Rumours Of War

they think the position weaker than it is, else they would have deployed more.’

Dom Mateo looked perfectly composed as he searched with his own telescope. ‘I expect my cavalry to tell us soon. Do you see artillery?’

‘That is exactly what I am looking for. I think I have a horse battery, but they don’t seem inclined to come into action at present. Their commander can have a very imperfect idea of what he faces here.’

Dom Mateo lowered his telescope and looked left and right along the line. There was not much to overawe the enemy, it was true. But they stood along a ridge, as the redcoats had at Busaco, Albuera, Waterloo and a dozen other places, and his men lay concealed on the reverse slope, with just pickets and the odd gun at the crest. So much greater would be the shock at the appearance of the redcoats when the time came.

In half an hour the enemy was formed up for battle, the infantry in three ranks, a dozen guns (eight- pounders, Hervey reckoned) centre, in a tight battery, with a squadron of cavalry on either flank of the line. There was no knowing what troops remained in column to march on to Elvas once this advance guard had cleared the way, but the ruse de guerre, if it halted one, would halt ten thousand.

Instead of the cannonade, however, and the drumming infantry advance, there was a quarter of an hour of inactivity.

‘Hallo,’ said Dom Mateo abruptly, and intrigued, peering through his telescope again. ‘There comes a parley. Shall we go and meet them?’

Hervey nodded, and with every good expectation. A parley served their purpose well. They could have the line stand up at a safe moment, and the effect would be complete. ‘I very much think we should, General.’ He beckoned over Corporal Wainwright.

Wainwright, conscious of his extraordinary local rank, hurried but did not run.

‘When you see me signal, have the whole line stand up and advance to the crest, just as we have practised.’

Wainwright saluted and hurried back. Hervey watched, and counted himself excessively fortunate: there were many capable men in the Sixth, but none save Armstrong, Collins and Wainwright that he could trust with certainty to know what was his mind.

They rode out to meet the parley, a dozen of them, the same as the enemy.

Dom Mateo suddenly braced. ‘Their leader, Hervey, a major-general: I know him.’

Dom Mateo’s face conveyed no dismay, however. Hervey wished they had a little more time; knowing something of the rebel leader might be useful.

‘And he knows me. It will be an affair of courtesy at least.’

Dom Mateo’s prediction was quickly justified. It was an affair of great courtesy, observed Hervey, with much saluting, bowing and raising of hats.

‘Dom Mateo,’ began the rebel general, and not insensible of the red coat in the party, ‘I know your forces to be weak. I know that if you defend here then you cannot hold the fortress. I have men enough to overwhelm you here in the field, and then the fortress will be in my hands. Why would you spill our common blood to no effect?’

Hervey struggled to understand.

For once, Dom Mateo did not interpret. ‘Dom Jorge, allow me to present Major-General Hervey, who commands the British brigade at Elvas.’

Dom Jorge de Sabugal looked astonished.

Hervey saluted and held out his hand.

Dom Jorge took it hesitantly.

As they had planned, Hervey turned and gave the signal. In a few seconds the top of the ridge was red, from end to end it seemed.

‘You see, Dom Jorge,’ said Dom Mateo, with a look of intense satisfaction. ‘His Majesty’s Guards!’

It was not as they had agreed; a regiment of Line was what a closer inspection might suggest. But Hervey thought it of no matter, especially not at this distance.

A long silence followed.

Dom Jorge spoke first. ‘Dom Mateo, this will be an infamous day.’

Then he saluted, nodded to Hervey, reined about and trotted back to his lines.

‘He says it will be an infamous day, Hervey. I have no idea what he means.’ Dom Mateo shook his head as they watched the recession.

‘I wish he had said it is an infamous day. It sounds otherwise as if there will be a deciding.’

‘Indeed. But that line of red was a most convincing display. It fair took the breath from him!’

There was a half of one hour to wait before the deciding. The cold began to bite again, and Hervey rode up and down the line for no other reason but his circulation. Corporal Wainwright, with his extra two chevrons and a crown, put ‘His Majesty’s Guards’ through their musket drill. Drill after drill after drill – limbs active, minds occupied; there could be nothing better while waiting, cold, for the decision.

But when the rebels at last made their move it looked as if the deciding might be prolonged, for Dom Jorge advanced to parley anew.

‘He brings more men, a half company perhaps,’ said Dom Mateo, closing his telescope. ‘Does he intend asking for terms? I think we will await him at the foot of the slope this time. It will give the muskets atop a clear field of fire should there be a trick. I cannot believe Dom Jorge would break a flag of parley, but these are infamous times, by his own reckoning.’

Infamous. Hervey was uneasy. Not even the French had broken their truces.

They rode down the slope with an escort of half a dozen cavalry, Hervey for the first time feeling the want of his own coverman.

The rebel company came on as before. Dom Jorge halted and saluted. ‘Dom Mateo, we were once friends. You must know that the cause of those schemers in Lisbon will not serve our country well. Dom Miguel is the future of Portugal. That is the opinion of the nobles; and of the Church too. I know you to be a most Christian man, Dom Mateo, a man whose respect for the Church would not allow him to oppose her wishes.’ He paused, seeming to judge the effect. Then he turned.

The company of infantry began parting, centre. Hervey cursed: he imagined the old trick, a masked field piece. He reached for his pistol.

‘Ecce Corpus Christi!’

Hervey’s mouth fell open. A huge, bearded priest, in dazzling cope and flanked by two others vested as ornately, raised a huge monstrance high above his head and began walking forward.

As one man, Dom Jorge’s escort fell to the knee. Hervey, whether by instinct or dim recollection of the Duke of Wellington’s orders those years past, took off his hat. Dom Mateo did the same, with an expression of equal shock. Then he crossed himself with his sword hand.

Hervey’s mind raced. The initiative was with the Miguelistas, but Dom Jorge could not believe he would overawe Dom Mateo with superstition? Then he remembered the rest of the duke’s instructions: troops will present arms when the blessed sacrament is processed. Wainwright would not know of it. He turned to give the order.

It was too late. Like the escort, the line, if raggedly, was descending to the knee.

Hervey turned back and saw Dom Jorge’s expression of disbelief. He did not need extensive Portuguese to understand what followed.

‘Dom Mateo, a regiment of His English Majesty’s Guards genuflects before the body of Our Lord? I do not think so!’ Dom Jorge turned in the saddle.

Fifty muskets came up to the aim.

‘Dom Jorge,’ said Dom Mateo, with genuine indignance. ‘May I remind you that you come under a flag of parley!’

‘And you, Dom Mateo, come under false colours! By the Articles of War you forfeit the protection of that flag.’

Corporal Wainwright had brought his own muskets to the aim. But Hervey shook his head. It would be futile. The rebel guns would break the line, the infantry would overwhelm them, and the cavalry would cut down every man who ran from the ridge.