As the sun rose across the barren Spanish landscape it washed a warm ruddy glow over the British soldiers and suffused the choking dust kicked up by boots, wheels and hooves with a fiery hue. As Arthur and his small staff rode to the side of the main column, far enough away not to be bothered by the dust, he was amused to think that any Englishman at home who might suddenly be transported to Spain would hardly recognise these soldiers as his compatriots. Most of the men had sprouted beards and their uniforms were worn and patched, their shakos battered and badly misshapen. The red woollen cloth in which British soldiers were normally dressed was almost unknown in Portugal and the men had to make do with the cheap local material, which seemed to be available in brown only. After the first months of campaigning the makeshift repairs to uniforms and the accumulation of dust meant that the British army appeared to be predominantly clothed in a murky brown.
By late morning the sun was overhead and its harsh glare seemed to bleach the colour out of the landscape and send a silvery shimmer squirming along the horizon of the flat plain ahead of the army. Now the men began to suffer most from thirst as the dust dried out their throats and parched their lips. Their sergeants and officers, mindful of the need to conserve water in this dry land, watched their men closely to make sure that they did not consume too much from their canteens during the day’s march.
Once noon had come the army had usually advanced fifteen or so miles and was ready to halt and make camp. After the battalions had been dismissed, the men set up their makeshift tents and shelters and rested in the shade until late in the afternoon, when they ventured out to find wood for the cooking fires, and see if the local people had any food or drink to sell. Arthur had made sure that every soldier was aware that he would not countenance any looting. The least a man could expect was a public flogging if he was caught in the act.
At dusk the first fires were lit and the men cooked a stew of their pooled rations, and any game or fresh meat they had been able to buy, all added into the large pot suspended over the flames. After they had eaten, they would sit and talk. Some broke into song, accompanied by a fiddle or a flute as darkness gathered over the camp. Then the fires were built up and the men turned to their bedrolls and settled down to sleep. Those on sentry duty would be roused when their turn came during the night, while their comrades slumbered, resting before being roused to begin the whole process all over again - the timeless routine of an army on the march.
As the British advanced along the banks of the Tagus towards Madrid, Arthur began to be concerned over the lack of news from General Cuesta. Then one evening, as the army settled for the night some ten miles from the foothills of the Sierra de Gredos, Somerset brought a Spanish officer to Arthur’s tent. Stepping through the flaps, the aide saluted.
‘Sir, beg to report, there’s a messenger from General Cuesta outside.’
‘Ah, at last!’ Arthur nodded. ‘Please, bring him in.’
Somerset drew the flap aside and beckoned to the waiting officer. A moment later a short, swarthy man entered and stood in the glow of the lamp hanging from the central tent post. Arthur and the Spaniard regarded each other briefly in silence. Arthur took in the other’s dark eyes and thin moustache, and the elaborate braiding that all but covered his green coat and tasselled hat.
‘I bid you welcome, sir.’ Arthur bowed his head. ‘I am Lieutenant-General Sir Arthur Wellesley. I have the honour to command his majesty’s forces in the Peninsula.’ He gestured towards Somerset. ‘I take it you have already been introduced to my aide.’
The Spaniard nodded curtly and then presented his right leg and bowed deeply before he rose again and spoke in fluent English. ‘I am General Juan O’Donoju, of the army of Andalusia.’
Arthur cocked an eyebrow. ‘Did you say O’Donohue?’
The other man smiled faintly. ‘That was the name of my forefathers, sir. When the family was obliged to leave Ireland we took on a Spanish form of the name.’
‘Bless my soul,’ Arthur muttered before he recovered his equanimity. ‘I apologise, sir. I had not expected to find an Irishman serving as a general in the army of Spain.’
‘I hardly consider myself to be Irish, Sir Arthur. I was born in Seville and have never set foot in Ireland. So you may rest assured that I harbour no ill will towards you on account of the shameful manner in which the British have treated my ancestors.’
‘What?’ Arthur glared at him.‘Oh, I see. That’s just as well then, since we are allies.’
‘As the fortunes of war would have it, sir.’ O’Donoju flashed his teeth again. ‘For the present.’
‘Er, yes.’ Arthur cleared his throat. ‘Now then, General. I take it you have a message for me from Cuesta.’
‘From his excellency, General Gregorio Garcнa de la Cuesta, yes,’ O’Donoju corrected Arthur with heavy emphasis. He paused briefly before he continued. ‘He told me to convey to you his great joy that his brave soldiers will be fighting at the side of our British allies. He is certain that together we will soon put an end to the French cowards skulking in Madrid. Before the summer is out we will have won a glorious victory that will be an everlasting tribute to the alliance between Spain and Britain.’ The Spanish officer paused briefly before he concluded, ‘His excellency is most gratified to hear that Spain’s new ally has sent you and your men to reinforce our army in this endeavour.’
Arthur exchanged a quick look with Somerset before he responded, ‘I fear that his excellency is misinformed concerning my purpose here. I am under orders to co-operate with Spanish forces, not to reinforce them as such.’
O’Donoju shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is merely a form of words, sir. His excellency is the senior officer and has sent me to offer greetings to his new subordinate.’
Arthur saw Somerset stiffen out of the corner of his eye, but nevertheless managed to keep his expression neutral as he responded in a reasonable tone. ‘And I, of course, send greetings to him and look forward to working with him to defeat our common enemy. Before we can achieve that it is necessary that I confer with his excellency to determine our common strategy. May I enquire as to his present location?’
O’Donoju nodded. ‘His excellency has informed me that he will meet you at the fort of Miravete, near Almaraz, on the tenth of July. Do you know the fort, sir?’
Arthur thought a moment. ‘I can’t recall seeing it on our maps.’
‘It is some sixty miles from here,’ O’Donoju explained. ‘I will send you a guide when I report back to his excellency.’
‘The tenth of July?’ Somerset intervened. ‘That’s three days from now. The army can’t possibly march so far in that time.’
O’Donoju shrugged. ‘That is his excellency’s order.’
Arthur cleared his throat with a quick warning glance at Somerset to hold his tongue. ‘Tell General Cuesta that I will be there. I shall take a small escort and ride ahead of my army. Your guide can meet me on the road and take me to this fort of yours. In the meantime, I would be grateful if you would inform the general—’
‘His excellency,’ O’Donoju intervened. ‘That is his correct title, sir.’
‘Of course. Please inform his excellency that my men will require supplies of food and ammunition, which the junta in Cadiz has promised us. I take it that his excellency has made the necessary arrangements in that regard?’
‘Naturally. A Spanish gentleman’s word is his bond, sir.’
‘I am delighted to hear it. Now then.’Arthur adopted a friendly tone. ‘I take it that you will be remaining with us tonight. Somerset can escort you to the officers’ mess and find you a bed for the night.’
‘Alas, I will not be able to enjoy your hospitality, sir. I must return at once.’
‘In the dark?’
‘I know the road well, sir. If there are any enemy patrols, I can avoid them easily enough.’
‘As you wish. I will see you again on the tenth.’
They exchanged a bow and then O’Donoju left the tent, to be shown back to his horse by Somerset. Arthur eased himself forward in his seat and folded his hands together as a rest for his chin as he stared at the canvas wall of the tent opposite his campaign desk. He was under orders to co-operate with the Spanish yet he could not help a degree of anxiety at the prospect of relying on their promise to supply his army. When Somerset returned to the tent, Arthur sat up and sighed wearily.
‘What do you make of our Spanish friend?’
Somerset hurriedly composed a tactful response. ‘He seemed keen enough to take the fight to the enemy, sir.’
