As a volley, it was decidedly ragged. Each man made certain of his target and squeezed his trigger when he was ready. The effect though, was immediately apparent. There was a flurry at the head of the column. Men fell, and men staggered out of line. The column ignored them. Stepped over or around. Another eleven-twelve paces, left-right-left-right and the second volley rang out.
Once more, men of the leading file fell and were overstepped as the column drove onwards. Firing became general when the Condesa and the other ‘reserve’ rifles engaged the sniping chasseurs. Another twelve paces and the hail of death peeled off another layer from the front of the column. The giant centipede plunged on, trying to ignore its injuries, but then visibly flinched in anticipation of the fourth of the so regular volleys.
Other eyes had noted the punishment that the column was taking. Roussillon was a competent professional soldier and immediately urged on all the mounted chasseurs to assist. They came streaming down the flanks of the column and on towards the Hornets at full gallop. Welbeloved immediately bellowed. “Hold yor fire everyone! One volley at the horses. Wait for my command. Pick yor targets! Fire!”
He had waited until the chasseurs were within forty yards and every shot told. Over half the horses went down and the rest shied away and fled. Welbeloved’s calm voice rose above the cries and screams. “Resume volley firing at the column as soon as yew are loaded.”
Heartened by the wild charge past them, the voltigeurs had regained their rhythm and the column had gained ground. They were now on the last stretch, eyes staring wildly, and screams of defiance coming from scores of throats. “Tué! Tué! Tué! Kill! Kill! Kill!”
The next volley smashed into the leaders, hurling them back into the following file, which shouldered them out of the way and staggered forward into the next volley, which again punched into the front of the column with unfailing accuracy.
The insistent beat of the drum suddenly ceased. Welbeloved had caught one glimpse of the drummer at the rear of the attack and silenced him with a quickly aimed and perhaps fortunate shot. The confusion at the head of the column and the loss of the drum beat to keep the rhythm of the attack going, was exacerbated by the third volley smashing into it.
The column degenerated in an instant, from an organised body of men, into a milling mass, which suddenly broke and ran wildly down the gentle slope, away from the butchery they knew was awaiting them. The sniping chasseurs joined them and the contagion of terror sped their feet towards the bridge, ignoring the shouts and pleadings of Roussillon and a couple of chasseur officers, who were using the flats of their swords in a vain attempt to stop them.
Welbeloved ordered the cease-fire and the men stretched and fussed with their rifles; subdued in spite of their overwhelming success, at the sight of the corpses scattered in profusion before them.
He watched the fleeing men carefully. The natural restriction of the bridge concentrated them all together, and Roussillon and his officers were bringing them under control once more. In spite of their losses, they still outnumbered the Hornets. If the Colonel could rally them, they could continue to prevent their escape until more troops arrived. As if to emphasise the point, he cursed as the notes of a bugle rang out. It could only herald the arrival of more troops and his position was now just as perilous as before.
He peered about, puzzled as to where the notes were coming from. His position gave him a view across the river and back along the road from where the French would expect extra support. Nothing was in sight for as far as the road could be seen, but down by the bridge, the French had stopped milling about and looked to be trying to form themselves into ranks, all facing in the other direction. The surviving chasseurs were coming together as one unit, the dismounted men scrambling to find riderless horses so that they could join them.
As he watched, they all drew their sabres, barely in time to meet a headlong charge of a mass of horse soldiers, about fifty or sixty strong, all yelling at the tops of their voices as they crashed into the disorganised French, hacking and stabbing as they went. The French were as surprised as Welbeloved and already dispirited from their bloody repulse by the Hornets. A few muskets only were fired before the infantry broke and ran, plunging into the river and fighting each other to get back over the bridge to the illusory safety of the other bank, pursued by exultant horsemen.
Only a small band of chasseurs, headed by Roussillon, escaped. They pressed their horses across the river, pausing on the far bank for a quick counter-charge at their pursuers, before galloping hard up the road to safety. All the rest threw down their arms and yelled for quarter; not always successfully in the face of battle-crazy cavalrymen, intent on killing anything that moved.
Gradually the fury died away. The small numbers of unwounded French men were herded together, and the horsemen spread out, rounding up horses, searching for other survivors and any wounded who could still walk.
The Hornets were all now standing and had moved a few paces from the cover of the trees. The cheering started as a drab coloured horseman detached himself from the rest, still carrying his bloody sword. He trotted towards them with a huge grin on his face. Lieutenant Lord George Vere was rejoining his unit.
He dismounted and jammed his sword into the turf, saluted smartly and bounded forward to clasp Welbeloved’s extended hand. I’ve been following your trail of devastation for the past week sir. I hope you don’t mind me and my new friends joining in the fun here. You look as though you had matters well under control.”
Welbeloved laughed and wrung his hand warmly. “George my boy, apart from my heart nearly giving out when I thought yew were more French come to play, I’ve never been more pleased to see anybody. We may have clawed them a little, but they could still have stopped us getting away before their friends caught up. But what is this splendid body of men?”
He looked quizzically at the well-worn and multi-coloured uniforms of the horsemen and Vere caught his look of amazement as the unmistakable figure of Anstruthers detached itself from the crowd and trotted towards them. Vere coughed. “Sir John said he would be grateful for anything you can do to hinder Tasselot, but he insisted on sending Major Anstruthers to assist. I’m not sure he entirely believed the stories of our successes so far. He mentioned something about sending us a ‘professional’ soldier to advise us.”
Welbeloved looked amused. “Did he now? How splendid. Well I’m sure we’ll be able to make use of his remarkable talents.” He raised his voice. “Good day to yew Major, and very well met. Yor friends, if I may say so are even more welcome. Spanish cavalrymen I presume?”
Anstruthers swung down and grasped his hand. “That’s right Welbeloved. Delighted to see you again,” he swept his shako off, “and you too Condesa. Begad though, it looks as if you’ve had a disagreement with somebody!”
The Condesa fingered her face gingerly. “A matter of little consequence, Major. One of the Frenchmen was ill-mannered enough to collide his horse with me.” She smiled sweetly. “He’ll not be doing it again.”
Anstruthers pursed his lips. I’ll be careful to keep my own mount well away from you, Madam. He turned back to Welbeloved. “Has young Vere related yet, how we managed to bring these splendid fellows along? No? Well we’ve been following in your footsteps, or more correctly perhaps, following a trail of broken bridges and unhappy Frogs.
You did such a good job on the last one that they’re still trying to repair it and there was no way through for us. It was while we were looking for a road round the blockage, that we came upon a couple of Diego cavalry fellows who were keeping an eye on the Frenchies themselves. They led us off through the mountains to meet up with this collection of remnants; all that remains of the cavalry of the army of Galicia, after Ney whipped them at Durango.
There’s over two hundred of them, but less than a hundred horses between them. Like practically everyone else in Spain, they’ve heard of the Brown Hornets and were only too eager to help us find you. Demned enthusiastic, all of them. Impossi
ble to hold them back when we saw what was happening.” He gazed round at the carnage spread out before them. “Egad Welbeloved, I’m almighty relieved you’re on our side. It looks as though the Frogs have been trying conclusions with a battalion at least.”
Welbeloved nodded. “Creatures of habit, Major. Attacking in column has been so successful up to now that they’ve come to think it’s the answer to everything. Wellesley had the solution at Vimeiro, and my Fergusons have done the same here. Concentrated fire on the head of the column and they can only take so much before they break. Fortunate for us that they did so. If they’d used their voltigeurs as they were meant to be used, we’d still have done a lot of damage, but they’d have been too many for us. However, Tasselot ain’t going to leave matters there. They’ll be here in force before long and we’d better be moving to somewhere where they’ll not be able to find us. What I’d like yew to do is to persuade yor new friends to join us. There are about thirty fit horses already from this affair, and I think we can guarantee to have the rest of them mounted again in the next few days. We’ll insist that the French contribute some of theirs.”
Anstruthers laughed delightedly. “M’dear fellow, with the reputation your men have built up, they’d be begging to be allowed to join you. You can see how enthusiastic they are and they’re burning to prove that they can stand up to the French, and perhaps win for a change.”
He was right; the Spanish horsemen were exultant that they had been asked to fight with Welbeloved’s fabled force. The only difficulty was persuading them that the small number that had defended the little valley was the complete force. The legend that had improved with the telling, had convinced them that there was at least a regiment of Hornets.
Everyone worked hard collecting the wounded together, rounding up stray horses and collecting muskets, ammunition and equipment. The Spanish would have been happy to have killed all the prisoners, as they had no way of keeping them. Welbeloved managed to talk them out of this bloodthirsty plan. Instead, as before, he had them stripped to their shirts and sent off back towards their army. It was a calculated gesture of contempt for the French and humiliation for the men, but it would soon get around that soldiers who surrendered would at least have their lives spared.
As a final act before moving out, the Condesa touched a light to the fuses still in position under the bridge and everyone cheered as the arches erupted then collapsed into the river. A final gesture of defiance to the advancing French.
It was dusk when they reached the camp set up by the Spaniards. This was some two miles off the main coastal road, up in the foothills in a pleasant valley, nicely sheltered from the worst of the winter weather. Welbeloved looked the area over and selected a site for his men, not too far away from the Spanish camp, but on a rise flanked by a stream and a screen of trees. It had become second nature to choose the best defensive spot available.
As soon as his men began to prepare their camp, he had Trelawney laid on blankets and with a lantern borrowed from the Spaniards to give light, he removed the rough bandages from his face and examined the gaping wound. The Condesa was holding Trelawney’s head while they studied the gash, which was some six inches long, running from the middle of his forehead to the corner of his mouth. She was looking pale under her bruises, but controlled her emotions as she watched Welbeloved’s calm assessment.
He glanced up at her. “It’s not very pleasant, but I’ve seen many worse. The important thing is, I’m going to have to stitch the edges together. It’ll help it to heal, and if I’m careful, he’ll be almost as pretty as he was before. Can yew have a look and see what thread Isabella has with her?” He raised his voice. “Sergeant MacKay!” the sergeant appeared out of the gloom. “Sergeant, do yew still have any of that Spanish fire-water yew bought? If so, bring me enough to soak some thread. I’m going to practice my needlework.”
Both the Condesa and MacKay were back in seconds and Welbeloved grunted with satisfaction when he found some silk thread in Isabella’s case. He laid a length of it in a shallow bowl and poured a generous helping of raw spirit over, leaving it to soak while he selected the sharpest needle he could find.
Kneeling at Trelawney’s head, he examined the gash minutely. “I reckon yew’ve been very lucky Trelawney. It’s a nice neat slash that would have taken yor eye out if it had been an inch either way. I’m going to try and bring it together so that it’ll heal better, and hopefully leave yew with only a handsome looking scar on yor ugly face. Yew’ll have to hold very still though. Don’t make me poke yor eye out with the needle.”
Trelawney looked apprehensive but managed a grin. “I’ll be still as a corpse, zur. Just you get on an’ do what you ‘as to do.”
Welbeloved clamped his head between his thighs. “Condesa! Will yew kneel as close as yew can and press the edges of the wound together, so that I can get the needle through and hold them in position? I’m going to start at his forehead and work downwards.”
She did exactly as he asked, kneeling facing him and placing her hands firmly on either side of Trelawney’s forehead. As she pressed the edges of the gash together, forcing a ridge of flesh to stand proud, Welbeloved deftly pushed the needle through, over and through again, working steadily down to the bridge of the nose, where he tied off the thread.
The eyebrow ridge had prevented a deep penetration close to the eye, and he started again at the cheekbone and worked quickly down the malleable flesh to the mouth, tying off above his chin. He then took a rag and swabbed the length of the wound with the spirit, causing a quick intake of breath from Trelawney.
Standing up and then crouching beside the Condesa, they both inspected critically the results of his handiwork. Trelawney wriggled with embarrassment at being the centre of such close attention, but the transformation was an enormous improvement and she exclaimed delightedly. “When that has healed, Trelawney, you’ll be proud to show your face and the scar you got in battle. All the girls will want to know how you got it.” She took Welbeloved’s arm and he helped her to her feet. “You are a man of considerable talents, Captain. You seem to be able to turn your hand to anything.”
He remembered her reaction to his reply on the last occasion she had praised him, and struggled to find words that wouldn’t appear to reject her compliment, but at the same time avoid all possibility of appearing boastful, an attribute in others that he disliked intensely.
“Over the years, Condesa, I’ve had to patch up one or two friends. They always seemed to get into scrapes when there was no surgeon available, and as a lad, I saw some remarkable healing done by the wise men of the Indian tribes in America.”
She placed her hand on his arm as they strolled towards the fires, where food was already being cooked. Do you realise Captain, that that is the first thing you have ever told me about yourself? Your men never stop talking about you, but you yourself have never said a word. I begin to fear that it is myself that has given offence in some way, such that you do not wish to talk to me. I pray that it is not so. I would be terribly upset not to have your good opinion.”
He stopped, thankful that the darkness hid his flushed face. “Yew could not forfeit that Condesa. I have never met anyone for whom I have a higher regard. Why, the courage and fortitude yew have shown is an example to us all. I can’t find words to say how much the men admire yew. It goes way beyond mere admiration. They really idolise yew.”
Gently she squeezed his arm. “Thankyou for that, Captain. I think you exaggerate, but it is not the opinions of others that I seek; even others that I admire as much as your men. It is your regard that I value most. I know I am being too bold and forward for a woman, but I have never met a man before, for whose opinion I cared a fig. Now I am like a little girl, striving to please and desperate for a word of praise from her parents.
There was elation, a deep joy welling up. He clasped both her hands and drew her close. “Condesa, I didn’t dare hope! I feel so –”
A figure loomed out of the darkness. “Welbelove
d! Condesa! I’ve been searching for you. We really have to meet the Spanish officers to let them introduce themselves and decide on the terms of our co-operation. Can you come now?”
Welbeloved swore under his breath and moved guiltily apart from the Condesa, though still retaining one of her hands. “Very well Major. I’m sure this would be a good time to become acquainted. Don Pedro and Lord Vere had better be present as well. Shall we go, Condesa?”
As they walked towards the Spanish camp, she kept her hand firmly on his arm and half-whispered. “My name is Mercedes, Joshua. My parents used to call me Mercy.”
CHAPTER 18
Half-a-dozen Spanish officers rose to their feet to greet them and Anstruthers made the introductions. The French must have given them a severe mauling, as they appeared to be the survivors of a dozen different regiments, with as many different coloured uniforms. Though better dressed than their men, they still showed signs of hard campaigning, with worn and patched tunics, faded and bleached by wind and rain.
The fighting must have taken its toll of their seniors too. The young man commanding was no more than twenty-two or three, and a captain of hussars, with three lieutenants and two junior officers, who would probably have been called cornets in the British army. The last two looked no more than sixteen years old, but their experiences over the last few months had given them an air of authority well beyond their years.
Captain Torreblanco explained how their army had been broken by Ney’s veterans, and how his own regiment had been cut to pieces, attacking a battery of guns, protected by infantry. No more than a dozen had survived as far as he knew, and he had gathered them together as they retreated before the French.
In the three weeks since then, they had been joined by other soldiers, mostly cavalrymen, but some of them infantry too. There were now two hundred men camped around them, all of them anxious to continue the fight, but despairing of any effective way to do so. Until today, they had one musket for every two men and ninety horses between all of them. Now, at least three-quarters of them were armed, one hundred and thirty of them could be mounted, and there were many spare sets of saddles and harness just needing horses to put under them.
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