The Fields of Death

by Scarrow, Simon

  Arthur’s eyes widened. ‘By God, man, are you quite mad? Of course not. We have a common enemy, that is all. I command this army, not Cuesta. That we are here in the Peninsula is down to the pursuit of the British interest in this war. At present it suits us to assist the Spanish, but we have written them no blank cheque. On that account you can rest assured.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Somerset looked relieved.

  ‘Now then, the interruption is over.’ Arthur gestured to the paperwork on the table. ‘Come, let us finish this and get some rest. I suspect we will need it sorely in the days to come.’

  Arthur sat in his saddle in silence. Behind him the thirty dragoons of his escort were halted, under strict orders not to make a sound as they waited in the darkness for the Spanish guide to return. He had reached the army in the morning, presenting his credentials from General O’Donoju, and been escorted into Arthur’s presence. The guide was a young peasant, dressed in a crude jerkin and filthy shirt and trousers. He wore a straw sun hat and rode on a mule which was accompanied by a swirling cloud of insects. The boy spoke only a few words of English and Arthur had been obliged to summon one of his Castilian-speaking staff officers to interpret. Despite promising that he could take Arthur to the fort, the youth had lost his way at dusk and the small party had been led up one path after another into the hills, before backtracking and trying yet another. The map that Arthur had brought with him was useless, with little reliable detail beyond the course of the river and the towns and villages lining the route to Madrid.

  There was a sudden scrape of gravel on the track ahead and Arthur felt his muscles tense. His mount sensed the change and raised its head, ears twitching. The sound came again, stopped, and then a low voice sounded from the shadows.

  ‘English . . . English, where you?’

  Arthur felt the tension drain from his muscles as swiftly as it had come. ‘Here!’

  The guide clicked his tongue and flicked a cane on his mule’s rump as he came forward and then reined in a short distance from Arthur.

  ‘I find the fort! You come. This way.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Come, come.’

  Arthur held up his hand to stop the guide and turned back to the column. ‘Lieutenant, I’d be obliged if you translated.’

  When the dragoon officer had joined him Arthur nodded towards the guide.‘Ask him if he is certain he has found the right path this time.’

  There was a brief exchange before the lieutenant turned back to Arthur.‘He says it is. He also says that General Cuesta is not pleased that you failed to arrive at the appointed time.’

  ‘Really? Perhaps if he had provided us with a proper guide instead of this halfwit then I would have been there long ago . . . No, don’t translate that, you fool. Just tell him to lead us to the fort without any further delay.’

  The youth beckoned to Arthur and turned his mule back up the track and Arthur hurriedly spurred his horse into a walk before he could lose sight of the guide. The track wound its way between two hills and then began to climb a steep incline. At length Arthur could see a glow at the top of the slope above them and then, as the track evened out, he saw the walls of an old fort ahead of them, brilliantly illuminated by the torches that flickered along the battlements. As the guide led them towards the gate Arthur could see that a company of soldiers had formed up on either side of the track, muskets resting on shoulders as they waited. A figure on horseback sat before the gate, watching and waiting. He shouted an order over his shoulder and there was further commotion within the fort as men hurried to take up their places. Arthur recognised the officer as General O’Donoju and offered a salute as he rode up.

  O’Donoju’s sword rasped from his scabbard and the men of what Arthur realised was an honour guard shuffled one foot out and presented their muskets to greet the English general.

  Arthur bowed his head to either side and then smiled at O’Donoju. ‘My thanks for such a fine greeting.’

  The Spaniard shrugged. ‘His excellency gave the order to welcome you formally, some five hours ago.’

  Arthur took a sharp breath. ‘And I would have been here five hours ago if I had been provided with a guide who knew the route.’ Arthur gestured to the boy, who smiled uncertainly as the two officers conversed in English.

  O’Donoju glanced at the boy. ‘He claimed to know the area well enough. He lied and I’ll have him flogged.’

  ‘There’s no need for that. The fault is with the man who hired him.’

  The Spaniard stiffened indignantly before he replied. ‘I will punish all those I hold responsible, señor. Now, if you would follow me I will take you into the presence of his excellency.’

  Without waiting for a reply he wheeled his thin mount round and trotted through the gate into the fort, while Arthur led his escort between the ranks of the Spanish soldiers. He examined them closely by the flickering light cast by the torches on the wall. They seemed to know their drill well enough, but they looked lean and hungry and their uniforms were worn and dirty and the barrels and bayonets of many of the muskets were spotted with rust.

  The horses’ hooves echoed off the walls of the arched gateway and then Arthur emerged into the courtyard of the fort. Three sides of the paved area were lined with ranks of soldiers, save for a gap directly opposite the gate where steps climbed up to the inner keep. In front of the steps stood a crowd of gaudily uniformed officers, and before them a large, very overweight officer sat on a horse. His uniform coat seemed to be so smothered with bejewelled decorations, ribbons and gold lace that Arthur wondered how his horse could endure such a burden. Two men stood either side of the horse, firmly grasping the rider’s boots, and Arthur realised that they were there to hold him in place and stop him toppling out of his saddle.

  An order was shouted and the soldiers stamped to attention and presented their muskets. A quick glance showed that these men were in the same sorry condition as those outside the gate. Arthur gestured to the lieutenant to halt the escort and then continued across the courtyard alone, stopping his horse a short distance in front of the other man. O’Donoju had wheeled his horse round and stood by his commander’s side, ready to interpret.

  Arthur cleared his throat. ‘I am Sir Arthur Wellesley, commander of his majesty’s army in the Peninsula. I take it that I am addressing his excellency General Cuesta?’

  The man nodded his heavy jowls and spoke curtly.

  ‘His excellency wants to know why you are late, Sir Arthur,’ said O’Donoju.

  ‘You know why, but just tell his excellency that we lost our way in the dark.’

  Cuesta’s lips lifted in a slight sneer as he spoke to his interpreter.

  ‘His excellency trusts that you will not make a habit of leading your men in the wrong direction.’

  ‘Assure him that it will not happen again, and that I hope that we might both lead our men in the direction of victory from now on.’

  The answer seemed to gratify the old officer, who Arthur guessed must be in his sixties at least. He muttered to O’Donoju and then growled an order at the two men propping him up. At once they began to help him down from his saddle with much grunting of effort as O’Donoju bowed to Arthur.

  ‘His excellency will wait for you in his office, while you are introduced to his staff.’

  Arthur glanced at the crowd of officers. ‘What? All of them?’

  O’Donoju smiled and waved Arthur towards the first of the waiting men. As General Cuesta was manhandled up the steps and into the keep Arthur began exchanging bows with a series of colonels and generals, each of whom was laden down with long lists of titles and honours. Arthur endured it for a while before he leaned towards O’Donoju and spoke quietly. ‘Look, since the hour is late and there is much to discuss, might we dispense with the full title of each man and just use their name and rank?’

  The Spaniard’s eyebrows knitted for a moment before he replied.‘As you wish, sir. We will abandon the usual courtesies in the interests of brev
ity.’

  Arthur smiled. ‘That would be appreciated.’

  As soon as the last officer had been introduced, Arthur followed his host up the steps and into the keep. When they were shown into General Cuesta’s office Arthur saw that the Spanish commander was sitting propped up on a couch. Before him, spread out across the floor and weighted down with bottles of wine, was a map of Spain. One of Cuesta’s orderlies brought a chair for Arthur and placed it on the opposite side of the map. O’Donoju took up his position beside the couch and translated Cuesta’s first comment.

  ‘His excellency hopes that you were impressed by the men parading in the courtyard. They are the finest battalion in our army.’

  ‘Really? Good God . . .’ Arthur quickly forced a smile. ‘Why yes, as fine a body of men as I have seen in a long time.’

  The comment seemed to be appreciated and Cuesta continued.

  ‘His excellency wishes you to join forces with him and march directly on Madrid.’

  ‘Ah, yes, a most laudable ambition, but surely we must prepare the ground for such an advance? I suggest that before we can even entertain such a notion, it is vital to clear the approaches to Madrid of all enemy forces, in case we are obliged to retreat.’

  Cuesta shook his head.

  ‘His excellency does not agree. He says that we must be bold and strike at the heart of the enemy. He says that a fierce patriotic fire burns in the hearts of our men and it can only be quenched by the blood of Frenchmen.’

  ‘I see. Tell him that I am full of admiration for the patriotic zeal he demonstrates, but such zeal must be tempered by the realities of the situation. My sources tell me that Marshal Victor and his army protect the route to Madrid. It would be wise for us to fall on him while he is outnumbered by our combined strength, would it not?’

  Cuesta considered this for a moment and nodded.

  ‘In which case then, I suggest we join our forces at . . .’Arthur leaned over the map and saw that it was depressingly lacking in detail. The Tagus was marked, together with the road that ran beside it, and a few topographical features. ‘There. At Oropesa, ten days from now. Can his excellency move his army there by the appointed date?’

  ‘Of course. The Spanish army marches as swiftly as any.’

  ‘Delighted to hear it.’ Arthur eased himself back in his chair. ‘Now then, I have been told by the junta at Cadiz that his excellency has been instructed to arrange for my army to be provisioned.’

  Cuesta frowned as Arthur’s words were translated.

  ‘His excellency is not obliged to act on the instructions of the junta.’ said O’Donoju. ‘Nevertheless he will provide your soldiers with whatever is necessary.’

  ‘I am grateful to him. Could you let me know where and when we will receive the supplies?’

  Cuesta raised his hands and shrugged as he responded to O’Donoju.

  ‘His excellency says that his staff officers will deal with the matter. As soon as the supplies are ready a message will be sent to you.’

  Arthur puffed his cheeks.‘It would greatly aid the close co-operation of our armies if I could be given the precise date and time now.’

  ‘That is not possible. But his excellency says that you need not fear going hungry. He gives his word that your needs will be satisfied.’

  Arthur looked levelly at Cuesta for a moment. There was little enough gold in the British army’s war chest. In a matter of days he would be obliged to order a cut in rations. A week on from that there would be nothing to eat. He was depending on Cuesta. If the man had given his word, then that would have to be good enough. After all, what could the Spanish gain from starving their ally?

  ‘Very well. I will advance to Oropesa and meet his excellency there. Meanwhile I will await instructions concerning the supplies you have promised. If that is agreed, then I am afraid I must now depart to re-join my army. We will need to waste no time getting on the road to Oropesa, and victory thereafter.’

  Cuesta nodded, then clicked his fingers.

  ‘His excellency will provide a guide to lead you and your escort back to the main road.’

  Arthur raised a hand. ‘I offer him my thanks, but I am sure we can find our own way.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  Arthur rose from his chair and bowed to Cuesta, who responded with a brief bob of his head, and then turned to leave the room and make his way back outside to the waiting escort. As he strode down the steps Arthur glanced at the Spanish officers and the soldiers lining the courtyard. His heart filled with foreboding at the prospect of cooperating with his allies in the coming campaign to find and crush Marshal Victor.

  Chapter 5

  Oropesa, 21 July 1809

  ‘Not a damn thing!’ Arthur snapped at Somerset as he threw down his riding crop and sat down heavily in his chair. ‘There is not one wagon of supplies, not even one cart. And no remounts for the cavalry, nor spare mules for our own vehicles.’

  He shut his eyes and breathed in deeply to calm his irritation. The two armies had met on the appointed date and Arthur had at once ridden across to the Spanish headquarters to arrange for the distribution of supplies to his men. The army had been on half-rations for two days already and he was determined that they would march to battle with Marshal Victor on full stomachs. General Cuesta and his staff were at lunch when Arthur arrived. Several long tables had been arranged in the shade beneath the boughs of some Mediterranean oak trees. The table was piled with racks of roast mutton, freshly baked bread and bottles of wine. Arthur was ushered to the side of Cuesta, who sat on a large, cushioned seat, jaws working furiously as he hurried to finish his mouthful of meat. General O’Donoju had caught sight of the new arrival and rose from his bench, dabbing at his mouth as he came to interpret for the two commanders.

  Arthur was covered with a fine layer of dust from the road and Cuesta gestured to the nearest bottle as he spoke.

  ‘His excellency says that you must be thirsty after the day’s march. He bids you refresh yourself.’

  ‘Please tell General Cuesta that I thank him for his offer and will have a drink, once he confirms that the supplies he has promised me are ready for my men to collect.’

  O’Donoju did not translate the remark and simply shrugged his shoulders. ‘There are no supplies, sir.’

  ‘No supplies,’ Arthur repeated leadenly. ‘How can this be? General Cuesta gave me his word that the supplies would be here. Where are they?’

  O’Donoju turned to his commander. Cuesta waved his hands dismissively, then stabbed another chunk of mutton with his fork and raised it to his mouth.

  ‘His excellency says that he gave orders to the local mayors for the supplies to be gathered, and that the local people have failed him. He regrets this and suggests that if you supply him with sufficient gold he will see that his best staff officers are sent out to buy what is needed.’

  Arthur glanced round the tables. The men he could see, despite their finery, seemed to be the very last men he would entrust with what remained in the British army’s war chest. He turned back to O’Donoju and shook his head.

  ‘No. I will not pay for what I was promised by my ally. If General Cuesta would have the British as his allies then he is obliged to live up to the obligations of an ally.’ Arthur gestured to the sweep of the Tagus valley as he continued. ‘This is rich farmland. For the last few days we have marched through fields of crops, and orchards filled with fruit. There is more than enough to feed my army here.’

  Cuesta chewed slowly on his fresh mouthful of meat and then made his reply.

  ‘His excellency says that if that is the case, why did your men not help themselves to supplies as they passed through?’

  ‘Because we are not the French,’Arthur replied as evenly as he could. ‘If I permitted my men to forage freely across your lands it would very soon place a terrible strain on the alliance between our two nations.’

  O’Donoju listened to his master’s reply and turned to Arthur. ‘His excellency says that i
f you will not take the trouble to feed yourselves then he does not see why he should do it for you.’

  ‘I will not have my army be seen as some horde of looters. It would be better if General Cuesta demanded that the local landowners hand over what I require. At least that would have the virtue of not turning the local people against us.’

  ‘Sir,’ O’Donoju gestured to the officers around the table. ‘Most of these men are local landowners, or at least they are related to them. They would not countenance offending against their family’s interests.’

  Arthur felt his temper rising dangerously and closed his eyes for a moment to force himself to remain calm. He spoke in a low, hard tone when he continued. ‘Tell him that I am astonished that men could act so selfishly when their nation is threatened by tyranny. Is there no sense of honour amongst the nobles of Spain?’

  O’Donoju was about to translate when Arthur took his arm. ‘No. Don’t bother. It would serve no purpose to impugn the integrity of the general and his staff. I just need to know what is the latest news of Marshal Victor.’

  ‘Victor is not thirty miles from here,’ O’Donoju replied. ‘A short distance to the east of the town of Talavera. He has taken up a defensive position behind one of the tributaries of the Tagus.’

  Arthur felt his heart quicken. ‘Two days’ march. Has he been reinforced yet?’

  ‘No. The garrison of Madrid is still in the capital, or was when we last heard.’

  ‘Then Victor has some twenty thousand men in the field. I have almost the same. What is your present strength?’

  ‘Twenty-eight thousand infantry, and six thousand cavalry.’

  ‘Then we have him, by God!’ Arthur smiled. ‘It is likely that the French do not know that my army is here. If we can strike at Victor before he can retreat, or is reinforced, we can beat him. Tell your general that there is no time to waste. We must march east as soon as possible. We can both attack him on the morning of the twenty-third.’