The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon - Страница 101
- Предыдущая
- 101/169
- Следующая
‘Aren’t you going to open it, my lord?’ Somerset broke into his thoughts.
‘What?’
‘The case, sir.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Arthur drew it closer, fiddled with the dainty catch and then raised the lid. Inside, cushioned on and pinned to white silk, were the insignia of the Order of the Garter, the most noble order of knighthood that England had to offer. Arthur could not help but be moved by the honour that had been bestowed on him. He swallowed, then touched the gleaming stones of the star.
‘It is a fine thing, is it not?’ he mused.
‘Not just another bauble then, my lord?’
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you do not wipe that foolish expression off your face you may find that I am obliged to bestow a very different kind of Order upon you.’ He reached down and slapped the side of his boot.
His aide fought manfully to suppress his humour.
‘That’s better.’ Arthur stood up. ‘Then, if you’re quite ready, I think it is time for us to join General Hill.’
Chapter 39
Towards the end of May Ciudad Rodrigo was turned over to a Spanish garrison and the southern wing of the allied army set out for Salamanca. Given the rough terrain that General Graham would be crossing to reach the north bank of the Douro, most of the army’s guns, and the cavalry, marched with Arthur. In order to conceal his true numbers from the enemy Arthur sent over four thousand horsemen ahead of the main column, screening it from enemy scouts and at the same time impressing the French with the size of the effort being made to take Salamanca.
The French abandoned Salamanca to Wellington at the end of the month and the inhabitants of the city gave a guarded welcome to the allied army. Three days later that army abruptly left the city, marching swiftly north towards the Douro where they crossed near Toro and combined with General Graham’s column. Having gathered his reserves in Madrid to meet the threat from the direction of Salamanca, Joseph had too few men north of the Douro to do anything but retreat in the face of the powerful allied army. Arthur drove his men on along the bank of the Douro as far as Valladolid and then turned north again, parallel to the great Royal Road that linked Madrid with France.
The first evening the army camped in the hills. Arthur was hunched over a map in his tent when Somerset entered in the company of a naval officer. Outside, the army was setting up camp in the cool evening air. Row upon row of the new white tents were being erected on the more level stretches of the surrounding slopes. An exhausting day’s march had left the men quieter than usual and many had not bothered to light a fire, eating their rations cold before sorting out some bracken to lie on and promptly falling asleep.
Arthur was in a fine mood and he grinned as he looked up at his aide. ‘Twenty-one miles today, Somerset! Fine progress, eh? We’re advancing faster than the French can retreat.’
‘Fine progress indeed, my lord. But progress towards what, exactly?’
‘All in due course. Who is that with you?’
Somerset stood aside and ushered the officer into the tent. ‘Lieutenant Carstairs, of His Majesty’s Ship Apollo. He landed on the north coast and was escorted here by a band of partisans.’
Carstairs stepped towards Arthur’s table and swept off his hat. ‘I’ve been sent by my captain to find you, my lord. He commands the frigate squadron escorting the supply convoy from Southampton. We had orders to land your supplies in Oporto but found that you had left instructions to land them at Santander instead, and if the port was still in enemy hands we were to make contact with you for fresh orders. So, here I am.’
‘Good work, Carstairs. I like an officer who takes the initiative. How was your journey?’
‘Surprisingly easy, my lord. I have not seen a single French patrol between the coast and your camp.’
‘I’m not surprised. Joseph Bonaparte is pulling every spare man back to the Ebro. The French are in a complete flap.’ Arthur laughed, the customary whooping bark that Somerset had grown used to, but the naval officer looked at him in some alarm.
‘Now then,’ Arthur continued. ‘As to the matter of my supplies, I want your captain to have the convoy heave to off Santander until such time as we have taken the port. I take it that will not cause the Navy any difficulty.’
‘No, my lord. The escort squadron is provisioned for another two months. I am uncertain as to the arrangements of the merchant vessels, but we can feed their crews from our stores if need be.’
‘Good. I would be obliged if you would ask your captain to advise the admiralty that all supplies and reinforcements are to be sent to Santander from now on.’
Carstairs looked surprised. ‘Do you mean every convoy, my lord?’
‘I do. We are cutting our communications with Portugal once and for all. Henceforth we shall be supplied from the north coast of Spain.’
‘Forgive me, my lord, but from what I understand the admiralty has not been informed of such rerouting of the convoys.’
‘They are not the only ones,’ Arthur replied wryly. ‘Be that as it may, my new instructions stand, and need to be passed back up the Navy’s chain of command. See that your captain is informed as soon as possible, Carstairs.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now then, I expect you would appreciate something to eat, and a bed for the night. Somerset, have one of the clerks take the lieutenant to the staff officers’ mess.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Somerset bowed his head and held the flap open for Carstairs. He returned a moment later and stood awkwardly by the entrance to the tent until Arthur looked up.
‘Is there anything else?’
‘Yes, my lord, since you ask. I am concerned by the supply situation. The men have rations for two days and we are already three days ahead of our supply convoys. They in turn are more than a hundred miles from our forward depot at Salamanca. We are already operating at the limit of our lines of supply.’
Arthur leaned back in his chair. ‘You heard what I said to that naval officer. You are privy to my strategic intentions, Somerset. Therefore you know that we are shifting our lines of communication to Santander, and, in due course, San Sebastian. There is nothing for you to be concerned about.’
‘Except that we have possession of neither of those ports, my lord.’
‘Not yet. We shall just have to take them.’
‘But we have no guarantee that we can take them,’ Somerset replied. ‘What if we fail to capture them, as we failed at Burgos, my lord?’
‘We - I - failed at Burgos for want of adequate siege artillery. As you know, our siege train is aboard a convoy anchored off Coruсa. When the time comes, we will have the firepower necessary to reduce both ports, and then we shall have a direct supply route to England. Does that satisfy you, Somerset?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ Somerset replied reluctantly. He saluted formally and left the tent.
Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his cropped hair before turning his attention back to the map.
The army was less than a day’s march from Burgos and another two to the Ebro. The latest reports from the cavalry patrols revealed that the French were looking to defend the line of the Ebro. The enemy’s chief difficulty was that they could not be sure where the allied army was. All that was before them was Arthur’s cavalry screen and a division of Spanish troops. If the deception played out as Arthur hoped, then his army would be across the Ebro and threatening to cut Joseph and his army off from France before the French could react. The only course of action open to them would be to turn and fight. The decisive moment of the campaign would be attained, and all within a month of its beginning.
Despite his dismissal of Somerset’s concerns, Arthur accepted that there were risks. He had marched the men hard, and they were weary and might yet go hungry for a short time, but what Somerset seemed to have missed was the desire to close with and destroy the French that simmered in their breasts. They had resented the loss of the second chance to fight the enemy at Salamanca, and now were set on crushing them.
- Предыдущая
- 101/169
- Следующая
