The Fields of Death

by Scarrow, Simon

  Cuesta heard the translation and thought for a moment before he nodded and made his reply to O’Donoju.

  ‘It is agreed. We will attack Marshal Victor in two days’ time. His excellency says that you may help yourself to the French supplies after the battle is won.’

  Back at his headquarters, in a small barn outside Oropesa, Arthur opened his eyes and glanced towards Somerset. He explained the intention to attack Marshal Victor and called for any maps featuring Talavera and the ground to the east of the town. With the map spread out across his campaign table Arthur stabbed his finger at the line marking the course of the river Alberche.

  ‘There. That’s where he is. That’s where he will be caught by us and our Spanish friends. I want the word passed down to all brigade commanders. We will be engaging the enemy in two days from now. We will outnumber Victor by nearly three to one. Have the men told that they will no longer have to tighten their belts once we have captured the enemy’s supplies. I’m sure that will please them.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Somerset nodded. ‘Provided that Marshal Victor holds his ground and does not decide to retreat.’

  ‘Why should he?’ Arthur smiled. ‘At the moment he assumes that he is faced by General Cuesta. I’m sure that Victor considers his twenty thousand more than a match for Cuesta’s thirty. He will welcome a battle. With luck he has no idea that we have added our strength to Cuesta’s. I think Marshal Victor may be in for the surprise of his life.’

  ‘I hope you are right, sir,’ Somerset replied. ‘For I fear that if we do not take Victor’s supplies then our men may well starve before they ever see Madrid.’

  A thin sliver of moon hung in the star-speckled night sky and by its wan light Arthur surveyed the lines of his men, visible as the more uniform features in a landscape composed of little more than dark shades. The only spark of colour came from the sprinkling of camp fires on the far side of the Alberche river that marked the French picket line. Arthur felt a warm satisfaction in his heart that they had succeeded in closing on Marshal Victor without his being aware of the danger. Perhaps he had misjudged his Spanish allies, Arthur reflected. Following the meeting at Oropesa the two armies had advanced in parallel and made good time in their approach to the enemy position. As night had fallen, Arthur had led the British forward the last few miles to take up position opposite the enemy’s right flank. At the same time, General Cuesta would advance towards the opposite flank and make his headquarters at a small inn at Salcidas. Both armies should be in position by two in the morning and Arthur had conceded the honour of opening the attack to Cuesta. Three guns would be the signal for the attack to begin.

  There was the clop of hooves as Somerset came up to report.‘All our men are in position, sir. The guns are deployed to cover the fords and General Hill sends his compliments and says the Second Division are champing at the bit.’

  Arthur smiled. ‘Very good.’ He took out his watch, raised it close to his face and squinted to make out the hands. ‘Just after midnight. Send a message to Cuesta and tell him we are ready and waiting for his signal. Make sure that he confirms his army is in position. I don’t want our men to be facing Marshal Victor’s army on our own.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Oh, and tell him that all Spain will rejoice in today’s victory and that the name of Cuesta will be remembered for ever in the hearts of his people.’

  Somerset was silent for a moment. ‘Isn’t that a bit vainglorious, sir?’

  ‘Of course, but if it helps to spur the old man into action then it’s worth it.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll send the message at once.’

  ‘Thank you, Somerset.’

  When his aide had left him Arthur again surveyed the lines of his men, and once more he recalled the ground he had seen late in the afternoon, when he had ridden forward in a plain brown coat and broad-brimmed hat to inspect the lie of the land. Leaving his small escort out of sight in a small grove of olive trees he had approached the bank of the river and casually trotted along its length to the junction with the Tagus. The French sentries on the far side had watched him, but paid no great attention to the lone horseman. Once he had identified the location of some of the fords, as well as the best routes to approach them without being detected, Arthur returned to the army and drew up his plan of attack.

  Now, in the cool night air, all was calm and still. It was hard to believe that nearly twenty thousand men were poised to fight. At the moment they would be sitting in their companies, with their unloaded muskets at their sides. There was no talking as the order had been given for them to wait in complete silence so as not to alert the enemy as to their presence. The corporals and sergeants paced quietly up and down the lines ready to pounce on any man who uttered a word. Elsewhere the cavalry would be standing by their mounts, and aside from the odd scuffle of hooves and faint whinny, they too waited in quiet anticipation. The gunners, still hot and sweaty from their effort to wheel the guns into place as noiselessly as they could manage, stacked their ammunition a short distance from their cannon and carefully loaded the first round. Most men found the waiting intolerable, as every faint sound and movement of a shadow seemed threatening, and wore away at their nerves. Only a handful of fatalistic veterans, and a small number of men who had managed to suppress their nerves through surreptitious consumption of spirits, waited calmly.

  Half an hour had passed when Arthur next checked his watch. With a click of his tongue he turned his horse to his right flank and made his way down the line, pausing every so often to exchange a quiet greeting with one of his officers and offer them a few words of encouragement. There was still no sign of the orderly who had been sent to find General Cuesta by the time Arthur reached the end of his battle line. He stopped his horse and strained his eyes to try to detect any sign of movement from the direction of Salcidas, but there was not enough light to make out anything more than the vaguest detail.

  ‘Damn, where is he?’ Arthur muttered. ‘Has the fool lost his way, I wonder?’

  ‘I doubt that, sir,’ Somerset replied. ‘I chose a good man to deliver the message. Cornet Davidson was confident he knew the ground well enough.’ He paused a moment. ‘It’s possible that General Cuesta may not have reached his position.’

  Arthur turned to his aide. ‘By God, I hope you’re wrong. General Cuesta would have to be a consummate fool to let such an opportunity come to naught.’

  He was about to continue when both men heard a distant clop of hooves and they turned to stare into the night. A figure on horseback emerged from the shadows.

  ‘Ours?’ Somerset whispered.

  ‘Only one way to tell,’ Arthur replied. He cleared his throat and called out, ‘Halt. Who goes there?’

  The other rider reined in and hurriedly responded. ‘Cornet Davidson, of the Light Dragoons.’

  ‘Davidson, come here, man!’ Arthur called back.

  The cornet spurred his horse forward and a moment later he reined in before his commander and saluted.

  ‘Did you find Cuesta?’

  ‘No, sir. I looked for him at Salcidas, but there was no one there, not even one of his advance patrols. So I tracked across the route he should be taking for a mile, perhaps two, and still saw no sign of him, sir. That’s when I decided I had better report back to you.’

  Arthur’s jaw tightened with frustration. Where the hell was the Spanish army? By this time they should have completed deploying for their attack. He lowered his head for a moment and thought. Even if Cuesta was still moving up towards Salcidas he could not possibly be ready for at least another three hours. That would mean delaying the attack until four in the morning. It would still be dark then, and there was still a chance of surprising Marshal Victor’s men in their camp. Arthur looked up.

  ‘Davidson, I want you to go back and try to find Cuesta. Tell him that I have decided to delay the attack until four. He is still to give the signal we agreed on. Make sure that he understands the urgency with which he must act if we are to succ
eed.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Davidson nodded.

  ‘Off you go then.’

  Davidson turned his mount and spurred it into a trot as he headed off in search of the Spanish army.

  Somerset let out a weary sigh.‘Our Spanish friends are proving to be somewhat unreliable, sir.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Arthur was furious, and it took some effort to keep his tone neutral as he continued. ‘There are times when one might think that they actually pose more of a danger to us than the French do. Anyway, we are where we are, Somerset. We must return to the army and pass the word for the men to stand down for a few hours. I need them alert and fresh for when the fighting starts.’

  They made their way back to the flank of the British army, and were challenged by the pickets before passing on and returning to the command post behind the centre of the British line. As they arrived an officer hurried up to Arthur and saluted.

  ‘Sir, we have visitors. General O’Donoju and some of his staff are waiting for you, down by the headquarters tent.’

  Arthur turned to look down the hillock into the small depression where a handful of lamps glimmered, hidden from French view.‘Did he explain why he is here?’

  ‘No, sir. I asked, but he said his message was for you, and not your underlings.’

  ‘He said that?’ Arthur shook his head. ‘Come, Somerset.’

  They continued down the slope to the tent and dismounted alongside the Spanish horses being held by some of Arthur’s orderlies. O’Donoju was waiting inside, with four of his officers. He rose to his feet when he saw Arthur and bowed his head.

  ‘It is a pleasure to see you again, General Wellesley.’

  ‘Where is Cuesta?’ Arthur cut in. ‘He should have been at Salcidas hours ago.’

  O’Donoju frowned at the informal use of his superior’s name. ‘His excellency has sent me to inform you that he has been delayed.’

  ‘Delayed? Why?’

  The Spaniard shrugged. ‘The men were slow to break camp. The night is dark, and they do not march as fast as they do during the day.’

  ‘Then why did your general not take account of that, and start out earlier?’

  ‘I do not presume to know the mind of my commander, sir.’

  Arthur puffed his cheeks irritably. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Perhaps three miles east of Salcidas. His excellency says that he will be in position to attack at six in the morning.’

  ‘Dawn will have broken by then. The French will be aware of our presence. We will have lost any element of surprise.’

  ‘Perhaps, sir,’ O’Donoju countered. ‘Even so, we can still proceed with the attack. After all, the odds are vastly in our favour.’

  Arthur thought a moment. The Spaniard was right. Provided Victor did not react swiftly and break camp before the attack began, he would be obliged to stand and fight.

  ‘Very well then. General Cuesta must begin his attack at six. No later. Is that clear?’

  O’Donoju stared back defiantly. ‘If that is the wish of his excellency, then yes. Now, I bid you farewell, sir. My officers and I must return to our army.’

  ‘Yes, you must, as swiftly as you can. There must be no further delay.’

  The rest of the night passed slowly, and as the sun fringed the eastern horizon in a pale orange glow Arthur gave the order for his army to stand to. All along the line, the men wearily rose to their feet, stretching their muscles before forming ranks. As the light strengthened the French sentries on the other side saw the massed ranks of the British army and at once a warning shot was fired to alert the main camp.

  ‘There goes our surprise,’ Somerset said bitterly.

  ‘That can’t be helped,’ Arthur responded. ‘We just have to hope that Cuesta begins the attack before Victor can break camp.’

  ‘Sir, what is to stop us beginning the attack ourselves?’

  Arthur turned to his aide. ‘My dear Somerset, if we attack across a river against defensive positions without support then we will suffer grievously. So much so that I doubt we could continue offensive operations in Spain. I would be obliged to fall back, and if we were pursued then I dare say we would be forced to repeat General Moore’s retreat to Corunna. England can endure only so many such defeats before being forced to kneel to Bonaparte.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘We must wait for Cuesta.’

  Now even the minutes seemed to drag by, and as the first brilliant rays of the sun broke across the eastern horizon the first French battalions hurriedly marched forward to cover the fords, together with several guns. The opportunity to attack was fast slipping away and Arthur forced himself to remain still in his saddle, ears straining for the first sound of cannon fire that would announce Cuesta’s attack. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Somerset discreetly draw out his pocket watch, glance at it with a raised eyebrow, and then slip it back into his waistcoat.

  ‘You might as well tell me the time,’ Arthur muttered.

  ‘Ten minutes gone six, sir.’

  Both men were still for a moment, then Arthur took up his reins and slowly turned his horse. ‘The army is not to move until I return. If the enemy opens fire, then have our fellows fall back to cover and leave our guns to their work. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Might I ask where you are going?’

  ‘To find Cuesta. It is time to speak plainly to his excellency.’

  General Cuesta was taking his breakfast in a large open carriage when Arthur rode up to him near Salcidas. The leading units of the Spanish army had downed their packs and some were already busy foraging across the surrounding countryside for the day’s meal. The following columns were still strung out along the road, cloaked in the dust kicked up ahead of them. Arthur regarded the scene in a cold rage for a moment before he approached Cuesta. The Spanish commander regarded him warily. He bowed his head briefly in greeting and called for O’Donoju to attend him.

  Arthur touched his hand to the brim of his hat. ‘Good day, sir. Or at least it would have been, had the battle begun. It was my understanding that we should attack at two in the morning. Where were you, sir?’

  Cuesta shrugged and then made a curt comment to his translator.

  ‘His excellency says that you asked the impossible of our soldiers. The distance was too great to march in the darkness. Your plan was flawed.’

  ‘Nevertheless, my army has been in position since midnight. After having marched through the night to take up its appointed position. If my men could do it, then why not yours? It was not the fault of the plan.’

  General Cuesta lurched forward as Arthur’s comments were passed on to him. He stabbed a fleshy finger towards Arthur and launched into a bitter tirade which O’Donoju struggled to keep up with.

  ‘His excellency says that he tires of the demands you make of him and his army . . . Who do you think you are to order him to provide you with food? To tell him where and when to wage his battles? The English are every bit as arrogant as he had heard. He will not endure this any longer.’

  ‘Enough!’ Arthur raised a hand. He drew himself up to his full height on his saddle and tilted his head slightly to look down his nose at Cuesta before he continued. ‘I’d be obliged if you tell General Cuesta that I have never heard of a situation where an ally has been so ill-treated. You gave me your word that my army would receive supplies and yet my men are forced to march on half-rations thanks to your broken promises. And now you have failed to grasp the chance to strike a humiliating blow at the enemy. Hear me clearly, O’Donoju. As soon as Marshal Victor realises that he is outnumbered he will fall back. I tell you now that I will not lead my men one step further towards Madrid until you hold good to your word, and give me the supplies I was promised. Moreover, I am not prepared to extend any further military co-operation until General Cuesta concedes overall command to me.’

  Cuesta’s mouth sagged open as O’Donoju translated. Then his thick eyebrows knitted together and his expression tightened into a scowl. When the last of Arthur’s r
emarks had been heard he made his reply in an umistakably furious tone.

  ‘His excellency says that you and your soldiers can stay here and rot for all he cares. Why should he feed you? You are parasites. The Army of Extremadura does not need you. We can defeat the French on our own. While you sit here, his excellency will pursue Marshal Victor alone. The glory will be his and you will be left to wallow in your mire of shame.’

  Once the Spaniard had finished Arthur nodded. ‘It seems I am done here. I will return to my army and await your general’s apology at my headquarters.’

  Arthur clicked his tongue, and turned his horse round before spurring it into a trot, anxious to quit the presence of General Cuesta. It would be rash in the extreme for Cuesta to act without support. Only a fool would contemplate such a course of action,Arthur mused bitterly. He had said his piece. Hopefully there were enough wise heads amongst the general’s staff officers to persuade him against the folly of advancing alone. If not, then disaster threatened and Arthur feared that he would not be able to do anything to prevent it.

  Chapter 6

  Talavera, 27 July 1809

  Arthur watched as the long column of Spanish troops trudged into the town. Many were wounded and blood seeped through their hastily applied dressings and bandages. Hundreds of them carried no weapons, having thrown them aside as they fled back down the road from the direction of Madrid. There was little sense of order as men from different battalions blended into one long stream of rabble fleeing from the pursuing French army. A handful of guns had been saved and moved steadily along the column as a squadron of blue-jacketed hussars cleared the way ahead of them. Only a handful of senior officers were in evidence, marching with their men. The rest had accompanied General Cuesta as his mule-drawn carriage had led the retreat back to the banks of the Alberche where he had decided to rally his men and make a stand.