The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon - Страница 13
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The cornet spurred his horse forward and a moment later he reined in before his commander and saluted.
‘Did you find Cuesta?’
‘No, sir. I looked for him at Salcidas, but there was no one there, not even one of his advance patrols. So I tracked across the route he should be taking for a mile, perhaps two, and still saw no sign of him, sir. That’s when I decided I had better report back to you.’
Arthur’s jaw tightened with frustration. Where the hell was the Spanish army? By this time they should have completed deploying for their attack. He lowered his head for a moment and thought. Even if Cuesta was still moving up towards Salcidas he could not possibly be ready for at least another three hours. That would mean delaying the attack until four in the morning. It would still be dark then, and there was still a chance of surprising Marshal Victor’s men in their camp. Arthur looked up.
‘Davidson, I want you to go back and try to find Cuesta. Tell him that I have decided to delay the attack until four. He is still to give the signal we agreed on. Make sure that he understands the urgency with which he must act if we are to succeed.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Davidson nodded.
‘Off you go then.’
Davidson turned his mount and spurred it into a trot as he headed off in search of the Spanish army.
Somerset let out a weary sigh.‘Our Spanish friends are proving to be somewhat unreliable, sir.’
‘Indeed.’ Arthur was furious, and it took some effort to keep his tone neutral as he continued. ‘There are times when one might think that they actually pose more of a danger to us than the French do. Anyway, we are where we are, Somerset. We must return to the army and pass the word for the men to stand down for a few hours. I need them alert and fresh for when the fighting starts.’
They made their way back to the flank of the British army, and were challenged by the pickets before passing on and returning to the command post behind the centre of the British line. As they arrived an officer hurried up to Arthur and saluted.
‘Sir, we have visitors. General O’Donoju and some of his staff are waiting for you, down by the headquarters tent.’
Arthur turned to look down the hillock into the small depression where a handful of lamps glimmered, hidden from French view.‘Did he explain why he is here?’
‘No, sir. I asked, but he said his message was for you, and not your underlings.’
‘He said that?’ Arthur shook his head. ‘Come, Somerset.’
They continued down the slope to the tent and dismounted alongside the Spanish horses being held by some of Arthur’s orderlies. O’Donoju was waiting inside, with four of his officers. He rose to his feet when he saw Arthur and bowed his head.
‘It is a pleasure to see you again, General Wellesley.’
‘Where is Cuesta?’ Arthur cut in. ‘He should have been at Salcidas hours ago.’
O’Donoju frowned at the informal use of his superior’s name. ‘His excellency has sent me to inform you that he has been delayed.’
‘Delayed? Why?’
The Spaniard shrugged. ‘The men were slow to break camp. The night is dark, and they do not march as fast as they do during the day.’
‘Then why did your general not take account of that, and start out earlier?’
‘I do not presume to know the mind of my commander, sir.’
Arthur puffed his cheeks irritably. ‘Where is he now?’
‘Perhaps three miles east of Salcidas. His excellency says that he will be in position to attack at six in the morning.’
‘Dawn will have broken by then. The French will be aware of our presence. We will have lost any element of surprise.’
‘Perhaps, sir,’ O’Donoju countered. ‘Even so, we can still proceed with the attack. After all, the odds are vastly in our favour.’
Arthur thought a moment. The Spaniard was right. Provided Victor did not react swiftly and break camp before the attack began, he would be obliged to stand and fight.
‘Very well then. General Cuesta must begin his attack at six. No later. Is that clear?’
O’Donoju stared back defiantly. ‘If that is the wish of his excellency, then yes. Now, I bid you farewell, sir. My officers and I must return to our army.’
‘Yes, you must, as swiftly as you can. There must be no further delay.’
The rest of the night passed slowly, and as the sun fringed the eastern horizon in a pale orange glow Arthur gave the order for his army to stand to. All along the line, the men wearily rose to their feet, stretching their muscles before forming ranks. As the light strengthened the French sentries on the other side saw the massed ranks of the British army and at once a warning shot was fired to alert the main camp.
‘There goes our surprise,’ Somerset said bitterly.
‘That can’t be helped,’ Arthur responded. ‘We just have to hope that Cuesta begins the attack before Victor can break camp.’
‘Sir, what is to stop us beginning the attack ourselves?’
Arthur turned to his aide. ‘My dear Somerset, if we attack across a river against defensive positions without support then we will suffer grievously. So much so that I doubt we could continue offensive operations in Spain. I would be obliged to fall back, and if we were pursued then I dare say we would be forced to repeat General Moore’s retreat to Corunna. England can endure only so many such defeats before being forced to kneel to Bonaparte.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘We must wait for Cuesta.’
Now even the minutes seemed to drag by, and as the first brilliant rays of the sun broke across the eastern horizon the first French battalions hurriedly marched forward to cover the fords, together with several guns. The opportunity to attack was fast slipping away and Arthur forced himself to remain still in his saddle, ears straining for the first sound of cannon fire that would announce Cuesta’s attack. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Somerset discreetly draw out his pocket watch, glance at it with a raised eyebrow, and then slip it back into his waistcoat.
‘You might as well tell me the time,’ Arthur muttered.
‘Ten minutes gone six, sir.’
Both men were still for a moment, then Arthur took up his reins and slowly turned his horse. ‘The army is not to move until I return. If the enemy opens fire, then have our fellows fall back to cover and leave our guns to their work. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir. Might I ask where you are going?’
‘To find Cuesta. It is time to speak plainly to his excellency.’
General Cuesta was taking his breakfast in a large open carriage when Arthur rode up to him near Salcidas. The leading units of the Spanish army had downed their packs and some were already busy foraging across the surrounding countryside for the day’s meal. The following columns were still strung out along the road, cloaked in the dust kicked up ahead of them. Arthur regarded the scene in a cold rage for a moment before he approached Cuesta. The Spanish commander regarded him warily. He bowed his head briefly in greeting and called for O’Donoju to attend him.
Arthur touched his hand to the brim of his hat. ‘Good day, sir. Or at least it would have been, had the battle begun. It was my understanding that we should attack at two in the morning. Where were you, sir?’
Cuesta shrugged and then made a curt comment to his translator.
‘His excellency says that you asked the impossible of our soldiers. The distance was too great to march in the darkness. Your plan was flawed.’
‘Nevertheless, my army has been in position since midnight. After having marched through the night to take up its appointed position. If my men could do it, then why not yours? It was not the fault of the plan.’
General Cuesta lurched forward as Arthur’s comments were passed on to him. He stabbed a fleshy finger towards Arthur and launched into a bitter tirade which O’Donoju struggled to keep up with.
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