‘I should imagine so. Tell this man that I am General Lord Wellington, Marshal of Portugal and commander of the allied army. I must speak to his master on a matter of some urgency.’
The introduction was translated and the servant looked at Arthur closely and then opened the door and waved him inside. There was a large hall within, and Arthur could just make out the forms of picture frames and tapestries adorning the walls. The servant indicated some benches on either side of the door and muttered a few words.
‘He tells us to wait here, sir,’ said the translator, ‘while he wakes his master.’
‘Very well.’
Arthur sat on one side, and the Portuguese translator respectfully took the other bench. Removing his hat, Arthur wiped his sodden locks of hair aside and made a mental note to have his hair cut short again, as soon as opportunity permitted. He unbuttoned his coat, setting it to one side so that his uniform jacket would be visible, with the star of his knighthood and other decorations pinned to his breast.
Don Roberto did not keep his unexpected visitors waiting long. The loom of a lamp appeared in a corridor off to one side of the entrance hall, and a moment later the servant returned, holding the lantern high to light the way for his master. Arthur and the translator rose to their feet and bowed their heads in greeting.
The Portuguese landowner was an elderly man with a thin, haughty face. A neatly trimmed beard of snowy white lined his jaw and he regarded Arthur with piercing brown eyes. He gestured to the bench and muttered to the translator.
‘His honour bids you sit down, while his servant fetches a chair.’
The servant put the lantern on the floor and hurried to the side of the hall, returning a moment later with a heavy oak chair, inlaid with ivory in a geometric Moorish design. Arthur waited for his host to sit before taking his place on the bench again. The translator remained standing.
‘The hour is late,’ Arthur began,‘so please excuse me if I speak to the point.’
Don Roberto inclined his head in assent as he heard the translation.
‘I have come to apologise for the behaviour of the officer I sent to buy your cattle. Captain Devere is newly arrived from England. He is unused to the ways of foreign people, and he is young enough to not consider the impression he creates. I would have you know that he is not typical of English officers. I have also come to ask that you reconsider your refusal to sell your cattle.’
As the translator began to convey Arthur’s words, Don Roberto held up his hand.
‘That is not necessary. I understand perfectly well, thank you.’
Arthur could not help letting a brief look of surprise cross his face, and the Portuguese noble smiled. ‘What? Did you think that I only spoke the local . . . lingo?’
Arthur laughed. ‘By God, you have me, sir.’
‘Not as much as I had your Captain Devere,’ Don Roberto continued with only the faintest of accents. ‘I would have conversed in your tongue, but his demeanour so affronted me that I decided I was under no obligation to make the encounter easy for him. Tell me, do all English speak louder in order to make themselves understood by foreigners?’
Arthur smiled. ‘Alas, it is a common affliction.’
‘It is not the only affliction that we Portuguese have had to endure since your army arrived, my lord.’
‘The presence of my men is less onerous than that of the French,’ Arthur protested. ‘I will not tolerate looting or mistreatment of non-combatants. Any looting that occurs is the work of camp followers. They are not wholly respectful of military discipline, but I have ordered my provosts to deal with any camp followers they catch stealing. In time, even they will understand the importance I attach to good relations with those over whose land I am obliged to make war.’
Don Roberto regarded him thoughtfully. ‘It is a shame that you did not come here to buy the cattle in Captain Devere’s place. I would have received you generously. As it is, I was not treated with the respect due to me, particularly by so junior an officer. Your army is not here as an army of occupation. That is why I demanded that your officer went down on his knees to request the purchase of my herd.’
‘That is true. We are here to guarantee the liberty of your people, and to fight for the liberation of the people of Spain.’ Arthur spoke frankly. ‘However, the army cannot continue to defend its allies on an empty stomach. So I would ask you to reconsider your decision, and sell me the cattle.’
‘I see. Tell me, General, how long do you think your army will remain in our land? I ask since I see little indication of your willingness to engage the French.’
‘I will attack when I am ready. Until then I must maintain my army and ensure that it is fit and ready to fight when the time comes.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘I cannot say. All I can do is give you my word that I will do everything in my power to beat the French here in the Peninsula.’
‘Everything?’ Don Roberto raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes. The fall of Bonaparte will begin here, or it will not happen at all. That is my conviction. That is all that matters to me.’
‘I wonder. I am impressed by your dedication to your duty, my lord. But as I said before, my honour has been offended. Expiation is required. Do you still wish to buy the cattle?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I demand that you go on your knees and beg for them.’
‘You require me to beg you to sell the cattle?’
‘Yes.’
Arthur felt a wave of anger swell up inside. He was tired, cold and wet, and furious with Devere for putting him in this position. The thought of begging stuck in his throat like a rock. Then he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. It would not be the first time, after all. He had gone down on his knees to Cuesta. But that had been to save both their armies from the madness of the Spanish commander’s decision to turn and fight with a river at his back. This new humiliation related to a week’s rations for his men. He could refuse. But then he would simply be reinforcing the damage done by Devere.
‘Very well.’ Arthur eased himself off the bench and went down on one knee in front of his host. ‘Don Roberto, I beg you to allow me to buy your cattle.’
‘On both knees, General, and please, add an apology.’
Arthur bowed his head to hide his dark expression, and slid his leading foot back so that he was on both knees on the hard paved floor. ‘Don Roberto, I apologise for the behaviour of my officer, and I beg you to let me buy your cattle.’
There was a brief silence before Don Roberto smiled faintly. ‘I accept your apology, and I give my permission for the purchase of the herd. You may get off your knees, my lord.’
When Arthur had returned to the bench he saw that the other man was regarding him curiously. ‘General, not many of your compatriots would have acted as you did. Even fewer of my countrymen, and certainly no Spaniard.’
‘I told you, sir. There is nothing more important than victory. For any of us. We do what we must, or we are lost.’
‘That is true. Very true.’ Don Roberto rose to his feet and held out his hand. ‘The herd is yours, General. I will tell my steward to rouse my people to drive them to your camp.’
‘I thank you.’
‘If I may presume, I would be greatly honoured if you would dine here as my guest one day.’
Arthur took his hand and smiled. ‘The honour would be mine.’
Don Roberto lowered his hand and turned away, and then paused to look back at Arthur as the latter made for the door. ‘One last thing, General. Please ensure that you pay for the herd before you take delivery, eh?’
Chapter 15
April 1810
‘It seems that Bonaparte has chosen Marshal Masséna to crush us,’ Arthur informed his senior officers. They had been summoned to his headquarters and now sat in the shaded courtyard, cooled by a late afternoon breeze. He held up a copy of
Le Moniteur
.‘This was taken one week ago, together with other documents, by partisans north of Madrid. Masséna is appointed commander of the Army of Portugal, a force of some one hundred and fifty thousand men. Even allowing for garrisoning his supply lines, that means Masséna will still outnumber us by some margin.’
Arthur paused as his officers exchanged glances at the size of the host opposed to them. The British army, together with the Portuguese regiments raised and trained under the command of General Beresford, numbered less than sixty thousand. After the retreat from Talavera the exhausted army had been ravaged by malaria and the blistering heat of the Mediterranean summer. It had taken the whole winter for the survivors to build up their strength, and for the new drafts of replacements to be trained for the next campaign. Yet Arthur was content that his army would be able to hold the enemy at bay. The men were more than a match for their opponents and they would have the advantage of a formidable line of defences at their back, should they be obliged to retreat.
Having permitted his officers to reflect on the odds arrayed against them, Arthur continued his briefing. ‘Our latest intelligence reports indicate that the enemy is concentrating at Salamanca. Their forward elements have been probing General Craufurd’s outposts along the Portuguese frontier near Almeida since the first days of March. It is my judgement that Marshal Masséna will attempt to invade Portugal from the north. It is the best route. The alternative direction of attack is from the east, towards Elvas, but the roads there are atrocious. Bad enough for infantry, but impossible for artillery and wagon trains. Accordingly, I have ordered General Hill to march his corps to join the main army.’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ General Hamilton interrupted. ‘But that leaves the eastern frontier unguarded.’
‘If you had permitted me to finish,’ Arthur responded coldly, ‘I would have said that Elvas will be defended by General Leite’s brigade. He’s one of the best of the Portuguese officers and I am confident that he will stand his ground - if the enemy should be unwise enough to attempt any attack from the east. The enemy will come from the north. Have no doubt about that. However, before Masséna can invade Portugal he will need to take the fortresses at Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida as they guard the route along which he will advance. General Herrasti, the governor of Ciudad Rodrigo, has written to inform me that he has a strong garrison and plenty of supplies. He can hold out until he is relieved by a Spanish army.’ Arthur smiled. ‘I know we have not had the best of experiences at the hands of our Spanish allies . . .’
Several of the officers who had served at Talavera muttered their agreement.
‘However,’ Arthur continued, ‘they may act with a greater sense of urgency since their compatriots will be in danger. But let us assume the worst. Ciudad Rodrigo will fall. We can only hope that it delays the French advance long enough for us to improve Almeida’s defences. There too we must attempt to delay Masséna, until we have cleared the land in front of the defensive lines at Torres Vedras and completed the fortifications.’ Arthur looked round the courtyard to make sure he had every officer’s close attention. ‘The opening stages of this campaign require us to buy as much time as possible. Every day we can delay the enemy is a day gained for the improvement of our defences. Every French soldier lost in assaults on the frontier fortresses is one fewer that our men will have to face. I will be blunt with you, gentlemen: we cannot win this campaign in the conventional sense. We cannot march to battle and face Masséna on an open field and hope to defeat him. He outnumbers us, and his cavalry are some of the finest in Europe. We could not stop them flanking us. Our cavalry is far too weak to oppose the enemy horse.
‘Our goal is not to lose the campaign. If we achieve that, then we win.’ Arthur smiled sardonically. ‘Though the newspapers and other croakers in England may not be quite so accepting of this definition of victory. Do not expect to be the recipient of fine titles, pensions and other such spoils of war, gentlemen.’
His audience responded with a mixture of smiles and laughter. The newspapers and letters from England that reached the Peninsula were all too full of the opinion that Lord Wellington’s army was doing nothing in Portugal, and the soldiers should be withdrawn.
‘So, I am resolved that we will only fight on advantageous terms. When we come to face Marshal Masséna in battle you will all be required to move your men swiftly so that we may be strong where the enemy is weak, and that we quickly reinforce any points on our line that come under pressure.’ Arthur paused. ‘Any questions, gentlemen?’
One of the officers raised a hand, a stocky man in his early thirties, with piercing brown eyes and an almost completely bald pate.
‘Yes, Colonel Cox?’
‘Have you decided where to face Marshal Masséna, sir?’
Arthur was silent for a moment, wondering if he should take his senior officers into his confidence. If anything should happen to him, then it might be as well for them to know his mind, and adapt to his strategy for facing the enemy. On the other hand, Arthur realised that much as it might benefit them to carry on his plan, they would be handicapped by constantly attempting to pursue his intentions too strictly and thus lack the flexibility that characterised effective leadership. He fixed Colonel Cox with a steady look.