‘Is there anything else?’
‘Yes, my lord, since you ask. I am concerned by the supply situation. The men have rations for two days and we are already three days ahead of our supply convoys. They in turn are more than a hundred miles from our forward depot at Salamanca. We are already operating at the limit of our lines of supply.’
Arthur leaned back in his chair. ‘You heard what I said to that naval officer. You are privy to my strategic intentions, Somerset. Therefore you know that we are shifting our lines of communication to Santander, and, in due course, San Sebastian. There is nothing for you to be concerned about.’
‘Except that we have possession of neither of those ports, my lord.’
‘Not yet. We shall just have to take them.’
‘But we have no guarantee that we can take them,’ Somerset replied. ‘What if we fail to capture them, as we failed at Burgos, my lord?’
‘We - I - failed at Burgos for want of adequate siege artillery. As you know, our siege train is aboard a convoy anchored off Coruсa. When the time comes, we will have the firepower necessary to reduce both ports, and then we shall have a direct supply route to England. Does that satisfy you, Somerset?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ Somerset replied reluctantly. He saluted formally and left the tent.
Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his cropped hair before turning his attention back to the map.
The army was less than a day’s march from Burgos and another two to the Ebro. The latest reports from the cavalry patrols revealed that the French were looking to defend the line of the Ebro. The enemy’s chief difficulty was that they could not be sure where the allied army was. All that was before them was Arthur’s cavalry screen and a division of Spanish troops. If the deception played out as Arthur hoped, then his army would be across the Ebro and threatening to cut Joseph and his army off from France before the French could react. The only course of action open to them would be to turn and fight. The decisive moment of the campaign would be attained, and all within a month of its beginning.
Despite his dismissal of Somerset’s concerns, Arthur accepted that there were risks. He had marched the men hard, and they were weary and might yet go hungry for a short time, but what Somerset seemed to have missed was the desire to close with and destroy the French that simmered in their breasts. They had resented the loss of the second chance to fight the enemy at Salamanca, and now were set on crushing them.
During the night, the army was woken by the sound of a great explosion rumbling across the landscape. Shortly afterwards there was a red glow in the sky to the east that shimmered against the scattered clouds drifting across the starry heavens. Arthur watched from outside his tent, barefoot and dressed in breeches and a loose shirt. The glow continued for two hours before it began to fade, lost against the first hues of the dawn. Arthur returned to his tent to get fully dressed and was just emerging when Somerset reported to him.
‘It was Burgos, my lord. One of the cavalry vedettes was close enough to see the explosion.’
‘Explosion?’
‘Yes, sir. The French set charges and blew the castle to pieces. They managed to burn down a sizeable portion of the town while they were at it.’
‘Well, bless my soul,’ Arthur muttered in surprise. The French were clearly panicking more than he had thought. That in turn introduced a new anxiety. What if the enemy’s experience of the previous years had so cowed their spirit that they dared not stand and fight? If that was the case then Arthur’s plan had to be adapted so that when the chance of battle came there would be no avenue of escape for the French. Joseph and his army would have to be caught in such a way that they would be forced to surrender, or be annihilated.
The leading division of the allied army quit the barren hills two days later and entered the Ebro valley. The change in the landscape was striking and for the soldiers, so used to tramping across the dusty, dry plains and hills of central Spain, the lush valley watered by the river was a vision of abundance. The roads along which the army marched were lined with fruit trees and vineyards and the soldiers, when their officers were not looking, filled their haversacks with cherries, oranges and apples to supplement their dwindling rations. They continued a short distance to the east before turning south towards the crossroads at San Millan.
Late in the afternoon an excited young lieutenant from the Ninety-fifth Rifles galloped up to Arthur with a message from General Alten. ‘My lord! We’ve sighted the enemy!’
‘Lieutenant, that will not do,’ Arthur admonished him. ‘Start again and deliver the message properly.’
The ensign nodded, and forced himself to speak in a calmer manner. ‘I apologise, my lord. General Alten begs to inform you that his skirmishers have seen a French division marching along a road a mile to the south of the road the general is advancing along. The two roads intersect a short distance ahead. He asks your permission to attack the enemy column, my lord.’
Arthur’s eyes glinted with excitement. ‘Ah! This I must see for myself. Take me to Alten at once.’
The two horsemen spurred their mounts along the side of the artillery train that was rumbling along the rutted track. Beyond the guns they passed the infantry of the Third Division, where heads turned at the sound of approaching hoofbeats.
‘It’s Nosey!’ a voice cried out.
‘What’s ’is bloody hurry?’ another shouted. ‘Ain’t we marchin’ as fast as we bleedin’ can already?’
The nearest men roared with laughter and Arthur stifled a grin as he leaned forward and urged his mount on. Once they had passed the Third Division, they came up to the rearmost battalion of the Light Division marching down a straight section of road. To their right was a steep line of hills that gradually fell away. Nearly two miles ahead Arthur could see a small village basking in the afternoon sunshine. A faint haze of dust showed on the far side of the village as an enemy column marched east. At first Arthur thought that the French division had escaped, but then the ensign thrust his arm out and pointed up the hill. On the crest stood a small group of officers staring down the far slope.
‘That’s General Alten, my lord.’The ensign led the way as they passed between two infantry companies and began to climb the slope. By the time they reached Alten the horses were blown, and Arthur swung himself down from the saddle, heart pounding.
‘Where is this enemy division of yours, Alten?’
‘Over there, sir.’ Alten gestured down the slope. Below, another road converged on the village. A long line of French soldiers and wagons was marching along at a quick pace. Hurrying down towards them were the green- jacketed men of the Ninety-fifth.
‘What is your plan?’ asked Arthur.
‘The Ninety-fifth will open fire on them as soon as they are within range. The Fifty-second are double-timing down our side of the hill to get ahead of the last brigade and form a firing line. My Portuguese lads are marching to the right before dropping down the slope to the road to cut off their retreat. It’s too late to catch the first two brigades,’ he nodded towards the haze of a distant column beyond the village, ‘but this one is in the bag.’
‘Very good.’ Arthur nodded approvingly.
Just then, the first of the riflemen opened fire on the French column, and the crackle of rifles spread along the slope. Several of the enemy were quickly struck down, and the others began to break ranks to look for cover. Their officers struggled to rally them and re-form their ranks ready to return fire at the Ninety-fifth. Just as they had been trained to, the riflemen targeted the officers and one by one they were cut down as they gave their orders. The survivors ordered their troops to fire a volley where they they could see the puffs of smoke, but the riflemen had plenty of time to take cover and the storm of musket balls tore up the stunted bushes and glanced off rocks and not one of the greenjackets was hit. As soon as the French lowered their muskets and began to reload they were steadily whittled down, falling in twos and threes, until, unable to bear the massacre any longer, the survivors broke and ran, streaming along the road towards the village. The riflemen continued to fire on the fugitives as quickly as they could reload and take aim, and soon the road was littered with dead and wounded men and a number of horses, shot in their traces, forcing the drivers to abandon their wagons.
‘Glorious work!’ Alten rubbed his hands together in glee. ‘And now for the
Ahead of the fugitives the men of the Fifty-second were crossing the road. They halted, and turned smartly towards the French. Up went the muskets and then a wall of darting flames and plumes of smoke briefly hid the redcoats. The volley cut down scores of the enemy, and the rest turned back, running into their companions and causing further chaos. Another volley crashed out, and the riflemen kept up their firing from the slope. Hundreds of bodies carpeted the road now, and blocked from two sides the French tried to flee back the way they had come,
