The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon - Страница 37

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‘No, sire, not as such. I am only concerned about the damage this will do to the French reputation for romance.’

The other men smiled and a few laughed, but Napoleon’s expression remained humourless. ‘There is no place for romance in the affairs of state.’ He frowned and hardened his voice. ‘Not any more.’

Chapter 14

Arthur

Lisbon, February 1810

‘The government is making a fine mess of things.’ Henry Wellesley shook his head as he helped himself to another glass of Arthur’s Madeira. The two brothers were seated in front of a fire in the country house Arthur rented from a local noble. Outside night had fallen and rain lashed the shutters. The army was in winter quarters along the border with Spain and he had taken the opportunity to visit Lisbon to arrange for provisions to be sent forward. He was also taking stock of the progress of the network of defences he had ordered to be constructed across the strip of land north of the city, between the sea and the river Tagus. Tens of thousands of Portuguese peasants had been conscripted to build the forts, redoubts and trenches on either side of the town of Torres Vedras that were intended to hold back the onslaught of the French army when it next attempted to sweep the English out of the Peninsula.

Henry had arrived from Cadiz in a packet ship, bearing the latest despatches from London. It was a source of considerable infuriation to Arthur that his political masters informed the British representative at Cadiz of developments at home, before such news was passed on to the commander of the English forces in the Peninsula. There was some small cheer on this day at least since Henry had brought the despatches in person, together with letters from friends and family.

‘By God,’ Arthur growled. ‘Those fools back in London. Anyone would think they would rather dish their political opponents than the enemy.’

‘But Arthur, as far as they are concerned their political opponents are their enemy. The French are merely an inconvenience.’

‘Precisely. I thought I’d heard it all when news arrived of that ridiculous duel between Castlereagh and Canning. It’s a miracle only Canning was wounded. Now both men are in disgrace and out of government, precisely at the time when all Englishmen should be putting country above all else. Meanwhile, we have that religious zealot, Spencer Perceval, as Prime Minister. At least in Lord Liverpool we have a cool head as War Minister. He at least appreciates the need to keep an army here in Spain.’

‘That he does, but Liverpool is struggling to defend that point of view. There are men in the cabinet who are quite open in their calls to either have you replaced, or have the army evacuated and returned to England.’

Arthur stared into the heart of the fire and asked quietly,‘Why would they want to replace me? What reason could they have?’

‘Reason? You are a Wellesley; Richard’s brother. That is reason enough as far as they are concerned.’

‘You forget.’ Arthur smiled. ‘I am not Wellesley any more.’

‘I know. You now serve under the name of Wellington. A silly choice, if you ask me. Typical of brother William.’

‘Wellington will suffice for the present,’ Arthur replied, briefly reflecting on his ennoblement following the battle at Talavera the previous year. The King had agreed to confer a peerage on Arthur to reward his victory. William had taken charge of the process of finding a title and he had discovered a small village named Welleslie in the west country. But rather than risk confusion with Richard’s name and title, the College of Heralds had chosen the name of the nearby town of Wellington instead. And so, from September, Arthur had become Viscount Wellington of Talavera. An awkward-sounding title, he had decided.

‘We cannot afford to abandon our hold here,’Arthur continued.‘Our presence forces Bonaparte to keep a quarter of a million men tied down in the Peninsula. Every day costs the enemy dearly in lives and gold. France is slowly, but surely, bleeding itself dry. And while that continues it weakens Bonaparte’s ability to field powerful armies in the rest of the continent.’ Arthur leaned forward and tapped his brother’s knee. ‘Henry, I need you to press the case in London. You must make sure that the government does not abandon the only strategy that can defeat the French.’

Henry sighed. ‘I will do what I can, Arthur. You have my word. The trouble is that our Spanish allies are not helping the cause. Their generals seem to be incapable of mastering their French opponents.’

‘Indeed.’ Arthur shook his head sadly. ‘But we need not abandon all hope. If the rulers of Spain have failed us the same cannot be said for the common people. Their hearts are made of sterner stuff and they will fight on.’

‘What good will that do them, or us? The rebels are no match for Bonaparte’s regulars. They will be massacred if they try to resist.’

‘I think not. Say what you will about the junta, and the army, but the war of the partisans will continue for some time yet. In that you may find the seeds of our eventual victory in the Peninsula.’

‘I hope you are right.’ Henry picked up his glass and turned it slowly in his hands for a while before he continued. ‘Arthur, I must ask you to take me into your confidence, if I am to help persuade the government to continue backing your work here. I must know precisely how you plan to wage this war.’

‘There is little I can do at present,’ Arthur responded flatly. ‘I am outnumbered ten to one. The men we lost at Talavera have only recently been replaced by fresh recruits. Many of the men who survived the battle are worn out, and some have been broken by sickness following our retreat to Portugal. What is true of the men is also true of my officers, with the additional complication that some are disloyal, some are incompetent and some are a downright danger to our own side. Even supposing that the army was ready to strike deep into Spain, I have not yet solved the problem of supply. The government’s parsimony means I can barely afford to feed and equip our soldiers here in Portugal. I will not be able to rely on our Spanish friends for supplies, and so if I am to wage war in Spain I shall need far more gold to pay our way.’ He gave a weary smile. ‘So, Henry, you see how I am constrained from taking the fight to the enemy.’

‘I understand that well enough, but then what is your plan?’

‘If we cannot attack the enemy then we must lure him into attacking us. That is why I have given orders for the construction of the defence lines to the north of Lisbon. For the moment Napoleon has fashioned a peace with the other powers on the continent. That means he will be able to concentrate a large army in Spain, tasked with crushing my forces here in Portugal. So, I will make a show of preparing to fight the French, while the land in front of the lines is cleared of people and stripped of food, shelter and forage. Then I will fall back into the defences and wait there for the enemy. The French will face the choice of trying to starve us out, or retreating back into Spain. Since we can be readily supplied by sea we shall not go hungry. The enemy on the other hand will begin to starve, yet they will not retreat for fear of incurring the Emperor’s wrath. That dilemma will destroy them.’ Arthur eased himself back into his chair. ‘That, Henry, is my strategy. We may not be able to win the war here, but we certainly won’t lose it, provided England is patient and generous with its supplies of men and money. It may seem perverse, but I would welcome a French attack. I only hope it arrives before the government in London loses its nerve and orders me to withdraw.’

Henry was silent for a moment and then nodded. ‘I will do what I can to prevent that, but you must realise that England expects victories, sooner rather than later.’

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