Rumours Of War

imprudently.Believe me, Dan, the whole Army is blazing for a fight. Sir Edward Lankester – who daily shows himself an officer of most wonderful character – says that it must be certain that Sir John Moore will have to break off and save the Army (for a hundred thousand French, even without Bonaparte at their head, would be a sore trial for our thirty-thousand), but yet to do so without a fight would hazard too much. But whether we return to Portugal is not certain, for our lines are long there, and there is talk of a place called Corunna in the north whence the Navy might take us off in safety. But all that is long before us, for first we must have our fight, and who knows, these fellows in red coats all about us may yet give the French such a drub that they will run to the east whence they came (and our cavalry will surely hasten them!) and the Spaniards might then find the will to fight!I did not say anything of our brigadier. He is the Honbl. Charles Stewart. I think you told me once he was in Holland? I have seen him several times and he is much admired. The others in the brigade are the 18th and the 3rd (Hussars) of the King’s German Legion. The brigade led the northwards movement of the Army, and our scouts rode very boldly to the east of them, crossing and re-crossing the French line of advance and passing to Sir John Moore the information of Bonaparte’s progress. We danced about the French indeed like moths about a candle! The weather has been bitter cold, and grows worse by the day. The night frosts are very hard and the fogs so thick that we have the very devil of a job on picket (there have been many false alarms, and more than once a sentry has fired on his own). Snow has been falling hard these last days and our Spanish guides (who are excellent fellows) say the roads will be impassable for our guns, and where the snow blows into drifts it will not be safe for the infantry to march.Dan, since I began writing this there is news just had of the arrival of General Baird’s corps at Mayorga, which is fewer than twenty leagues north of here, and also Lord Paget with the rest of the Cavalry. This latter is welcome news to all who know him, for they say he is the finest commander of cavalry in the whole of the Army! Our new orders are that we shall march at once to Mayorga – the Sixth I mean – and there to join General Slade’s brigade of Cavalry. In truth this is not the most welcome of news since it had been our fervent wish to be first in on the French at Valladolid! It goes hard on us too that we are to leave Brigadier Stewart’s brigade, for not only did I tell you that he is regarded highly, the opinion of the officers concerning Brigadier Slade is very poor. They say he is a very odious man and is universally called Black Jack . . .

But at least some of the women escaped the worst, returning to Lisbon of their own volition. The commanding officer, generous as ever, offered gold for the journey to any that would take it. And by that third week of December, none of the men could have been in any doubt as to the privations their women would suffer if they stayed. Despite all their washing and mending, their cooking and nursing, the best thing was to get them back to Lisbon before the snows closed the passes.

But for all that, Hervey’s problems with women seemed simple and direct then, however bruising. A few sods and stones, a welter of abuse, a deal of rib-bending from his fellows: it had been nothing of lasting injury, even to his pride. Indeed, though he did not know it at the time, his troop captain had spoken of the business to their commanding officer in terms of approbation.

However, two decades on and here he was again with women and donkeys; and Johnson and a missing trunk. But if only tinker women and donkeys were his sole vexation, how much simpler would his affairs be. He had antagonized Kat for sure. He had not realized that it had been she who had prepared the way with the charge, that it was because of Kat that he was at Elvas now, just as it was because of her that he was in Portugal at all. And when she had said she would accompany him to Elvas he had refused her, not wanting, as all those years ago, to be encumbered by followers. But he had not told her that Isabella Delgado would go. It seemed an unnecessary aggravation to do so, serving no purpose, for Kat would only say that Isabella’s presence showed that Elvas was safe enough, and he would then have to explain that Isabella Delgado would serve his purpose in being in Elvas, whereas Kat would not; which in turn would suggest ingratitude, and perhaps even provoke a counter-argument that she, Kat, had served his purpose so well to date that she could not fail to be of continuing good service in Elvas.

Well, it was done now. He was in Elvas, and Isabella Delgado would be here before too long. He could only hope that Kat never learned of it. Why should she indeed?

Private Johnson had recovered his spirits, and so had Hervey. The small trunk contained nothing that was irreplaceable, and the tinkerwomen’s insults had not hurt so very much. And they were both very comfortably housed in the palacio of the bishop of Elvas, the horses stabled well, and the bishop himself was agreeable. Isabella Delgado’s uncle kept a good household too, with even a lady’s maid who would provide tolerably well for her while they stayed. The bishop’s laundry would have shamed many a one in St James’s. Hervey’s losses were, indeed, made good within the hour, and very adequately, by the bishop’s linen room.

Tomorrow he would see Elvas, the mirror of Badajoz. Or rather, he would see it at close hand, for the walls of the great frontier fortress had been visible for miles. Hervey’s certainty in a forward strategy had grown at once after seeing them again after all those years. But for now he had the pleasure before him of the bishop’s table, and the bishop’s intelligence of the Miguelistas, and – he would admit – the company of the bishop’s niece. Not that Isabella Delgado’s company would be primarily of a social nature, for Hervey’s Latin was hardly assured, and there was no knowing what the military authorities spoke.

They assembled only briefly, at six, in the great hall on the first floor of the palacio before processing to the bishop’s private dining room, a high-ceilinged chamber hung with religious tapestries. They were five, Isabella Delgado the only female, although the fine oak table was big enough for twice the party. The bishop’s chaplain was a man of about Hervey’s age. He said little, and then only in reply to a direct question or to an instruction from his principal. The bishop himself was tall and spare, with the look of an ascetic, yet a benign one. He smiled welcomingly but not egregiously, he spoke in French to Hervey before dinner, and it was obvious that he had a great affection for his niece. The other guest was the commander of the Elvas garrison, Brigadier-General d’Olivenza, a short, compact man with a round, bald head and side whiskers. He too had a ready, warm smile, accentuated by exceptionally good teeth, very white.

The bishop’s chaplain said grace, and then they sat. It was a Friday, so the table was meatless. There were four dishes, three of them bacalhau, salt cod. Two footmen served the first, while the bishop began at once to speak to the issue.

‘General, we all know the reason for Major Hervey’s coming here. I believe he would know your thoughts on the situation in Elvas. Are you able to speak freely?’

Isabella leaned towards Hervey on her right to translate.

‘I am perfectly able to speak freely, my lord. We are among friends.’

Hervey concluded by their ease and words that bishop and general were on terms of respectful intimacy. He thought it reassuring.

‘Major Hervey,’ began the general, smiling still. ‘I can tell you very simply. I have troops enough to hold the fortress against the Spaniards and the followers of Dom Miguel, but I do not know their true allegiance. I have no reason to doubt it, save that I had no reason to doubt the loyalty of the regiments that deserted with the Marques de Chaves.’

Isabella obliged again with her interpreting.

‘What is the allegiance of the fidalgos hereabout?’ asked Hervey.

The general looked at the bishop, who answered for them. ‘I believe and trust with all my heart, Major Hervey, that Elvas is loyal to Dom Pedro and Her Royal Highness the regent.’

‘Which is why,’ added the general, ‘the Spaniards and their lackeys may yet be uncertain as to what their next move must be, for Elvas commands the road to Lisbon.’

Hervey knew it. It had commanded the road to Madrid twenty years before – Elvas and its twin sentinel Badajoz across the frontier. But then it had all been so simple: the French would advance, or else Sir John Moore would, and Elvas or Badajoz be invested. There would be a siege battle, the French or Sir John would prevail, and the advance would continue. That was the business of war – an option of difficulties, for sure, but in essence straightforward. What did an army of rebels do, however? They would be expecting some sort of popular rising, the defection of some of the garrison, and the support of Spanish troops, who might not dare cross the frontier. How then would they proceed? By what signs would they reveal themselves? These were the questions to be addressed, and Hervey realized that his prior knowledge of the Peninsula counted for little in this regard, if anything at all. But he was more than ever certain that sitting behind the lines of Torres Vedras would not serve.

Isabella worked hard to convey both the sense and import of the conversation as it ranged from fact to speculation and back, at times seamlessly. She ate nothing of the first dish, and the second was all but finished