Rumours Of War

A good move, thought Hervey, as well as correct; it pleased and reassured the man. He thought it best to speak to him first in English rather than risk alarming him with French, and hoped Isabella would come forward soon. ‘I am Major Hervey of His Britannic Majesty’s Sixth Light Dragoons.’

The lieutenant saluted, but said nothing, so that Hervey was unsure if he spoke English or not.

‘Parlez-vous francais, monsieur?’

‘Un peu, monsieur.’

Hervey decided to continue in French. ‘I wish to see General d’Olivenza. I dined with him last night at the bishop’s palace.’

The lieutenant was not in the least discomposed. ‘Very well, monsieur. Please come with me.’

He motioned to the picket behind to make way, then beckoned Hervey to follow him.

Isabella joined them and established her credentials in rapid Portuguese.

‘Ask him, if you will, senhora, what he makes of the firing.’

The lieutenant of the town picket shook his head. ‘We are trying to discover.’ He called one of his NCOs over: ‘Take the English major to the citadel.’

Hervey sensed the lieutenant’s keenness to have them escorted away, for all his civility. ‘I am obliged. I hope we may meet again shortly.’

The lieutenant saluted. ‘J’y reste. Quand vous retournez, monsieur le commandant, j’aurai tous que vous voudriez savoir.’

They shook hands.

It took a quarter of an hour to travel the dark streets to the general’s headquarters, and they saw no one. They passed through the citadel’s immense arched gateway without challenge, crossed the courtyard, and into the great hall. Torches and candles lit the assembling officials and soldiers. Some of them were agitated, and looked at Hervey and his party warily. His uniform was not so very different from the Portuguese, but it was different enough.

The escort spoke to an orderly, who brought the officer of the inlying picket.

Isabella explained their purpose, and the ensign bid them follow him.

When they came to the general’s quarters, his adjutant greeted them respectfully, seeming already to know who Hervey was. He admitted him at once, and Isabella.

General d’Olivenza sat at a table covered with maps. Hervey saw the same man as the evening before, but not the same countenance. Gone was the composure and solidity; instead there was an old and anxious face, and hunched shoulders. His good manners remained, however. He rose as they entered, bowed to Hervey’s salute, and again to Isabella.

‘The most alarming reports from Portalegre, Major Hervey,’ he began, gesturing at one of the maps. ‘Not twenty leagues from here. The Duke of Ferreira is marching with an army on Lisbon. He has already swept aside the garrison at Castelo de Vide and induced the regiment there to throw in their lot with him. Castelo de Vide! Never would I have imagined it possible.’

Hervey advanced to the table. ‘May I, sir?’ He picked up a magnifying glass and peered closely at the map.

‘And the Marques de Chaves does the same in Alto Douro. And the Duke of Abrantes has landed in Algarve and carries all before him. We shall soon be cut off here.’

Isabella struggled to keep up with the general’s agitation.

Hervey found each of the places on the map, but not without difficulty; the distances involved seemed to him curious. ‘General, how is all this intelligence come by?’

‘We have a regular exchange with Portalegre, Major Hervey. A galloper arrived three hours ago.’

‘How do you suppose Portalegre learned of the other two incursions?’

The general looked as though it was the first he had considered it. ‘It is on the post route to Madrid from Lisbon. Perhaps it was learned thus.’

Hervey calculated. ‘We left Lisbon but three days ago.’

The general looked puzzled.

‘And if the report came from Lisbon, it seems remarkable that the news should have reached Portalegre from both the north and the south of the country at the same time, think you not?’

‘You imagine it a false report then, Major Hervey?’

‘I think it a very convenient one, General. Calculated, perhaps, to persuade a garrison that resistance is to no end.’

The general sat down again, thoughtful.

‘The fortress can hold out indefinitely, I understand.’ There was more an imperative tone to Hervey’s voice than a questioning one.

The general raised his eyebrows. ‘I have fewer than two hundred men, Major Hervey. Those and fifty or so pe do castelo.’

Hervey frowned. ‘General, last night you said you had a regiment of infantry – the Fifth, as I recall. Indeed I was brought here by one of the Fifth’s officers.’

The general nodded. ‘I have. But since the war it has never been at more than half-strength. And half of those are on winter furlough.’

Hervey sat down opposite him.

The general brightened. Elvas had not fallen to Massena when the French invaded for the second time, in 1810, when he had been but a captain of infantry. ‘The walls are strong. If the defenders are true then we might hold yet. But there must be active steps for our relief.’

Hervey could have no certain idea if the general’s sudden faith were sound or not, but unless the commander of the fortress himself was assured then there could be no resistance to speak of.

‘I have sent the captain of the guard to discover what is the musketry,’ said General d’Olivenza, brightening further.

‘That is capital, General,’ Hervey replied, hoping to sound convincing.

The general rose and made to fasten on his swordbelt. ‘Come, Major Hervey; I will show you the citadel. The guard is stood-to.’

That was a start, thought Hervey, but he need not see it now. ‘Sir, might I first see what the rebels look like?’

The general looked puzzled. ‘There’s another hour to sunrise, Major Hervey.’

‘Indeed, sir. What I meant was that I should like to see for myself what is this firing. Do I have your leave?’

The general looked no less puzzled, but was inclined to think that Hervey knew his business. ‘Of course, of course.’ Then he seemed to have second thoughts. ‘But I will not have you go without an escort. See you, take a dozen atiradores.’

‘Do you have a half-dozen cavalry instead, sir?’

‘What is here in the garrison is out on patrol already. The nearest are at Vila Vicosa, three leagues south- west.’

Hervey remembered Vila Vicosa well enough. He did not suppose the road was any better now than it had been then. ‘Thank you, General. I imagine we will be very well served by your tiraadores.’ He braced. ‘With your leave?’

The general called his adjutant and gave instructions for the escort. ‘I will walk the citadel then, Major Hervey; before dawn – the first time in years. I believe I am the better already just for imagining it.’

Hervey smiled politely. He was pleased for the general’s re-animation, but despairing that it had taken his own observations with the magnifying glass to prompt it.

‘Tiradores, sir?’ asked Corporal Wainwright as they waited in the courtyard.

‘Johnson, you remember?’ Hervey took his reins back and checked the girth. They would lead the horses again, but he might have to mount in an instant.

‘Riflemen,’ said Johnson. ‘Like us ones.’

‘Good riflemen, too,’ added Hervey.

As he spoke, a dozen brown-clad figures came doubling towards them, their shadows large on the walls. They fell into line without a word of command, sloping their Baker rifles just like the Sixtieth or the Rifle Brigade –