The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon (читаем книги онлайн бесплатно txt) 📗

‘My dear Duke, will you join us?’

‘Alas, no,’ Arthur replied evenly.‘My duties do not permit me to take pleasure at the moment. May I speak with you, alone?’

‘Alone?’ A frown flickered across Longa’s face before he nodded.‘But of course.’

Arthur gestured to Whitely to stay where he was and led the Spaniard to the far side of the dining room where there was a window overlooking the square. Arthur gestured to the men outside, their drunken expressions lit up by the impromptu bonfires they had made from furniture taken from the townspeople. ‘Your men are out of control, General Longa.’

‘They are celebrating our victory, sir.’

‘They are committing theft, rape and murder.’

Longa stared at them and shrugged. ‘Spoils of war.’

‘I gave orders that there was to be no mistreatment of French civilians. Why are you permitting your men to indulge in these atrocities?’

‘They will not obey their officers, sir. I will not put the lives of my officers in danger by asking them to confront the mob.’ Longa turned towards Arthur with a cold expression. ‘Besides, my men are entitled to revenge for what the French have done to our people.’

‘Indeed they are, but they must exact their revenge on the battlefield. They have no grievence against civilians. Now, General, you must bring them under control. Use force if necessary, but put an end to this disgraceful display.’

‘As you did at Badajoz?’ Longa shook his head and did not try to hide the tone of contempt that crept into his voice. ‘There, your troops treated my people as if they were a conquered enemy. As spoils of war. I do not think that I need a lecture from you on how my men should behave, sir.’

Arthur felt a surge of rage as he stood before the Spaniard. He would not tolerate such insubordination from one of his officers and the urge to put the fellow in his place was almost overwhelming. He fought down his anger and took a calming breath before he responded.

‘Look here, General Longa, it profits us little to discuss past deeds, however regrettable we may find them. We have to look forward. Every battle we have fought, every sacrifice we have made, has been to bring us to this point. We are on the cusp of defeating our enemy. The enemy is not France, but Bonaparte. We are here to liberate France from tyranny, the same tyranny that threatens the rest of Europe. If you allow your men to mistreat the French people, then you will drive them into Bonaparte’s arms. That is why you must put a stop to this, before you and your soldiers ruin us all.’

Longa stared back at him, then out of the window, and waved a hand in a helpless gesture.‘Sir, I understand what you say, but I doubt that they will.’

‘Then I will be obliged to have a provost officer restore order by force.’

‘Would you really do that? And risk a divided army?’

Arthur gritted his teeth. General Longa had a point. Such division might pose an even greater threat to the allied army than the alienation of the French population. He was caught between two impossible situations. The thought tormented him. Here, at the very hour of ascendancy over Bonaparte, having won great victories, the allied army might be the cause of its own downfall. Not for the want of courage or perseverance, but for the lack of sufficient discipline far from the battlefield. As he considered the wretched difficulty Longa’s soldiers had placed him in, a third course of action occurred to Arthur. He nodded to himself. There was no question about what he must do, no matter the disadvantage it imposed upon the allied army. He cleared his throat and addressed Longa.

‘You are right. There is nothing we can do to stop this. However, at first light, I want your division to withdraw from Ascain and await further orders.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Longa replied with a relieved expression. ‘It is for the best.’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Arthur turned towards the door and beckoned to Colonel Whitely. ‘Come, we must leave this place.’

‘Are you certain there is no other way, sir?’ asked Somerset as he lowered the draft order Arthur had penned for him.

‘I have made my decision,’ Arthur replied firmly. ‘The only Spanish division that we can rely on is that of Morillo. The rest will be sent back across the border. If the Spanish government refuses to see to the sustenance of their own soldiers then I am damned if I will do their job for them.’

‘But, sir, this will reduce the army by twenty thousand men.’

‘That is so,’ Arthur conceded. ‘But I must have men I can rely on. Men who will do as they are ordered. Otherwise we provide a rod for our own backs, Somerset. If you had only borne witness to the scenes in Ascain you would have no doubt that we cannot afford to have such men march with us. They must be sent home. At once.’

Somerset puffed out his cheeks. ‘As you wish, my lord.’

Left alone in the mayor’s office, Arthur turned to stare out of the window. Outside, the sky was covered with dark grey clouds and an icy sleet was falling on the port. At a stroke he had reduced his numerical advantage over Marshal Soult to parity, and there would be a hard fight before the French were compelled to surrender.

Chapter 46

Villefranque, 10 December 1813

The right flank of the allied army had crossed to the east bank of the river Nive at Ustaritz with little trouble, brushing aside a small force of infantry. After the exchange of a few shots the enemy had hurriedly retreated north towards the main body of Soult’s army in camp close to Bayonne. By nightfall five divisions had crossed the river using a hastily repaired bridge and advanced four miles downriver towards the enemy. After a detailed inspection of the French defences to the south and west of Bayonne in the last days of November, Arthur had quickly realised that a frontal assault on the town would be too costly. Instead he had decided to shift his main strength across the Nive and attempt to trap Soult against the sea. There was a risk that the enemy might attack the allies as they crossed the river, so Arthur had tasked his remaining three divisions with making a feint along the west bank to distract Soult.

Arthur had given command of the right flank to General Hill and had joined Hill at dusk to survey the enemy positions in front of Bayonne. It had rained hard during the early days of December and the ground was waterlogged, quickly turning to mud as the allied columns trudged through the glutinous slop that covered the surfaces of the roads and tracks crossing the countryside between the sea and the Nive.

General Hill fastened the clasp at the top of his coat as a fresh shower spattered down around them. ‘This is foul ground to manoeuvre an army over.’

‘True,’ Arthur conceded. ‘But it applies to both sides. Soult and his men are as mired in this as we are. There will be precious little chance to spring any surprises on each other. If we can push him back and contain him in Bayonne, then the army can go into winter quarters while the French are besieged. Even if we don’t starve them out, they’ll be in poor shape once spring arrives.’

‘I trust you are right,’ Hill said gently and then turned to one of his aides.‘Pass the word to the leading formations. We’ll halt here and camp for the night. Have strong outposts sent forward to keep an eye on the enemy.’ He turned back to Arthur. ‘If you’ll excuse me, sir, I must make arrangements to establish my headquarters.’

‘Of course,’ Arthur nodded.

The two men touched the brims of their hats and then Hill and his staff wheeled away and made for a cluster of farm buildings a short distance away. Arthur sat for a while, watching as Hill’s columns began to spread out across the countryside. Half a mile in front of them stood the rearguard of the French army, formed up and ready to ward off any attacks that their enemy might make before night closed in. A cough to his side distracted Arthur’s attention.