Rumours Of War

too dark.

In a few minutes more, Herbert climbed back up the ladder and called to his sappers on the other side to send the riflemen over.

It took almost an hour for them all to cross. The footways were mere planks, with no handholds. They were narrow and slippery, and it was pitch black. In truth, Hervey thought that if a man could see what he stepped along, and over, it would have taken at least twice the time. And the night was doubly welcome indeed, for if the French saw now they would surely attack, in even modest strength? Hervey thought the bridge would easily fall to them.

He counted forty-one in all, thirty-three riflemen, their officer, holding out his sword for balance, and seven of Herbert’s sappers. It was all very neatly done.

Then came the artificer, and then Herbert himself. Hervey helped them push the footways into the river.

‘Double away, Hervey. This will be a noisy affair!’ called Herbert, and with some relish.

A noisy affair: Hervey would never forget it. They were not long at the end of the bridge when a blast like the crack of doom threw them flat on their faces.

When the shower of masonry was over, General Craufurd loomed out of the dark. ‘Your report, Mr Herbert. And quick about it, if you please.’

‘He is gone for a look, sir,’ explained Hervey.

‘Hah! You sappers like nothing more than to get among the trash!’

There was levity in his voice, but Hervey thought better than to disclaim Black Bob’s dubious accolade.

In another minute, Herbert was back. ‘Two arches gone in the first explosion, sir, each of twenty feet. I’ll need to survey the centre span more fully, but it has fallen, for certain.’

‘Good work. Did you get all my riflemen back?’

‘All present, sir,’ came a voice from behind.

‘Mr Hill?’

‘It is, General. And thirty-two riflemen.’

‘Good. And your men, Herbert?’

‘Seven of them, sir. The other three, the second firing party, will be crossing by wherry as we speak: Mr Gilbert and two men remained on the French side in case the matches could not be lit from here.’

Hervey did the sums again; he found he had counted one too many. But better that, he thought, than the other way round.

CHAPTER TWENTY

AN AFFAIR OF CAVALRY

Elvas, 1 November 1826

Dom Mateo was unwavering in his determination to take whatever cavalry he could muster to confront the rebels; and the Spaniards too, for that matter. The more Hervey told him of the affair at Sahagun and the fighting withdrawal to the Esla, the more he became convinced that it was the only way for them now.

‘The fortress will hold, Hervey,’ he said assuredly, as they walked together along the eastern ramparts in the early sun. ‘Look around. See how thick the walls are. These Miguelistas would have to assemble a very great siege train. With cavalry we could at least prevent them.’

‘With enough cavalry, Dom Mateo. And the walls would have to be defended truly.’

Dom Mateo waved a hand dismissively. ‘The commanding officers are good men.’

Hervey had no doubt of it, nor that Major Coa was a most capable staff officer, but with the possibility of mutiny in the garrison (an acknowledged if scarcely spoken threat) he was still doubtful that dividing their efforts so was prudent. He sighed. ‘Dom Mateo, don’t mistake me; I believe your resolve admirable, but I do not see that our condition here is at all to be compared with Lord Paget’s at Sahagun. The French believed Sir John Moore was about to attack them at Carrion; Paget was therefore merely playing to their expectations. It is true that he was so vigorous thereafter that they thought he had many more cavalry than he did, but they were themselves very hesitant in advancing to the Esla, as if fearing a trap.’

Dom Mateo raised both hands. ‘But why should the rebels be any bolder?’

Hervey did not answer at first. The question was a fair one. In coming to his estimation, he had supposed the worst (it had always served him well to do so), yet it did seem more likely that an advance would be hesitant, especially one intent principally on probing. He began nodding his head. ‘It is a pity that we do not have the means of increasing the rebels’ trepidation.’

Dom Mateo inclined his head, and smiled. ‘You see, Hervey; my scheme is possible. All we must do is find a means, a ruse even.’

Hervey was somewhat abashed to realize that Dom Mateo displayed more spirit for the fight than he did. But he had come to distrust mere fighting spirit, when it was a substitute for thinking, though it sometimes revealed possibilities that would otherwise not occur in cool calculation. He saw that Dom Mateo was determined, and decided to throw in with that spirit. He clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘General, you are right. All we must do is find a means. I distrust ruses; they depend too much on fortune. But if there are not the solid means, then humbug it must be.’

Hervey began to wonder how Lord Paget had found the means. Looking back on it, he supposed it must have been the affair at Sahagun that decided matters. The French, even knowing their own superiority in numbers – which by then they must have had a very clear idea of – had neither counter-charged nor manoeuvred that morning. There was no lack of personal courage in the ranks of chasseurs and dragons, as the affair at Benavente later had shown, but their commanders lacked confidence, or skill; perhaps both. Paget must have calculated that any blow, however weak, could only serve to increase their disquiet. By rights, had Debelle been a commander of any dash, Soult’s cavalry would have beaten him to the Esla, taken the bridges and cut him off. Paget must have had nerves of steel to remain east of the river for so long, especially once night had come.

How had Paget found his way to the bridge that night? Hervey remembered full well how he himself had had the very devil of a job finding the Sixth after the engineers had fired the charges, when General Craufurd had at last dismissed him. Just before midnight, orders had apparently come for the regiment to proceed with all haste to Benavente, about eight miles to the north-west, and Sir Edward Lankester had at once sent an orderly to the bridge with this intelligence, but somehow Hervey had not received it, and he had returned in the early hours to an empty monastery rather than a welcome billet. There had been but one road for the regiment to take, however, and so Hervey and his little party – the men tired and disgruntled by this time rather than exulting in their work at the bridge – had plodded for another three hours until they reached the outlying pickets at Benavente.

‘All the cavalry is at the castle,’ said the picket-officer, who seemed not entirely sure of his information – nor, indeed, too certain of his own courage; and for the first time, Hervey was aware that all might not be well.

The castle was easy enough to find, for it stood on a rocky outcrop high above the town, a blaze of light compared with the darkness of the mean streets below. Hervey and his men dismounted short of the gate and the inlying picket.

‘Corporal Armstrong, have the men stand easy while I get orders.’

‘Ay, sir. But I hope they’ll be orders to bed down. There’s not much left in neither man nor beast.’

Hervey was inclined to say that he imagined what little remained would soon be the difference between getting through the mountains and falling prey to the French; but he supposed that Armstrong knew it too. ‘I’ll see to it, Corporal. It might be the last straw we have in many a night.’

As he walked away he cursed himself for doubting – or, rather, for giving voice to those doubts. Daniel