The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon (читать книги онлайн бесплатно полностью без txt) 📗

There was a sudden scrape of gravel on the track ahead and Arthur felt his muscles tense. His mount sensed the change and raised its head, ears twitching. The sound came again, stopped, and then a low voice sounded from the shadows.

‘English . . . English, where you?’

Arthur felt the tension drain from his muscles as swiftly as it had come. ‘Here!’

The guide clicked his tongue and flicked a cane on his mule’s rump as he came forward and then reined in a short distance from Arthur.

‘I find the fort! You come. This way.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘Come, come.’

Arthur held up his hand to stop the guide and turned back to the column. ‘Lieutenant, I’d be obliged if you translated.’

When the dragoon officer had joined him Arthur nodded towards the guide.‘Ask him if he is certain he has found the right path this time.’

There was a brief exchange before the lieutenant turned back to Arthur.‘He says it is. He also says that General Cuesta is not pleased that you failed to arrive at the appointed time.’

‘Really? Perhaps if he had provided us with a proper guide instead of this halfwit then I would have been there long ago . . . No, don’t translate that, you fool. Just tell him to lead us to the fort without any further delay.’

The youth beckoned to Arthur and turned his mule back up the track and Arthur hurriedly spurred his horse into a walk before he could lose sight of the guide. The track wound its way between two hills and then began to climb a steep incline. At length Arthur could see a glow at the top of the slope above them and then, as the track evened out, he saw the walls of an old fort ahead of them, brilliantly illuminated by the torches that flickered along the battlements. As the guide led them towards the gate Arthur could see that a company of soldiers had formed up on either side of the track, muskets resting on shoulders as they waited. A figure on horseback sat before the gate, watching and waiting. He shouted an order over his shoulder and there was further commotion within the fort as men hurried to take up their places. Arthur recognised the officer as General O’Donoju and offered a salute as he rode up.

O’Donoju’s sword rasped from his scabbard and the men of what Arthur realised was an honour guard shuffled one foot out and presented their muskets to greet the English general.

Arthur bowed his head to either side and then smiled at O’Donoju. ‘My thanks for such a fine greeting.’

The Spaniard shrugged. ‘His excellency gave the order to welcome you formally, some five hours ago.’

Arthur took a sharp breath. ‘And I would have been here five hours ago if I had been provided with a guide who knew the route.’ Arthur gestured to the boy, who smiled uncertainly as the two officers conversed in English.

O’Donoju glanced at the boy. ‘He claimed to know the area well enough. He lied and I’ll have him flogged.’

‘There’s no need for that. The fault is with the man who hired him.’

The Spaniard stiffened indignantly before he replied. ‘I will punish all those I hold responsible, seсor. Now, if you would follow me I will take you into the presence of his excellency.’

Without waiting for a reply he wheeled his thin mount round and trotted through the gate into the fort, while Arthur led his escort between the ranks of the Spanish soldiers. He examined them closely by the flickering light cast by the torches on the wall. They seemed to know their drill well enough, but they looked lean and hungry and their uniforms were worn and dirty and the barrels and bayonets of many of the muskets were spotted with rust.

The horses’ hooves echoed off the walls of the arched gateway and then Arthur emerged into the courtyard of the fort. Three sides of the paved area were lined with ranks of soldiers, save for a gap directly opposite the gate where steps climbed up to the inner keep. In front of the steps stood a crowd of gaudily uniformed officers, and before them a large, very overweight officer sat on a horse. His uniform coat seemed to be so smothered with bejewelled decorations, ribbons and gold lace that Arthur wondered how his horse could endure such a burden. Two men stood either side of the horse, firmly grasping the rider’s boots, and Arthur realised that they were there to hold him in place and stop him toppling out of his saddle.

An order was shouted and the soldiers stamped to attention and presented their muskets. A quick glance showed that these men were in the same sorry condition as those outside the gate. Arthur gestured to the lieutenant to halt the escort and then continued across the courtyard alone, stopping his horse a short distance in front of the other man. O’Donoju had wheeled his horse round and stood by his commander’s side, ready to interpret.

Arthur cleared his throat. ‘I am Sir Arthur Wellesley, commander of his majesty’s army in the Peninsula. I take it that I am addressing his excellency General Cuesta?’

The man nodded his heavy jowls and spoke curtly.

‘His excellency wants to know why you are late, Sir Arthur,’ said O’Donoju.

‘You know why, but just tell his excellency that we lost our way in the dark.’

Cuesta’s lips lifted in a slight sneer as he spoke to his interpreter.

‘His excellency trusts that you will not make a habit of leading your men in the wrong direction.’

‘Assure him that it will not happen again, and that I hope that we might both lead our men in the direction of victory from now on.’

The answer seemed to gratify the old officer, who Arthur guessed must be in his sixties at least. He muttered to O’Donoju and then growled an order at the two men propping him up. At once they began to help him down from his saddle with much grunting of effort as O’Donoju bowed to Arthur.

‘His excellency will wait for you in his office, while you are introduced to his staff.’

Arthur glanced at the crowd of officers. ‘What? All of them?’

O’Donoju smiled and waved Arthur towards the first of the waiting men. As General Cuesta was manhandled up the steps and into the keep Arthur began exchanging bows with a series of colonels and generals, each of whom was laden down with long lists of titles and honours. Arthur endured it for a while before he leaned towards O’Donoju and spoke quietly. ‘Look, since the hour is late and there is much to discuss, might we dispense with the full title of each man and just use their name and rank?’

The Spaniard’s eyebrows knitted for a moment before he replied.‘As you wish, sir. We will abandon the usual courtesies in the interests of brevity.’

Arthur smiled. ‘That would be appreciated.’

As soon as the last officer had been introduced, Arthur followed his host up the steps and into the keep. When they were shown into General Cuesta’s office Arthur saw that the Spanish commander was sitting propped up on a couch. Before him, spread out across the floor and weighted down with bottles of wine, was a map of Spain. One of Cuesta’s orderlies brought a chair for Arthur and placed it on the opposite side of the map. O’Donoju took up his position beside the couch and translated Cuesta’s first comment.

‘His excellency hopes that you were impressed by the men parading in the courtyard. They are the finest battalion in our army.’

‘Really? Good God . . .’ Arthur quickly forced a smile. ‘Why yes, as fine a body of men as I have seen in a long time.’

The comment seemed to be appreciated and Cuesta continued.

‘His excellency wishes you to join forces with him and march directly on Madrid.’

‘Ah, yes, a most laudable ambition, but surely we must prepare the ground for such an advance? I suggest that before we can even entertain such a notion, it is vital to clear the approaches to Madrid of all enemy forces, in case we are obliged to retreat.’

Cuesta shook his head.

‘His excellency does not agree. He says that we must be bold and strike at the heart of the enemy. He says that a fierce patriotic fire burns in the hearts of our men and it can only be quenched by the blood of Frenchmen.’