has not had much more luck with him. Did you know he gave up his tent to us and slept outside rolled in a blanket?’
Williams shook his head. ‘I would guess that he felt obliged to share the fortunes of the men. I am sure he must be pleased to see you both.’
‘Hmm, perhaps. He is probably a little angry as well. I don’t believe he thought Mama and I would be able to make our own way out to Portugal.’
‘He commands the battalion. He has to appear strict, but I am sure deep down he is glad that you have come.’ Williams took a deep breath. ‘I know that I am.’
‘Mama will be pleased,’ said Jane mischievously. ‘She likes to be welcomed.’
‘I . . . that is, I did not . . . of course, a fine lady.’ The girl struggled to keep her face impassive as Williams babbled nervously. Even at nineteen she felt so much older and wiser than these young boys. ‘That was not my meaning. Miss MacAndrews, I . . .’ He coughed and struggled on so that Jane almost felt a little cruel. Almost. ‘Miss MacAndrews, forgive my bluntness, but you are . . .’ Williams floundered.
‘Ah, here is Mr Hanley, with my fine steed.’ Jane was rather relieved at the distraction. She had hoped that their earlier moments of intimacy and friendship would by now have allowed Williams to overcome his shyness. Yet once again he was nervously inarticulate in her presence, and she was beginning to find this slightly annoying. ‘I have not ridden a donkey since I was a ch
ild. Mama insists on calling hers an ass, and then pretends not to understand.
‘It is good to see you, Mr Williams. Now, would you favour me with a lift, for that is quite beyond poor Hanley at the moment.’
It took a moment for Williams to understand her meaning, and then he leaned forward and cupped his hand. The girl’s brown leather boot seemed light and delicate in his hand. In truth she needed only the slightest of lifts, and no doubt could have managed without assistance.
‘Good day to you both,’ she said, and with a flick of her crop headed away. ‘I wish you good fortune and pray for your safety.’ The two men watched the girl go. She looked so out of place surrounded by an army and yet exuded utter confidence.
‘So did you tell her?’ asked Hanley.
‘Tell her what?’
Hanley looked at his friend. ‘Well, you know best.’
Williams thought for a moment. ‘Are my feelings that obvious?’
‘Oh no, a blind and deaf man might not notice.’
Williams sighed. ‘I managed tell her that she is.’
‘Is what?’
‘I did not get that far.’
‘Well, she is, and there’s no doubt of that.’
Hanley had not spoken much of his past life, but Williams had guessed a lot. ‘You are more experienced in these things. I do not really know and haven’t felt . . . Well, I have never felt like this. Do you understand ladies?’
‘Understand women!’ Hanley could not help laughing. ‘I doubt there is a man alive who really does that. There is only one consolation. They don’t understand us either.’
There was a ripple of noise along the ridge. Men pointed away to the south-east, shading their eyes with their hands to look into the sunlight. Excited conversations broke out. Williams and Hanley followed their gaze. There was a thick cloud of dust above the horizon, the sort thrown up by thousands of marching feet and the iron-rimmed wheels of heavy guns and wagons. The French were coming.
33
The second dust cloud was quite distinct through the magnification of the glass. I
t was low and thick, which meant infantry and guns. Horsemen threw up a higher, thinner cloud. A force of cavalry alone would be little more than a diversion, but the second column suggested real power and had to be taken more seriously. Sir Arthur Wellesley snapped his glass shut. The nearest French column was doing precisely what he had expected and would most likely strike at or near the village of Vimeiro. Most of his army was positioned to meet just such an attack, or on the ridge to the west of the village which protected the bay. The second French column – with perhaps half of Junot’s army – was swinging round to threaten the British left. Only a single brigade was posted to meet such a threat. That would not be enough, but there was no threat at all to his right wing and the troops already in the centre should be adequate to hold it. That meant he could shift brigades from his right over to the left.
Beckoning to his staff, the British general began to issue orders. Only one brigade would remain to hold the western ridge and the other three were ordered to march behind the village and follow the valley to the north-east, strengthening his left. With so many orders going out at once, Captain Wickham was given the task of taking instructions to Brigadier General Nightingall’s brigade. They were not far away, for Wellesley and his staff had been observing the progress of the enemy from the highest point of the ridge. Still, it was pleasant to be given something to do, and even more satisfying that the duty would take him back to his own brigade.
Wickham’s surprise at his transfer to General Burrard’s staff had been brief. After all, such distinction was only his due. The meeting with Colonel Fitzwilliam had been awkward, but similarly short. The colonel – he was really only a captain like Wickham himself, but Guards officers possessed army rank much higher than their regimental responsibilities – had always been grudging in his duties towards him. Still, today he had been polite enough and had complimented Wickham on his service in the previous action and asked solicitously about his wound. He had even handed over a letter from his wife, on whom the colonel had called before embarking. That gave pause for thought. Lydia was warm-natured, and might all too easily be taken advantage of by a smooth hypocrite like Fitzwilliam. Probably the man had behaved like the pompous prig he was. Probably. He would have to read the letter carefullynt>
The order was soon delivered, and Nightingall’s ADCs carried instructions to the 82nd and 106th as well as the other detachments with the brigade. Wickham rode his horse back at a gentle pace, justifying this because he had only the one bay mare and did not want to tire the beast out at the start of what might be a long day. Had he known of this appointment he would have bought a second horse from among those whose owners had fallen. Still, perhaps today would offer more opportunities in that respect. He could not resist passing his own battalion on the way.
‘Morning, Billy,’ he called out to Pringle. ‘Morning, boys.’ Wickham’s smile was warm as he gave a leisurely wave to the Grenadier Company.
‘What is it like living in such exalted circles?’ asked Pringle.
‘Oh, endless work.’ In fact Wickham had so far done little, other than engage in light conversation with several of the other aides. He was good at being pleasant. Indeed, he could not help feeling that his elevation was not only deserved, but overdue. After all, he was an experienced officer, with years of service in the militia before he had transferred to the 106th. Had those who should have promoted his interests done so with proper zeal, he would long since have been well on the path to distinction and higher rank. As ever, jealousy and spite had held him back.
Pringle looked up at his company commander and wondered. His speech was sharp and there was no sign that he had been drinking. In fact, he already had the assurance and arrogance of so many young staff officers. ‘What is going on?’ he asked.
‘The Frogs are coming. Two big columns, so I imagine there will be some hot work before the day is out.’ Wickham was speaking loudly, and almost shouted as he added, ‘Still, nothing my boys can’t handle. Give them hell, lads!’ He dug his heels into his little mare and urged her off. ‘Back to work!’ he called cheerfully over his shoulder as he rode away. There were some smiles among the grenadiers, but no wild enthusiasm. The captain had left them, and for the moment was out of the small world of the company. Wickham raised his crop to Williams as he passed. The volunteer nodded curtly in return. Miserable little bugger, thought Wickham, who had no clear memory of the battle a few days before.
The 106th formed into column behind the 82nd. Other brigades had to move off before them and it was a good half-hour before they began the march down off the ridge. A group of women were waiting for them as they came towards the bottom of the slope. Most were soldiers’ wives with their children. Mrs and Miss MacAndrews were also there, and had indeed arranged for the other women to stand as a group and see off their men. Jane was holding a baby in her arms, leaving its mother free to deal with her three other offspring.
The group cheered the battalion as it passed, Major MacAndrews riding at its head. A touch of one finger to his cocked hat was the only acknowledgement of his wife’s vigorous waving. Seeing this, Esther ostentatiously blew him a kiss and the men of the Grenadier Company who led the column sent up a great cheer of their own. Williams was on the far side of the rank, but just glimpsed Jane making the baby’s hand give little waves. Pringle bowed to her. When Four Company passed, Truscott did even better and left the formation to give a small bunch of wild flowers to the girl. Jane stopped working the baby’s little arm and took them with her free hand. She smiled and curtsied and the passing soldiers raised another happy shout. When Truscott had gone back, Jane leaned over and gave the flowers to a small girl in a ragged dress. The child looked utterly thrilled at the gift. before
It was a strange way to march to battle. MacAndrews forced himself not to look as they passed, still more not to look back. He had spoken to Esther for a short while the previous
night, and had even fewer words with Jane. It was a thrill to see them again, even if he had not wanted them to come and still feared for them. At the very least they would see things which no lady should have to see. He had to hope that nothing worse would happen. His wife had solemnly promised to keep far away from the fighting and not allow curiosity to get the better of them. She would probably keep her word, but that was not to say that something unexpected might happen. There were a handful of other officers’ wives with the army, although he doubted that there was another single, respectable young lady here.
Esther had explained how they had gone to Harwich soon after the 106th had embarked, having already written to Brigadier General Acland. MacAndrews had forgotten, or perhaps had never known, but Esther had helped nurse back to life a cousin of the general while they were in the West Indies, and called in a favour.
‘And of course, I worked my charm,’ she had added complacently. ‘So did Jane. How could they possibly have refused to help two poor ladies? They are supposed to be gentlemen, after all.’
MacAndrews had tried to be discreet, but the battalion was a small place and as close as a family and he knew that word would soon spread. Only briefly had he wondered whether he would be thought a fool for giving up the tent to his wife and daughter and sleeping outside himself. It had been the right thing to do, and he had never bothered too much about the opinions of others. He could not be seen as acting commander to enjoy privileges and comforts denied to so many. None of the ordinary soldiers’ wives had been able to call in a favour from a general if they had lost in the ballot for permission to come. There was also a superstitious part of him that warned against being too happy the night before a battle, lest fate decide to exact a payment. He was no more or less afraid than before any other battle, but this minor self-sacrifice oddly made him feel better.
The battalion marched on. From their position still several miles away Junot, Thiebault and Delaborde saw the dust thrown up by marching feet and knew that the British were altering their deployment to meet Brenier’s men marching around the flank. A messenger went to the rearmost brigade of Loison’s division and sent them to reinforce Brenier’s attack. They were ordered to press on as fast as they could to catch up. The attack could then be made by two brigades – equivalent to a division, but not a real division, thought Delaborde ruefully. Even so, it should be able to punch through anything the English could offer.
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