The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon - Страница 81

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‘Thank God for that.’ He breathed deeply. ‘I believe I would have stewed in my own juices if I had been forced to wear that a moment longer.’

General Alava smiled. ‘It seems that our climate suits no one but the natives.’

‘There are more comfortable landscapes across which to wage war,’ Arthur agreed. ‘But for now we will rest the army for a few days. Let the men indulge themselves, and let the locals enjoy their freedom, while I decide what is to happen next.’

‘And what will you decide, I wonder?’Alava cocked an eyebrow.‘You have Madrid, but taking the capital - while a great achievement in itself - will not rid my people of the French.’

‘No, it won’t,’ Arthur admitted. ‘But it has forced them to withdraw to the north and east of the country, and Marshal Soult will have to give up the siege of Cadiz and leave Andalucia, or risk being cut off.’ Arthur took another glass of water and sipped at it thoughtfully. ‘Now that we have our great victory, and have chased Boney’s brother out of Madrid, it would be criminal to squander the favourable circumstances in which we find ourselves.’

He stretched his arms and then crossed to the huge oak table that dominated the middle of what had once been King Joseph’s library. The most valuable books in the collection had been hurriedly packed into the convoy when the French had fled. Now there were gaps in the shelves, like missing teeth, and hundreds of volumes that had been pulled out and then rejected still lay where they had been dropped on the floor. Most of the rooms in the palace had been ransacked by the palace staff as soon as the French had left, and now the elegant halls and chambers were littered with broken vases and crockery.

Many of the maps and charts that had been stored in a large rack in the corner of the library had been left behind, and Arthur selected a large-scale representation of the Peninsula and unrolled it across the table, helping Somerset pin the corners down with some of the discarded books. Then he stared at the map thoughtfully. Less than two years ago his army had been crammed into a small sliver of land north of Lisbon, while the French had free range across the rest of the sprawl of land depicted on the map. Now, the French were pressed back into the north and east of Spain. While they still had over two hundred thousand men in their armies, the marshals were bitterly divided and treated Joseph with barely disguised contempt, according to the reports of Arthur’s agents. Moreover, they had been largely abandoned by their master as he pursued his apparently limitless ambitions in Russia.

Arthur was still astonished by the news of the invasion, and the scale of the forces involved. Just half of the resources Bonaparte had deployed in Russia would have enabled him to settle his troubles in Spain very swiftly indeed. As it was, the soldiers of the Emperor were now forced to fight on two fronts, stretched thinly over hostile terrain with only the most rudimentary of road systems. Unless destiny was perversely overgenerous in the favour it bestowed on Bonaparte, his empire was being stretched to its limits. Here in Spain, Arthur was determined to strike a mortal blow to French aspirations. If the Tsar could do the same in the depths of Russia, then surely this war of wars was drawing towards the final act.

Arthur focused his mind again. At length he put voice to his thoughts as Somerset and Alava stood either side of him. ‘With Joseph having fallen back on Suchet’s army at Valencia we are faced with the prospect that Soult will at some point come to his senses and join forces with them, in which case we will, as so often before, be outnumbered. However, I believe that we might still be able to hold the centre of Spain if we can be sure that we have contained what is left of Marmont’s strength as far north as the river Ebro. That means taking Burgos.’ He turned to General Alava.‘What do you know of the fortress of Burgos?’

‘It is on the main route between France and Madrid. Bonaparte must have recognised its importance, since he ordered a number of improvements to the defences.’ Alava shrugged.‘Though nothing on the scale of Badajoz.’

‘I’m glad to hear that. Might I ask if you have actually seen the fortress since these improvements were made?’

‘No,’Alava replied frankly.‘But I have heard enough from my sources to know that Burgos will not present you with much difficulty, my lord.’

Arthur stared at him for a moment and then nodded. ‘Very well. Now then, if Joseph and Suchet advance on Madrid then our Spanish allies must do everything in their power to disrupt the advance. The army of Andalucia must strike into the flank of the French, while the irregulars harry them every step of the way. If they can be delayed until autumn then the rains will have swelled the Tagus and I will be able to cover the handful of crossing points that will be left.’ Arthur paused and stroked his chin. ‘What do you think, gentlemen?’

Somerset puffed his cheeks out and shook his head. ‘Sir, you’re pinning your faith on things falling into line.’

Arthur shrugged. ‘I have no alternative. That is the hand I have been dealt. I intend to hold Madrid for as long as possible. It may not achieve much for us tactically, but we must look to the wider strategy that determines this war. Every day that we can stay here delivers another blow to the Bonapartes’ rule over Spain. It will give heart not only to the Spanish, but to all Europe.’

Somerset thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘I understand, sir. I just hope we don’t spread ourselves too thin to prove the point.’

‘Spread ourselves thin?’ Arthur repeated with a wry smile. ‘My dear Somerset, where on earth have you been these last years? Thanks to our government, if we were any more thinly spread then the enemy would see right through us.’

‘They may do that yet, sir.’

Arthur turned to Alava. ‘General, I want you to head south. You will speak for me. Tell every resistance leader and every regular officer you find that I have been given command over all allied forces in Spain. My orders are simple. They are to attack the French wherever they find them.’

Alava grinned. ‘That will be a pleasure, my lord. And what of you? What will you do now?’

‘Me?’ Arthur reached across the map and tapped the name of a town far to the north of Madrid. ‘I’ll take half the army and seize Burgos.’

Chapter 32

Burgos, 4 October 1812

The summer seemed reluctant to loosen its grip on Spain and every day the sun beat down on the parched landscape as the army marched north, driving back the small French force that had been scraped together after Salamanca. Then, as Arthur commenced his siege of Burgos, the weather changed as autumn swept in with unseasonal ferocity. The landscape of Castile was lashed by rainstorms which flooded the trenches and batteries that had been painstakingly cut out of the ground by Arthur’s men. The engineers had suffered heavy losses at the two previous sieges and had been reduced to a mere sixteen officers and other ranks. Nor was there sufficient siege artillery to end the task swiftly. By the time the army had reached Burgos along the heavily rutted and broken-up road that led north from Madrid, only three eighteen-pounders had survived the journey. The rest had suffered broken wheels or splintered gun carriages and had to be left behind while repairs were attempted.

‘So much for Alava’s sources,’ Somerset commented bitterly as he gazed at the fortress sitting atop a steep-sided hill. It was separated from the rest of the town by a ravine and linked to the town by a narrow spur of rock. A powerful battery covered this approach and rendered any frontal assault suicidal. Moreover, the fortress was constructed in concentric tiers so that the defenders would be able to continue their resistance even if the outer wall was taken. Somerset stared sourly at the fortress. ‘The place is all but impregnable, sir.’

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