A Despite of Hornets

by Geoffrey Watson

  Tasselot drew himself up stiffly with indignation. “You are allowing your imagination to embellish certain consequences of war Madame. Fighting soldiers are taught to kill other soldiers, and sometimes non-combatants get caught up in the fighting and get hurt. What you are suggesting is not possible. My soldiers are not saints, but anyone committing such acts would be court-martialed and shot, and I would personally preside over the court.”

  The Condesa was now very angry and was about to deliver a furious outburst. Welbeloved decided it was time he took a hand before the argument became really seriously acrimonious. He raised his powerful voice. “That is quite enough from all of yew.” He glared at the General and continued in poor French. “You will do me the honour of listening to what I have to say, and then we will eat our breakfast like civilised people.” He paused and stared Tasselot down, then resumed. “Every single one of the atrocities that the Condesa has just mentioned, has been carried out in the last four weeks by French soldiers under the command of your Colonel Roussillon.”

  Tasselot’s face was scarlet and he opened his mouth as if to protest. Welbeloved raised his voice, a voice that had been trained to make itself heard above an Atlantic storm, and the General remained silent. “There are survivors who can testify to the truth of these statements. There is no denying that they occurred. It was savage, uncivilised, unnecessary and stupid. Stupid because it has changed the people of this land into active and implacable enemies of your nation. People who will come down from their mountains and kill any Frenchman they find who has strayed from the protection of your armies.

  It was stupid also, because the comrades of the boy who was tortured to death to make him reveal where we were, have now been converted from a beaten rabble, to a fighting force united by a hatred of the French. They have already routed many more than their own numbers, when you have presumed to send them against them.”

  He paused to draw breath and none of the Frenchmen offered any reply, all of them looking shocked at the enormity of the charges. He resumed more quietly. “In spite of all this, I am determined that you will be extended all the usual courtesies due to prisoners of your rank. Now, I suggest that this subject should remain closed from now on and we will try and do justice to the food set before us.”

  Everyone was ravenously hungry, so they sat down and ate. They ate in gloomy silence however, and Welbeloved was relieved when the meal was over and the prisoners escorted to their room. With his own experience of past incarceration, he had personally selected their room. There was a grill across the window to discourage entry by thieves. This would be equally effective in denying exit for the prisoners, and with a guard outside their locked door, he felt that they were reasonably secure. The hostile reaction of the crowd when they came in was another good reason for staying where they were. They were more than likely to be hanged from the nearest tree if they were found unescorted outside the inn walls.

  His prisoners were once more under guard and with a substantial breakfast inside him, Welbeloved felt more relaxed than he had been for weeks. The capture of the French officers had struck another decisive blow against the enemy, which he was confident would delay their advance by at least another day and the loss of three out of their four commanders meant that they would have to form an entirely new chain of command. No doubt Roussillon would be aware of the principal points of Tasselot’s orders, but would have to search for the documents themselves and then interpret and carry them out in his own way. New orders would have to be issued to all the various regiments, squadrons and companies, and it would all take time.

  In the meantime, Anstruthers and his men would be unlikely to rendezvous here until this evening at the earliest. The Hornets now had a whole day to relax and rest in comfortable surroundings. Tomorrow, he would take the prisoners, together with the Condesa, Don Pedro and Anstruthers and sail for La Coruña. He would be surprised if there was no vessel there to carry the Marqués and Mercedes to England, together with the precious regalia.

  That would satisfy the conditions of the orders that he had been given, and would enable him to alert the authorities at the port to the approach of Roussillon and the army. There was every chance that he and Anstruthers between them could persuade whoever was in command there to find enough troops to contain this threat to Sir John’s line of retreat and escape.

  He was still preoccupied with his thoughts and plans as he walked back down the stairs and into the saloon, where the Condesa was in animated conversation with a corpulent, bald and florid little man, who had obviously donned his best clothes to come calling. He groaned inwardly. He recognised the type and knew immediately and instinctively that his day of rest and relaxation was over.

  His expression must have given away his thoughts to Mercedes. There was a wicked twinkle in her eye as she shepherded the visitor towards him. She made the introduction in English. “Captain Welbeloved, allow me to name Señor Salazar, who is the Alcalde of this town.” Welbeloved bowed stiffly and murmured a conventional, “Yor servant, Señor.” The little man bobbed awkwardly in return and flashed a nervous smile.

  The Condesa continued. “The Señor Alcalde is the Mayor and chief magistrate, and has called to welcome the gallant Captain and the famous Brown Hornets to Gijon.” The Alcalde bobbed his head again and smiled at the mention of his town, then listened gravely as the Condesa went on, nodding his head at every word he recognised.

  She kept her face straight. “In reality, Joshua, he is having nightmares. He knows that the French are only a few miles away and he’s worried sick in case they come here and take revenge on the town for allowing us to stay. He wants to know if we will be stopping long. On the other hand, he realises that his fellow citizens are violently anti-French and want to demonstrate the fact.”

  He shrugged sympathetically. “In his position, I dare say I would be asking the same questions. Yew’d better tell him that we’re expecting a couple of hundred of his own cavalry very shortly, after which we’ll all be leaving.”

  While she translated, he followed her explanation without difficulty; impressed once more at the diplomatic way she expressed herself. The Alcalde was fawning on her by the time she finished and they both listened to his enthusiastic invitation to him, to bring the Condesa and his officers to a banquet in his honour.

  To his surprise, she seemed quite enthusiastic. “I think it would be greatly appreciated, Joshua, if you accepted. It might help to encourage the local people to carry on the struggle against the French after your forces have left. We should hearten them as much as we can I think, and I can tell them stories about your successes that will make them more determined never to submit to Napoleon.

  Apart from that,” she added impishly, “the food they serve in this area is renowned throughout Spain, and they will excel themselves to honour the Hornets.”

  He looked at them both gravely and said with a straight face. “In that case tell Don Salazar that we accept with pleasure. I cannot have it on my conscience that I would force yew to go to bed hungry.”

  She grinned and accepted the invitation, sending the Alcalde scuttling away to make his preparations, but not before Welbeloved had a private word in his ear demanding that the dinner should be in honour of the fighting Condesa. Then she turned back to him. “As a punishment for being so ungallant, I insist you escort me into the town. There is certain to be a dress shop that will make something for me in a hurry. I am proud to wear this uniform, but if the gallant English Captain is to escort the Condesa de Alba y Hachenburg to a banquet, she would wish him to escort a lady and not a soldier.”

  Welbeloved gave way gracefully. The only problem was that as soon as they left the sanctuary of the inn, the citizens of Gijon gathered in excited groups to stare at them, applaud them and try to speak to them. If Welbeloved and his men were now a Spanish equivalent of Robin Hood, then the tale had spread and the Condesa was cast firmly in the role of Maid Marian. They paid more attention to the slim figure striding along beside
him than they did to Welbeloved himself. He saw them pointing to her bruised face and heard cries of “La Condesa Valerosa.”

  Eventually, they pushed their way as far as an establishment that had been recommended by the innkeeper’s wife and were received like royalty by the proprietor, who put the whole of his staff to work immediately and would not even discuss the question of payment.

  Valorous or not, it soon became obvious that the Condesa was going to be lost to the rest of the human race for several hours. Welbeloved made his apologies and fled, promising faithfully to return at noon to escort her back to the inn. Vere was missing, having taken a small party to reconnoitre the approaches to the town and to make sure that no forage parties of Frenchmen should catch them unawares.

  Bennett was hovering around however, and persuaded him to strip off his soiled tunic and don his best one. The rifleman had made the best uses of the facilities at the inn and the uniform was pressed and clean. It was amazing how much better he felt, once he knew he was looking presentable again. Bennett departed, muttering, to work over the wreck of his discarded tunic and Welbeloved set out to collect the Condesa.

  They were still deeply involved in discussions of style and fashion and he strolled round the little plaza, killing time until she was ready. The Spanish skipper had been correct. It was a beautiful Spring-like day, with many of the fruit trees already in blossom and filling the air with a heady scent; such a contrast with the cold and frigid countryside through which they had been travelling, and which the retreating British army, no doubt was still enduring; if it had managed to escape annihilation by Napoleon’s cohorts.

  The patrón of the hostelry in the corner of the plaza had taken advantage of the warmth of the sun and had set out several tables and chairs outside his establishment. Many were already occupied, and as the enthusiastic attentions of the citizens were now more moderate, Welbeloved allowed himself to succumb to temptation. He took a seat where he could relax in the sun, drink a cool glass of wine and still keep an eye on the dress shop across the plaza.

  The clients who were already seated, stood and applauded when he selected his table, and he acknowledged their acclaim with a slight bow, a brief movement of his head and shoulders that put him in mind of the disdainful acknowledgement of applause made by a very superior actor, at the end of a play he had once seen in London. He grinned to himself at the thought. Unlike the actor, he was not happy in his role as a celebrity. He quickly tired of the plaudits of the groundlings.

  It was so pleasant, sitting with the warm sun on his face, that he relaxed completely, letting his eyelids droop and his mind wander. He was strolling along a grassy bank by a quietly flowing stream, with Mercedes on his arm. His daughter was trotting along holding onto his other hand and he smiled at the Condesa, whose face suddenly changed to that of his dead wife. Then they all vanished and he heard a voice calling.

  “Señor, por favor. Señor Capitano Inglés!” he opened his eyes and focussed them on an enormous, curly black moustache, under a large hooked nose and a pair of bright eyes, flashing below a tall black shako. He shook himself fully awake and the voice lost its urgency. “A thousand pardons for disturbing you, Señor, but might I beg a little of your time to talk with you? Permit me to introduce myself. Capitano Jose Montosa, at your service, Señor.”

  Welbeloved rose to his feet and returned Montosa’s salute, realising at the same time that his eyes were level with the top of the Spaniard’s shako. He waved him to take a seat. “Your servant Señor. Perhaps I can press you to a glass of this most refreshing wine?”

  Montosa licked his lips as he sat down. “A glass would indeed be welcome, Señor, but you are in my country and therefore my guest.” He signalled for the patrón to fetch two more glasses and removed his shako revealing a head of jet-black hair. It was a combination with his bright yellow tunic that put Welbeloved in mind of a black-headed bunting, a little canary-yellow bird with a black head that had been common in the olive groves of Turkey and Greece. The way he nodded his head to emphasise his words enhanced the similarity, and Welbeloved had to force his face to remain impassive.

  The Spaniard took a long pull at his wine and started diffidently. “I am aware Señor, that there is a French army approaching from the east. I have also heard your Avispónes and some of our own cavalry have been fighting them?” He said it in a tone of voice that was asking a question.

  Welbeloved agreed. “Your information is correct, Captain. Napoleon has detached five thousand men to try and capture La Coruña and prevent the withdrawal of the British forces. I have been doing my best to hinder them and have been helped by some two hundred of your cavalry.”

  Montosa pulled at his moustache. “That is not a great number Señor. Tales have been told of many fights, where you and your men have beaten the French and yet still they advance. It is said that you have many hundreds of men, but as you agree, the French have thousands. I cannot understand how you can fight thousands with only hundreds.”

  Welbeloved had had enough of this probing. “We have had a certain limited success, Señor, but I am waiting to see the relevance of this conversation, to the matter you appear so anxious to discuss with me.”

  The Spaniard was not put out. “Ah yes, you English are noted for being very direct. I will therefore tell you Señor; I was trying to discover how many of the stories are true before I committed myself to any action. I want to fight the French, Señor. My men want to fight the French, but we are less than five hundred, and they beat us at Durango and Reinosa. I was hoping that, if everything I have heard is true, we could join you and fight side by side against the invader.”

  “I see.” Welbeloved had caught sight of the Condesa at the entrance to the shop. He stood up. “Perhaps you would care to walk with me Señor? I have to escort a young lady back to the inn. I think I would like my second-in-command to listen to what you have to say.”

  He strode across the square with Montosa almost trotting alongside. The Condesa was back in uniform and Welbeloved performed the introductions, feeling faintly irritated by now at the standard reaction of open mouth and bulging eyes, to her unconventional appearance. In this case, the fact that she overtopped him by at least six inches, made his reaction seem little short of ridiculous.

  Mercedes however, took it all in her stride, slipped her arm through his and chattered lightly and brightly all the way back to the inn. Her new gown, it appeared, would be ready in time for the banquet and would be delivered to the inn in three or four hour’s time. Vere was back from his reconnaissance. He reported no French activity and they sat down to listen to what Montosa had to say.

  The little man repeated what he had told Welbeloved and reluctantly recounted the story of their defeats by the French. Their army had been beaten, but the remnants of two regiments of professional soldiers had disengaged in relatively good order and retreated westwards, hoping to join up with other units.

  Unfortunately, any other units that had escaped had retreated towards the British army and were on the other side of the mountains. This left Montosa and his men isolated, and they were marching back to Galicia by easy stages when they heard of the approaching French force, and the rumours of fighting which had sped on ahead, embellished further each time they had been repeated.

  At the moment, they were camped in the foothills about fifteen miles south-west of Oviedo, with nearly three hundred infantry and over half that number of light infantry, all commanded by a Major Herrero. They also had a dozen artillerymen and their light six-pounder cannon, although only enough powder and shot for three discharges. Shortage of powder and shot was also a problem for the infantry. Fifty men were without muskets altogether and the others had ammunition for less than ten rounds.

  All in all, Welbeloved mused; they seemed to be more of a liability than a welcome addition to his force. The Condesa had been interpreting for Vere’s benefit and judging from his expression, he seemed to be of the same opinion. Welbeloved spoke in English. “We know n
othing about the quality of these men, except that they are said to be professionals and have experienced two battles, from which they have managed to withdraw, while still retaining most of their weapons.

  Nevertheless, I think we should try and use them, but keep them mobile. Let the French go past and then harass their rear. I don’t have to explain how. Yew’ll just have to bear in mind that they’re not riflemen and keep them out of situations where they can’t cope. I’ll put Anstruthers in overall command with yew as his second. I’m sailing for La Coruña with the Condesa and Don Pedro and I’ll try and find some troops to send against the Frogs. If nothing else, I ought to be able to find some muskets, powder and shot to re-arm the Spaniards. Anything yew don’t agree with so far?”

  “No sir. Providing the Diegos agree, I think we can keep the Frogs occupied; but where will we rendezvous when you get back?”

  “One of the ports on the coast road out of Asturias, before yew reach Galicia, but we’ll decide where and when as soon as Anstruthers gets here.”

  He turned back to Montosa and watched his face light up when he explained what he was prepared to do. Within minutes, the little captain was mounted and on his way to give the news to his commander, and arrange to bring him to meet Anstruthers in the morning.

  CHAPTER 26

  The little fishing boat tacked into the harbour at La Coruña. Welbeloved stood by the tiller with the Condesa by his side and gazed at the tangle of masts. To the landsman, the sight would have shown a busy port filled with dozens of vessels. To Welbeloved’s seaman’s eye it told a different story. Was it possible that he had been wrong all along? Was the British army overwhelmed or in retreat to Portugal?