Arthur had resigned as Chief Secretary of Ireland with some small measure of regret over unfulfilled ambitions to improve the lot of the common people. He had also given up his seat in Parliament. Henceforth, he would dedicate himself to his duties as a soldier, with a private resolve not to quit his new command until the French generals and marshals in the Peninsula had been humbled, or he himself had been killed in the process. He did not speak of this resolve to Kitty when he had informed her that he was off to war again.
Their parting had been emotional. This time it was likely that Arthur’s duties would keep him away from home for years rather than months. Kitty had not been able to hold back her tears at the prospect and clung to him on the morning of his departure from their home in Phoenix Park. Once Kitty had overseen the packing of their possessions she would move to the house in London to await his return.
As he gazed at the sprawling tiled roofs of the Portuguese capital Arthur could not help wondering at the scale of the task he had set himself. If all went well, it would be a long time before there could be any prospect of returning to Kitty and he felt pricked by guilt at the satisfaction the reflection afforded. But he brushed the thought aside as the frigate dropped anchor and the crew lowered the launch over the side to convey the new commander of the British army ashore.
Escorted by a company of men from one of the regiments that had newly arrived from Britain, Arthur made his way through the crowd towards the reception committee of local dignitaries waiting on a small stage in a large public square decorated with ribbons and flags. He was relieved to see Major-General Beresford amongst them. Beresford had served under him at Vimeiro, and had, thanks to his command of Portuguese, remained in Portugal to train soldiers recruited from the local populace. The two officers exchanged a salute before Arthur grasped the other man’s hand.
‘Good to see you again, Beresford.’
‘And you, sir.’
‘I understand that you have been promoted in my absence.A marshal of Portugal, no less.’
‘The rank serves its purpose,’ Beresford replied self-consciously. ‘At least the locals respect it. Makes my job of training them that much easier. Besides, I shan’t be the only Englishman with such a fine rank bestowed on him.’ Beresford turned to the local dignitaries and exchanged a few brief words with a small dapper man in a fine dress coat with a bright red sash across his shoulder.
‘This is the High Chamberlain of the Royal Court, sir. The senior official left behind after the government fled to Brazil.’
Arthur bowed to the chamberlain and at once the man burst into speech, talking so rapidly that Beresford could not keep up and struggled to follow the man’s address. At the end the chamberlain turned and clicked his fingers at one of his officials and the man stepped forward with an ornate case.The chamberlain took the case and opened it carefully to reveal a jewelled star on a purple ribbon, together with a gilded baton. He offered the case to Arthur with a deep bow.
‘What’s this?’ Arthur asked Beresford.
‘The acting head of the Portuguese government confers upon you the rank of marshal-general of the allied forces in Portugal.’
‘And the rest of the speech?’
‘Usual flummery, sir. And a nice bit about how you are going to crush the French armies in Portugal and Spain before you finally defeat the French Emperor himself.’
‘Ah, well, yes,’ Arthur responded awkwardly. ‘Please convey my humble appreciation for the honour the chamberlain does me.Tell him that I give my word that the French aggressors will rue the day that they ever dared to wage war on the people of Portugal.’
Beresford translated, speaking loud enough for his words to be clearly audible to the element of the crowd closest to the stage. As he finished the crowd erupted in a great cheer and Arthur turned towards them and raised his hat to acknowledge their acclaim. When he had finished, he crammed his bicorn back on his head, this time front to back to indicate that he was on active service. He turned to Beresford.
‘Better cut this as short as we can. There are matters to discuss, not to mention the usual formalities.’ Before Arthur could assume command of the army he would have to present his authorisation to the current commander, General Cradock. It would be an altogether more formal affair than the occasion when Burrard had superseded Arthur on the battlefield of Vimeiro. It suddenly struck him that the worm had finally turned.This was the first time he had enjoyed the fruits of seniority.
‘Yes, of course.’ Beresford nodded. ‘I will take you to the army’s headquarters at once, sir.’
Arthur expressed his thanks, waved and bowed his head to the crowd once more, and then left the stage. With his escort in attendance, he followed Beresford through the crowd out of the square and along a street into the heart of Lisbon. As they walked, Arthur recalled his first impressions of the city from the previous year. He was surprised again by the squalor of many of its thoroughfares, where human urine and ordure mixed with that of dogs and other animals, since the inhabitants still slung the contents of their slop buckets into the streets from overlooking windows. As they progressed Arthur could not resist glancing up warily from time to time.
General Cradock’s headquarters were situated in a large mansion overlooking the harbour. The position was elevated enough to ensure that a cooling breeze flowed through the house most of the year, and even though it was still only April the breeze was welcome, especially as it helped to dissipate the less pleasant odours of the city.
General Cradock and his staff were waiting in a large reception room overlooking the garden courtyard. After a formal announcement in front of these witnesses, Cradock surrendered his command. As soon as the brief ceremony was over Cradock relaxed and led Arthur down to the garden, where a small banquet had been prepared for the gathering of officers. As the others ate amid a hubbub of conversation, Arthur led Cradock to one side so that they might talk in confidence.
‘What is the latest intelligence on the enemy?’
Cradock raised his eyebrows briefly as he composed his response. ‘You have picked a hard time to take charge,Wellesley. Marshal Victor is at Merida, not far from the Portuguese border. He defeated a Spanish army in March so we can’t expect much help on that front for a while. Meanwhile, Marshal Soult still occupies Oporto and is awaiting reinforcements before renewing his attempt to conquer the rest of Portugal. It is most likely that Ney will march to join him the moment the rebels in Galicia have been subdued.’
‘That may take rather longer than Ney might think,’ Arthur responded thoughtfully, recalling the latest
