Whose Business Is to Die (21 page)

Five minutes later he heard Dunbar shout the order, ‘March at ease,’ and listened as it was repeated down the column. The men relaxed, and he caught the murmur of conversation as they knew that they would be given their first break after only half an hour. That would give time to adjust uncomfortable equipment and for those inclined to take a few puffs on their pipes.

‘Well, Mr Williams, let us go and give the French a scare!’ Lieutenant Colonel Colborne put his horse into a canter and sped towards the front of the column, looking like a delighted schoolboy. Williams realised that he was grinning as he followed.

16

‘S
o the king happily settles in the best bedroom in the house. O It’s a fine night, he’s a sprightly fellow with plenty of energy for everything save work, and so he strolls out on to the balcony and spies the governess looking after the duke’s children. She’s a pretty little thing, spots him up there, so bobs down and gives a little simper as she looks modestly away.’ The colonel put his head on one side, lowered his gaze and fluttered his eyelashes. He was a stocky man, with thick and unruly eyebrows, a creased red face and huge hands. ‘Well, of course, that was all the encouragement he needed. As I say, King Joseph is a sprightly fellow.’

Dalmas had heard the story several times before, but had nothing else he wanted to discuss, so let the man talk. The colonel was the senior officer of the artillery train in Soult’s army and good at his job. Like so many he had begun in the ranks, and even now would happily get off his horse and help to repair a carriage or push to shift a bogged-down caisson. As for just about everyone else of his rank and above, the war in Spain was making him rich, and apart from court gossip he was fond of picking up paintings and statues – not on the same scale as Marshal Soult, it was true, but then few could match the marshal’s energy in this sphere.

‘Well, it was the work of a few minutes for him to pen a sweet little love note inviting the lass to attend upon his royal person,’ the colonel continued. ‘A flunkey delivers it, and an hour later, this Venus is shown in, all dressed up in her finery, such as it is.’ He paused in his flow, rather brusquely putting out one hand to stop Dalmas, while raising his cocked hat in the other.

‘Good day to you, señorita,’ he said, ‘and to you, my dear.’ Two
local ladies in brightly coloured dresses and with mantillas over their heads and shoulders, gave curt nods in acknowledgement and passed on, a couple of older chaperones and a manservant attending them. Dalmas saw no hint of a simper from either of them, but that did not appear to dampen the spirits of his companion.

‘Oh, I do so love Seville,’ the colonel said, striding off and making a couple of men step back to avoid him. The streets were getting busier by the minute, for today was a market day and this afternoon a bullfight was to be staged, courtesy of Marshal Soult, Duke of Dalmatia. Food was short after last year’s bad harvest, and in some of the poorest areas of the city people were dying from hunger or the illnesses its weakness brought. When he had ridden into the city the night before, Dalmas had seen carts piled high with bodies being driven off for burial. Today none of that seemed to matter, and rich and poor alike thronged the streets dressed as gaily as their pockets allowed, and all filled with the spirit of festival.

They stopped frequently as the colonel paid compliments to any half-decent-looking and moderately young woman. Most were tall, although perhaps handsome was a better word than beautiful, all were lively and some were willing. Dalmas knew that the colonel kept a mistress in his commandeered house, but from the look of the man he was still eager to explore other possibilities.

‘We ought to press on,’ Dalmas said, ‘or we shall be late.’

‘The Duke is always late,’ the colonel said airily, and gave a great wink at another group of women, evidently in from one of the villages judging from their dark dresses and brightly coloured scarfs.

‘Marshals of France can afford to be late. We poor mortals are expected to be early. Anyway, the Duke was not late at Austerlitz – and neither were you!’ It did no harm to praise a man for past glories.

‘Ah, that was a day,’ the colonel said, obviously pleased with the compliment. ‘Now, where was I,’ the man said after yet another
halt to salute a lady, a genuinely pretty little thing who had shot Dalmas a generous smile when the colonel was busy greeting her companion. It made the cuirassier officer wish that he was staying longer in Seville, for it was a special place. Nowhere else in Spain, not even in Madrid for much of the time, could French officers walk without escort amid a busy crowd. Dalmas saw bright uniforms dotted among the sea of heads, plumes, helmets and other finery, making them stand out. It was not just that soldiers could walk without fear of the assassin’s knife, here in Seville the people seemed friendly, especially and gloriously the women.

‘Ah yes, so little Miss Governess comes all dressed up to be honoured by an audience with the king. Of course she doesn’t need clothes for what His Majesty has in mind, so he has her out of those in a trice and they spend the night doing their best to break the legs off the bed. She gets a nice necklace, some money – and if she’s unlucky the bigger gift in nine months time of a little squealing Bonaparte. And everyone’s happy, except, as it turns out, the duchess. The next morning the governess gets a beating and His Majesty gets a note. His hostess declares herself insulted that he should invite a mere governess to his chamber.’ The colonel paused, building towards his big surprise.

Dalmas liked the man enough to pretend not to know what it was. ‘Well, I would guess an aristocrat does not wish to see their staff seduced – especially with such ease.’

The colonel laughed. ‘You would think that, would you not? Especially here where the fine ladies go to confession so often. But no, what the duchess’s note said was that she was offended that His Most Catholic Majesty had chosen to approach a servant when the mistress of the house was at his royal disposal! Can you believe it! The next night old Joseph was bouncing the duchess around. Must have been good, because he took her with him when he moved on to Madrid, and her husband – gave him a plum job at court as well as horns to wear.’

The colonel shook his head ruefully. ‘Pity we don’t all have brothers who can make us kings. If I was a king I doubt I’d ever
get out of bed – don’t think I’d be able to after giving audiences to all the well-bred ladies!’ The man’s whole body was shaking with mirth, a curiously animal gesture.

They turned off the main street, where the press was lighter, and walked towards one of the big town houses taken over by the army. The shape of the cathedral loomed behind it. There were sentries from the Carabineer Company of a light infantry regiment standing on either side of the main gateway, and they presented arms as the officers saluted. An ADC was waiting for them, and ushered them off to a side room where several other officers were gathered. There was no sign of the marshal who had summoned them.

‘Told you,’ the colonel whispered, and then went over to talk to a gunner who was a good friend. Dalmas was the most junior officer present, and was largely ignored until the appearance of a
chef de battalion
who had some responsibility for gathering intelligence. The men found a quiet corner and exchanged some recent news.

‘No Sinclair?’ the man asked.

‘Not yet returned.’

‘Probably better. From what I hear Marshal Victor is passing some of the blame for Chiclana on to him.’ Sinclair had arranged a deception plan to provoke the British and Spanish in Cadiz to risk a battle. The result was the bloody defeat of two of Victor’s divisions by the British. At the time Dalmas was up north, aiding the capture of Badajoz.

‘The British call the battle Barrosa,’ Dalmas said. ‘And it achieved very little, for they retreated that same night and the siege of Cadiz was resumed almost immediately.

‘Still was not a victory. Now, how is this new scheme of yours working?’ The
chef de battalion
had lowered his voice to a whisper, but even so Dalmas considered him indiscreet.

‘Too early to say – and if it works we may never know,’ he replied as vaguely as possible, and moved the conversation on to other matters, for he had no wish to discuss his doubts openly. Sinclair was enthusiastic and clever, and they had worked well
at first, but in the last months he had begun to wonder whether the man’s ideas were too elaborate.

‘That is a convenient answer. If things work out you can take the credit, but if it all falls to pieces then you can say that it was nothing to do with you.’

It was forty minutes before the ADC reappeared to say that the marshal regretted the delay, but that he would be a little longer. Well over an hour had passed by the time Soult appeared. Dalmas knew some generals and great men who would make others wait merely to demonstrate the superiority of their own position. He did not think Soult was one of them, and suspected that this was simply one in a succession of long meetings. Waging war was just one of the tasks that fell to the Duke of Dalmatia, for he was to all intents and purposes also the governor of Andalusia. If there was famine in some parts of the city this was not for want of effort on Soult’s part, and Dalmas knew how much time had been spent gathering what surplus wheat and barley there was, carrying it in army wagons to feed the towns as well as the garrisons. The cuirassier also knew – and in this case was aware that even the Emperor did not – that Soult approved a covert trade with merchants in Cadiz and even England to foster commerce and obtain food and materials that would otherwise have been unavailable.

‘So, what have you to tell me today?’ Marshal Soult had marched to the head of the table, where he stood so that everyone else would have to stay on their feet and so be less inclined to pad out their reports.

One by one the senior officers reported on the strengths of the three corps under the marshal’s command. There was little mention of the Emperor’s wishes – Dalmas knew that orders from Paris were usually either altogether out of date or so impractical that they could not be considered. King Joseph was not mentioned at all, for there was little love lost between Madrid and Seville, and apart from that His Most Catholic Majesty had gone to France. Ostensibly this was to congratulate his younger brother on the birth of his son and heir, the King of Rome. Dalmas had
heard – and was inclined to believe – that in reality this was another effort to persuade the Emperor to let Joseph leave Spain for some simpler responsibility. It seemed that few of the French leaders in Iberia were very happy at present.

‘Marshal Victor respectfully requests that he be sent the regiments taken from him earlier in the year, and at least two others.’ The colonel making the report did everything to make clear that the words were not his.

‘Huh,’ the marshal grunted. ‘Well, perhaps he should look after the ones he has rather better.’

‘Indeed, Your Grace.’

Dalmas had heard that Marshal Victor had been incapable of getting up from his bed when a staff officer rode down to hear his report on the defeat. There was little love lost between Soult and Victor, even though their current mistresses were sisters. Oh yes, thought Dalmas, it is a grand life for the French in Andalusia, and as so often he wished that the Emperor would come back to Spain, for only he could bring the marshals to heel.

There were more reports on the state of garrisons and the few troops currently in the field, before they came to the central question.

‘Marshal Beresford has around twenty thousand men, two-thirds of them English and the rest Portuguese.’ The
chef de battalion
did not need to read from his notes to supply the figures. ‘Less than two thousand are cavalry. Beresford may gain another five thousand from General Castaños, and ten thousand more under Blake. Those are the regiments that have come up from Cadiz.’

‘Have the Spanish joined Beresford yet?’

‘No, Your Grace, they are keeping several days’ march away so that they can control more of Estremadura.’

‘Why are the British waiting?’ Soult scanned the faces until he found Dalmas.

‘They are not ready, Your Grace, and the rains have made the Guadiana too high to bridge,’ he suggested. ‘Otherwise there is no good reason for them to linger.’

‘Are they waiting for reinforcement from Wellington?’

‘The London
Times
says that Wellington is blockading Almeida and watching Marshal Masséna. The marshal’s army is still strong, larger than Wellington’s force and more experienced. The British cannot afford to weaken their numbers there and send any more regiments to join Beresford.’

‘The London
Times
tells you this.’ A smile flickered across the marshal’s jowly face. Seville was adding flesh to his already solid neck.

‘It tells me where the English army is, Your Grace – the rest I have to deduce.’

‘Just so.’ Soult chuckled. ‘What would we do without the English papers!’ With so much of the country plagued by partisans and plain bandits, it was hard for the French commanders in Spain to communicate with each other, even when they wanted to do so. It was widely known that the Emperor relied on the London papers for the most up-to-date news of his armies in Spain and Portugal.

‘I can take twenty-five thousand men and lead them north, but only for a few weeks at the very most, so I cannot go there and wait for the British to attack. Badajoz must hold out on its own for two weeks. Can it do that?’

‘Yes, Your Grace,’ the
chef de battalion
replied.

‘Then I will need you to give me news as soon as possible when Beresford begins his siege. With twenty-five thousand men I can beat him well enough, or drive him back, which will achieve the same thing. It would be better if the Spanish do not join him, for that will make the matter far less certain. I want a close eye kept on them – especially on Blake, who has the greater numbers and the freshest troops. Well, I think that is that.

‘Gentlemen, be prepared to move at just three days’ notice. I will let you know by tomorrow which units are to muster and how they are to be organised. For the moment, I suspect we all having pressing duties.’