Rumours Of War

‘They have too much to lose, I think. If the expedition had been a success, then it would probably have been the signal for them to march.’

‘But the affair in the plaza was a poor show. What have they learned?’

Dom Mateo inclined his head, as if to challenge the assertion. ‘It may have been more clever than you imagine, Major Hervey. Suppose that no one had come to challenge them? It was but chance that you were there, and I arrived with my troop.’

‘They would still have to reduce the citadel even if they gained the walls. A fearsome undertaking, I’d wager.’

Dom Mateo smiled. ‘I was but a youth when last it was done. It was, as you say, a fearsome undertaking.’

Hervey’s Lusitano began jogging again. He sat deep, his legs applied, to drive the mare onto the bit, for she did not respect a looser rein as did Gilbert. ‘You imagined yourself quite secure within the walls?’

Dom Mateo raised a hand, palm upward. ‘We were on the outside, Major Hervey. It was the French who had possession! It was you British who came to their rescue!’

Hervey frowned. ‘After Cintra?’

Dom Mateo frowned too. ‘Yes, Cintra.’

Cintra – as infamous a business as ever there was. It cast a long shadow still. But even at the time, Hervey, mint-new cornet that he had been, comprehended the shame. The Duke of Wellington had beaten the French at Vimeiro (or Vimiera, as the Horse Guards had it) soon after his first-footing, and with great economy, yet the arrival of – by common consent – two old fools, Hew Dalrymple and Harry Burrard, Wellington’s seniors in the gradation list, had deprived him of command. What was worse, when the French sought terms it was Dalrymple and Burrard who treated with them. And what had those two old fools agreed? To allow the French, under arms and with all their loot, safe passage back to France! And in ships of the Royal Navy! Hervey could see it now, the redcoats having to escort Junot’s men to the Tagus to protect them from the anger of the good citizens of Lisbon. But he did not know that redcoats had had to rescue the French from Elvas!

‘And Almeida too,’ added Dom Mateo, shaking his head.

‘Well, we have redeemed ourselves since,’ said Hervey assuredly, still trying to collect his mare. ‘And paid the price.’

‘Senhor, there is no country so grateful as mine.’

Hervey’s little Lusitano was beginning to stamp, to piaffe almost.

Dom Mateo glanced at him and smiled once more at his efforts to master her. ‘Portuguese ladies can be very wilful, you know, senhor. Why not allow the mare her desire? She will serve you just as well, and the discomfort is very little!’

Portuguese ladies – the Sixth had delighted in their company for two winters and more in the Peninsula. As often as not they would speak only from behind the grille, the bars that made many a door and window look as if they belonged to a jail rather than a nunnery or palacio. And even out in society they often as not spoke as if the grille were there. But beneath lay a passion as strong as any of the Spanish girls the regiment had come to know later. Hervey had read Byron on the passage out. Kat had pressed Childe Harold on him, though she confessed she had not read much of it herself. But he did not recognize the country in it, or the people, save perhaps at Cintra, which even the poet in his curious black bile could not but write well of. He recollected well enough ‘the Spanish hind’ of which Byron waxed, but not his ‘Lusian slave’. There was nothing slave-like, in Hervey’s reckoning, about the Portuguese, hinds or harts. Isabella Delgado’s eyes had first seized him from behind the grille, but they had soon been free; and she was now half English, doubly forthright and resolute therefore. In his mind’s eye he began comparing her with Henrietta. In so many ways they were the same people.

Yes, Dom Mateo spoke much sense. Indeed, Hervey counted him a most sensible, as well as most agreeable, companion. Dom Mateo knew his own mind, too, and that mind was capable of its own thoughts. Hervey, at last managing to collect his mare, would now share with him his own.

‘You know, Dom Mateo, what it is the Duke of Wellington says the art of war boils down to?’

‘Douro? You mean the business of seeing the other side of the hill?’

Hervey nodded. The duke’s opinions were satisfyingly well travelled.

‘It is so. It must be the first object of every commander.’

Hervey, at last relieved to be in a level walk and able to loosen the reins a little, warmed further to his subject. ‘The trouble is, in the case of any British expedition, as presently conceived, it will not be so much seeing on the enemy’s side of the hill but the hills all the way from Lisbon to the frontier.’

Dom Mateo seized the point at once. ‘The force would remain in Lisbon?’

‘At Torres Vedras.’

Dom Mateo looked puzzled. ‘I might see the wisdom of holding troops in Lisbon, but not at Torres Vedras.’

‘Indeed. I have argued for a forward strategy, but to no avail. There is perhaps a chance that the force might include cavalry and light troops, who might then make a dash for the frontier in the event of an incursion. Yet days – weeks, even – might pass before word could be got to them.’

Dom Mateo shook his head. ‘Without question more troops are needed along the frontier, otherwise even if a force were got up quickly from Lisbon, the rebels could rally support. And if Spanish regulars march against us then sheer numbers would decide it quickly.’

Hervey nodded, pleased to find a supporting view. ‘I learned in Lisbon there are not the troops to garrison the frontier; not if the lines of Torres Vedras are garrisoned first. We – the British, I mean – should have to send three divisions, which I believe is quite beyond the nation’s capability. Colonel Norris has all this, and is yet of a conventional mind. “When there is an insufficiency of troops to defend a line, the line must by some means be shortened” is what he said to me by return. He knows his regulations well enough. And there’s no denying that the line he has in mind is short and admirably defensible.’

Dom Mateo raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘But in the wrong place.’

‘To Colonel Norris, a fine work of fortification in the wrong place is better than a poorer one perfectly situated.’

‘Colonel Norris is um burro!’

‘Colonel Norris is a bombardier!’

They were both able to smile.

‘And so what does the major of cavalry plan now?’ asked Dom Mateo.

Hervey did not hesitate. ‘I have written to the Horse Guards – to the commander-in-chief’s headquarters, I mean – and laid out my contrary views.’

‘That was brave, senhor.’

Hervey smiled again. ‘Was it? Perhaps so, but I have a friend at court, so to speak. I trust to his discretion. But I think the best course would be to persuade our envoy in Lisbon. His sympathy, I believe, is indeed for a forward strategy. But if Lord Beresford comes, I must trust that he at least will see the merit in the design.’

Dom Mateo looked surprised. ‘You did not say Beresford was to come, senhor.’

Hervey was embarrassed. ‘I beg your pardon, Dom Mateo. I had not thought . . . It is but rumour still.’

Dom Mateo nodded slowly. ‘You know, Major Hervey, there has long been a saying in my country about Marshal Beresford: “os ingleses vindicarem dos Franceses o trono de Beresford primo, occupado pelo usurpador Junot primo”. So you see, my friend, there would be no rejoicing if the English placed Beresford the second on the throne instead of the usurper Miguel!’

Hervey looked disappointed.

Dom Mateo narrowed his eyes, nodding slowly again. ‘Well, my friend, whether Beresford comes or not, I do believe that a forward strategy might yet work indeed, even if the major part of the troops were held back at Torres Vedras. The issue turns on the speed with which we can alert them to our need here, does it not? Did you ever hear of General Folque?’

Hervey’s brow furrowed; it had been a long time. He could remember a Colonel Folque at Mayorga; who could not? Might he be the same? ‘An engineer officer?’

‘Yes, Hervey, indeed! The engineer officer!’