Sharpe’s Battle: The Battle of Fuentes de Oñoro, May 1811. Bernard Cornwell
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of gunpowder just the previous year, the town’s thick star-shaped walls and its strong French garrison still presented a formidable obstacle. Any British force laying siege to Ciudad Rodrigo would have to use thousands of men to guard against the threat of Almeida’s garrison sallying out to raid the supply roads and Ducos reckoned that Wellington would never abide that menace in his army’s rear. ‘Wellington’s first priority will be to capture Almeida,’ Ducos said, ‘and Marshal Masséna will do his best to relieve the fortress from the British siege. In other words, Brigadier’ – Ducos was speaking more to Loup than to the Doña Juanita – ‘there will be a battle fought close to Almeida. Not much is certain in war, but I think we can be certain of that.’
Loup stared at the map, then nodded agreement. ‘Unless Marshal Masséna withdraws the garrison?’ he said in a tone of contempt suggesting that Masséna, his enemy, was capable of any foolishness.
‘He won’t,’ Ducos said with the certainty of a man who had the power to dictate strategy to marshals of France. ‘And the reason he will not is here,’ Ducos said, and he tapped the map as he spoke. ‘Look,’ he said, and Loup bent obediently over the map. The fortress of Almeida was depicted like a star to imitate its jagged, star-shaped fortifications. Around it were the hatch marks of hills, but behind it, between Almeida and the rest of Portugal, ran a deep river. The Coa. ‘It runs in a gorge, Brigadier,’ Ducos said, ‘and is crossed by a single bridge at Castello Bom.’
‘I know it well.’
‘So if we defeat General Wellington on this side of the river,’ Ducos said, ‘then the fugitives of his army will be forced to retreat across a single bridge scarce three metres wide. That is why we shall leave the garrison in Almeida, because its presence will force Lord Wellington to fight on this bank of the Coa and when he does fight we shall destroy him. And once the British are gone, Brigadier, we shall employ your tactics of horror to end all resistance in Portugal and Spain.’
Loup straightened up. He was impressed by Ducos’s analysis, but also dubious of it. He needed a few seconds to phrase his objection and made the time by lighting a long, dark cigar. He blew smoke out, then decided there was no politic way to voice his doubt, so he just stated it baldly. ‘I’ve not fought the British in battle, Major, but I hear they’re stubborn bastards in defence.’ Loup tapped the map. ‘I know that country well. It’s full of hill ranges and river valleys. Give Wellington a hill and you could die of old age before you could shift the bugger loose. That’s what I hear, anyway.’ Loup finished with a shrug, as if to deprecate his own opinion.
Ducos smiled. ‘Supposing, Brigadier, that Wellington’s army is rotted from the inside?’
Loup considered the question, then nodded. ‘He’ll break,’ he confirmed simply.
‘Good! Because that is precisely why I wanted you to meet the Doña Juanita,’ Ducos said, and the lady smiled at the dragoon. ‘The Doña Juanita will be crossing the lines,’ Ducos continued, ‘and living among our enemies. From time to time, Brigadier, she will come to you for certain supplies that I shall provide. I want you to make the provision of those supplies to Doña Juanita your most important duty.’
‘Supplies?’ Loup asked. ‘You mean guns? Ammunition?’
Doña Juanita answered for Ducos. ‘Nothing, Brigadier, that cannot be carried in the panniers of a packhorse.’
Loup looked at Ducos. ‘You think it’s easy to ride from one army to another? Hell, Ducos, the British have a cavalry screen and there are partisans and our own picquets and God knows how many other British sentries. It isn’t like riding in the Bois de Boulogne.’
Ducos looked unconcerned. ‘The Doña Juanita will make her own arrangements and I have faith in those. What you must do, Brigadier, is acquaint the lady with your lair. She must know where to find you, and how. You can arrange that?’
Loup nodded, then looked at the woman. ‘You can ride with me tomorrow?’
‘All day, Brigadier.’
‘Then we ride tomorrow,’ Loup said, ‘and maybe the next day too?’
‘Maybe, General, maybe,’ the woman answered.
Ducos again interrupted their flirtation. It was late, his supper was waiting and he still had several hours of paperwork to be completed. ‘Your men,’ he said to Loup, ‘are now the army’s picquet line. So I want you to be alert for the arrival of a new unit in the British army.’
Loup, suspecting he was being taught how to suck eggs, frowned. ‘We’re always alert to such things, Major. We’re soldiers, remember?’
‘Especially alert, Brigadier.’ Ducos was unruffled by Loup’s scorn. ‘A Spanish unit, the Real Compañía Irlandesa, is expected to join the British soon and I want to know when they arrive and where they are positioned. It is important, Brigadier.’
Loup glanced at Juanita, suspecting that the Real Compañía Irlandesa was somehow connected with her mission, but her face gave nothing away. Never mind, Loup thought, the woman would tell him everything before the next two nights were done. He looked back to Ducos. ‘If a dog farts in the British lines, Major, you’ll know about it.’
‘Good!’ Ducos said, ending the conversation. ‘I won’t keep you, Brigadier. I’m sure you have plans for the evening.’
Loup, thus dismissed, picked up his helmet with its plume of wet grey hair. ‘Doña,’ he said as he reached the staircase door, ‘isn’t that the title of a married woman?’
‘My husband, General, is buried in South America.’ Juanita shrugged. ‘The yellow fever, alas.’
‘And my wife, madame,’ Loup said, ‘is buried in her kitchen in Besançon. Alas.’ He held a hand towards the door, offering to escort her down the winding stairs, but Ducos held the Spanish woman back.
‘You’re ready to go?’ Ducos asked Juanita when Loup was gone out of earshot.
‘So soon?’ Juanita answered.
Ducos shrugged. ‘I suspect the Real Compañía Irlandesa will have reached the British lines by now. Certainly by the month’s end.’
Juanita nodded. ‘I’m ready.’ She paused. ‘And the British, Ducos, will surely suspect the Real Compañía Irlandesa’s motives?’
‘Of course they will. They would be fools not to. And I want them to be suspicious. Our task, madame, is to unsettle our enemy, so let them be wary of the Real Compañía Irlandesa and perhaps they will overlook the real threat?’ Ducos took off his spectacles and polished their lenses on the skirts of his plain jacket. ‘And Lord Kiely? You’re sure of his affections?’
‘He is a drunken fool, Major,’ Juanita answered. ‘He will do whatever I tell him.’
‘Don’t make him jealous,’ Ducos warned.
Juanita smiled. ‘You may lecture me on many things, Ducos, but when it comes to men and their moods, believe me, I know all there is to know. Do not worry about my Lord Kiely. He will be kept very sweet and very obedient. Is that all?’
Ducos looped his spectacles back into place. ‘That is all. May I wish you a good night’s rest, madame?’
‘I’m sure it will be a splendid night, Ducos.’ The Doña Juanita smiled and walked from the room. Ducos listened as her spurs jangled down the steps, then heard her laugh as she encountered Loup who had been waiting at the foot of the steps. Ducos closed the door on the sound of their laughter and walked slowly back to the window. In the night the rain beat on, but in Ducos’s busy mind there was nothing but the vision of glory. This did not just depend on Juanita and Loup doing their duty, but rather on the clever scheme of a man whom even Ducos acknowledged as his equal, a man whose passion to defeat the British equalled Ducos’s passion to see France triumphant, and a man who was already behind the British lines where he would sow the mischief that would first rot the British army, then lead it into a trap beside a narrow ravine. Ducos’s thin body