‘I trust you are right, sir.’

  ‘How are the preparations for the mine proceeding?’

  Somerset gestured towards the narrow trench zig-zagging up the slope towards the outer wall. A short distance from the base of the wall the trench disappeared into a tunnel.‘Captain Perkins says that it will be ready to detonate at dawn tomorrow, sir.’

  ‘Very well. Pass the word for Major Somers-Cocks to see me at headquarters at three in the morning. I will give him his orders in person.’

  The major, like so many who had bought their way up through the officer ranks, was young, fair-haired and fresh-faced. But Arthur knew the man had a fine combat record. As such he was just the kind of man Arthur needed to lead the assaults on the defences of the fortress. He seemed to court danger with impunity and had been one of the handful of officers who had volunteered for the duty. It was as well for England that she produced such fine soldiers, Arthur reflected as he briefly examined the man standing at attention in front of his desk in the early hours.

  Arthur cleared his throat and began the briefing. ‘Have you completed the preparations for your assault party?’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ Somers-Cocks answered with a slight Scots burr. ‘The men are already waiting in the approach trench. Two hundred and fifty volunteers, as you ordered.’

  ‘I hope it will be enough.’

  ‘It will suffice, my lord.’ Somers-Cocks smiled. ‘After all, my orders are not to take the whole fortress. Merely take and hold the breach.’

  ‘If you are successful, the support wave will reach you quickly enough. But understand, they have strict orders not to advance unless you give the signal that the breach is in your hands.’

  ‘I understand, my lord.’

  ‘Good.’ Arthur nodded, and then softened his formal tone. ‘Did you have any difficulty finding the volunteers for the assault party?’

  ‘Most came willingly.’

  ‘Most?’

  ‘Och, you know how it is, my lord. Some men never know that they want to volunteer until they receive the right kind of inspiration.’

  Arthur arched an eyebrow. ‘That being?’

  The major pursed his lips. ‘The choice between fifteen minutes in the breach and a week of fatigues in the latrine generally has the desired result, my lord.’

  Arthur laughed and stood up, offering his hand to Somers-Cocks. ‘Good luck, my boy.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’ He shook Arthur’s hand, then stepped back, saluted and turned to leave the tent. Arthur stared after him for a moment, wondering if he would see the man alive again when the next day had dawned. Then he shook his head. Somers-Cocks was one of those individuals who was fated to survive.

  ‘Four o’clock, sir,’ Somerset said quietly, his boots squelching in the mud as he stepped forward to Arthur’s side.

  ‘Yes.’

  All was still. Overhead a bank of clouds had blocked out the stars and added to the pitch darkness that enveloped the fortress. Torches on the wall picked out some of the details of the defences and occasionally one of the French soldiers on watch. The only sounds came from the allied camp where a handful of drunken soldiers from two battalions were engaged in a brawl. The provosts would soon sort that out, Arthur reflected, but for now the noise would help to divert the attention of the defenders while the assault party edged as close to the mine as they dared.

  ‘Five past four,’ Somerset muttered. ‘The engineers are late.’

  Arthur was about to reply when a jet of flame blasted out from the entrance to the tunnel leading under the wall, followed by a roar that echoed off the walls of the nearby town. After the sound died away there was a stunned silence before Arthur heard the crash and rumble of masonry as a section of the wall above the mine collapsed. At once there was a cry from Somers-Cocks. ‘Forward! Go forward!’

  There was no cheer from the men of the assault party as they burst from the shelter of their trench and scurried up the slope towards the breach. A few muskets fired down at them from the nearest tower of the outer wall, but they charged on, clambering up the debris slope and into the breach. The sounds of fighting carried back to the command post as Arthur strained ears and eyes in an attempt to try to discern how the attack was progressing. Then there was a sudden lurid flare of white sparks as one of the assault party lit the small pot of powder that had been taken forward to act as the signal that the beach had been taken. At once the waiting support brigade rose up from where they had been concealed in the approach trenches and rushed towards the breach. The sounds of musket fire continued for the next half-hour before dying down to the occasional exchange of a handful of shots.

  As the first light gathered on the horizon a runner came panting up the trench to the command post, his boots slipping in the glutinous mud that filled all the trenches.

  ‘My lord.’ He breathed heavily as he stood to attention. ‘Major Somers-Cocks begs to report that the breach has been taken, and his men are holding the flanks while the brigade invests the defences around the breach.’

  ‘Very good,’ Arthur felt the burden of anxiety lift from his shoulders. ‘Pass on my congratulations and my thanks to the major.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Once the man had slithered back down into the trench Somerset spoke. ‘Well, that was fairly straightforward, thank God.’

  Arthur rubbed his aching eyes briefly.‘We have the breach, Somerset. That is all. You can be sure that Dubreton is already planning his counterstroke.’

  As the morning passed the assault party took cover around the breach and continued to exchange shots with the defenders in the upper level of fortifications. Meanwhile the follow-up brigade, under the guidance of the engineer officers, hurriedly built up a breastwork inside the breach and began to clear away the debris to make the passage through the gap easier. At noon, Arthur sent forward a company of Portuguese troops to relieve Somers-Cocks and his men, while another company took over from those widening the breach.

  It was slightly overcast and a chilly breeze was made yet more uncomfortable by a steady drizzle that began mid-morning. Arthur made his way along the approach trench to inspect the breach. There was already a foot of water lying in the bottom and the soil beneath was muddy and slippery so that he had to tread carefully. In places the sides of the trench were crumbling away and small parties of men, drenched and covered with mud, were shoring up the banks of earth with wicker baskets filled with rocks. As the trench began to climb the slope the puddles ceased and instead the water gushed down the floor like a small mountain stream. Arthur paused to look up at the fortress looming overhead and there was a soft zip as a plug of mud exploded into the air near the edge of the trench.

  ‘Keep yer bloody ’ead down!’ a sergeant bellowed at him. ‘ ’Less you want it blown orf!’

  Arthur ducked and then turned towards the sergeant. At the sight of his commander’s distinctive hooked nose the sergeant blanched. ‘Beggin’ yer pardon, my lord. Just that we’ve already lost two men today to some bleedin’ Frog marksman up there.’

  ‘I thank you for your wise advice, sergeant.’ Arthur smiled at him, and keeping low he continued up the trench, making sure he kept close to the most sheltered side as he climbed up to the breach. Captain Perkins of the engineers saluted him as Arthur emerged into the small open space in front of the gap. A section of wall fifteen feet across had collapsed and the soldiers were busy removing the rubble and using it to build up two low walls linking the end of the trench to the breach.

  ‘How is the work progressing, Captain?’

  ‘Well enough, sir.’ Perkins was another Scot, short and thickset, with a broader accent than Somers-Cocks, and he was as covered with mud as his men. ‘Once we have the breach cleared, I’ll set the lads to work constructing the approach to the second wall, though it’ll be hard work.’

  ‘Oh? What’s the problem?’

  ‘Let me show you, if I may, sir.’ Perkins did not wait for a reply but made his way through the breach and crouched down just inside the ruined masonry. He turned and gestured to Arthur to keep his head down. Arthur crouched beside him and quickly glanced round the interior of the fortress’s first wall. A cobbled track ran between the two walls, and to its side there was a cliff of perhaps twenty feet in height before the foundations of the second wall rose up. The cliff was a good fifty feet from the breach. Perkins coughed and smiled apologetically. ‘Caught a bit of a cold in all this damp, sir. Anyway, as you can see, there’s open ground between us and the cliff. In order to mine the second wall we will need to cut into that rock and tunnel up towards the foundations. It’s going to be a tough job.’

  ‘But you can do it?’

  ‘Given time, sir. Yes.’

  ‘Time is something we are a little short of, Perkins. My scouts to the north report that a French army is gathering to relieve Burgos within the month. The latest word from Madrid is that Soult is marching to join Joseph. When that happens they will make for Madrid. We have to take Burgos as soon as possible and join forces with Hill if we are to hold the centre of Spain. Do you understand?’

  ‘Aye, sir, I do. We will carry out our duty as swiftly as we can, but before we can start mining we have to get the lads across the open ground. A trench is no good because the Frogs have the ground covered by the bastion to our right, and the angle of the wall to the left there. At the moment the Portuguese boys have the wall covered’ - he nodded towards the brown-uniformed men crouching amid the rocks at the base of the cliff on either side of the breach - ‘but to get men and equipment up to the cliff we are going to have to build a covered gallery across the open ground. Dangerous and time-consuming work, sir.’

  ‘I see. How long will it take?’

  Perkins pursed his lips. ‘Two days to erect the gallery. Two weeks to tunnel up through the rock, a day to prepare the mine, and then it’s up to the infantry to storm the fortress, sir.’

  ‘Two and a half weeks, then,’Arthur mused.‘That’s cutting it fine. Do whatever you can to speed things up, Perkins.’

  ‘Aye, sir. I’ve had the necessary tools brought forward and I’ll set the lads to work as soon as the breach is cleared.’

  ‘Very well.’Arthur clapped him on the shoulder.‘Keep me informed.’

  He was about to turn away when there was a sudden crackle of musket fire from close by. The two officers looked towards the sound. To their left the Portuguese were firing along the cobbled road as it bent round the corner. More shots were fired, this time to their right. Then there was a shout and the sound of boots echoing off the fortress walls and Arthur saw the first of the Frenchmen appear along the road. More came, filling the gap between the walls as they charged forward, pausing only to fire at the Portuguese troops in their way.

  Perkins cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed, ‘To arms! To arms! The Frogs are sallying!’ He turned to Arthur. ‘You’d better go, sir. Get back to the support trench and order some reinforcements up here.’

  Arthur shook his head as he stood up. ‘No.’

  Perkins reached inside his coat and pulled out a pistol. ‘As you will, sir.’

  All around the breach, the men who had been working to clear the rubble scrambled for their weapons and rushed forward, past Arthur. There was a brief skirmish as the Portuguese company tried to hold their ground, thrusting their bayonets and clubbing the butts at the Frenchmen, but there were too many of the enemy and they were quickly swept aside and cut down before the French closed in on the breach from both sides. Perkins and his men rushed forward. Most had muskets, but some had snatched up shovels instead and now wielded them like hatchets. It was close work, and bloody, with no time for mercy. Arthur saw Perkins raise his pistol and shoot a Frenchman in the face, blowing out the back of his skull in a shower of blood, brains and bone fragments. Arthur felt a surge of fear as he realised he was unarmed. Looking round he saw a musket leaning against the outside of the wall and scrambled across the rubble to snatch it up, hoping that it was loaded. By the time he got back to the breach, his men were already being pressed back through it, as hundreds of Frenchmen surged forward. He saw Perkins double over as a bayonet plunged into his chest, piercing him through.

  ‘Get back!’ a voice called out. ‘There’s too many of ’em. Fall back!’

  The soldiers gave ground, carrying Arthur with them. They reached the trench as the first of the enemy emerged from the breach, led by a huge officer with a thick moustache. He bellowed at them to charge, and kill all in their path. His men plunged towards the trench, driving the British back. Arthur had already been thrust some distance and turned to make his way down the slippery trench towards the camp. Then he saw a young lieutenant, wide-eyed with terror, pressed against the side. Arthur grabbed him by the arm.

  ‘Lieutenant! Rally these men. You must fight back. Here!’ He thrust the musket into the man’s hand and pulled him into the middle of the trench, blocking the way of those still scrambling back from the breach.

  ‘Stop there, lads!’ Arthur held up his hand. ‘Stop, I say!’

  At the sight of their general the men drew up, unwilling to disobey him, yet afraid to turn and fight. Arthur pointed his gloved hand back up the slope. ‘The enemy have the breach! If we let them hold their ground then we will have to take it again! I will not waste lives unnecessarily. You must turn round and take it back! Come, lads, ’tis the only way!’

  The lieutenant nodded, and then pushed through the throng of men, holding his borrowed musket at the slope. ‘After me, men!’ he shouted, a slight edge of hysteria to his cry. ‘Forward! For the King! For England!’

  ‘For England!’ echoed the sergeant who had urged Arthur to keep his head down. ‘Let’s gut those bloody Frogs, lads! Forward!’

  The men let out a cheer and surged back up the trench. Arthur watched them go for a moment and then hurried back down the approach trench, slithering here and there in the mud. When he reached the flat stretch he splashed along until he came to the first of the assembly areas, where he saw Somers-Cocks and his volunteers.

  ‘What’s happening, my lord?’ asked the major.

  Arthur did not answer, but thrust his arm towards the breach. ‘Take your men up there at the double. Clear the breach and hold your ground. Go!’

  ‘Follow me!’ Somers-Cocks bellowed, drawing his sword. He plunged into the opening of the trench, and his men ran after him, splashing through the muddy water that filled the bottom. Arthur turned and hurried on, making for the command post. There he found Somerset and gave orders for a brigade to be sent to support Somers-Cocks. Then, snatching up a telescope, he leaned against the sandbag parapet of the command post and braced his elbows to squint through the eyepiece. The French were hurriedly smashing down the makeshift walls on either side of the breach. Others were busy finishing off the allied wounded with their bayonets. An officer in a gold-braided uniform was directing some of his men to gather up the engineers’ tools and carry them back into the fortress. Arthur’s heart sank at the sight. The French defenders were as intelligent as they were brave, he thought bitterly. The capture of the tools would set Arthur back far more than the deaths of his men.

  The French officer took a last look round the breach and then down the slope towards Somers-Cocks and his men, charging forward to join the survivors of the attack battling their way back up the final stretch of trench before the breach. With a wave of his sword the Frenchman ordered his men towards the gap and they withdrew in good order and disappeared from view.

  ‘We lost ninety-four killed and thirty-two wounded, most of the tools that Perkins had brought forward, and twenty yards of the approach trench have been pushed in,’ Somerset reported that night. ‘The breach is back in our hands, and Major Somers-Cocks has established a permanent force of two companies of the Coldstream Guards to protect our foothold inside the fortress. Captain Morris has taken over the mining operation, my lord.’

  ‘Very well.’ Arthur nodded wearily. ‘We’ll proceed with the siege, for now. Did you read the latest report from our Spanish friends?’

  The news was bad. The Spanish general charged with holding up any French advance fromValencia towards Madrid had taken umbrage at the appointment of Arthur to supreme commander and mutinied. Meanwhile Soult was marching to join Joseph Bonaparte. To the north of Burgos, General Souham had been confirmed in his appointment as Marmont’s replacement and had gathered nearly fifty thousand men on the far bank of the Ebro. Any day now, Arthur expected to hear that Souham had crossed the river and was making for Burgos. The final slice of misery was an intercepted message from the French Emperor to his brother announcing that he had won a great victory over the Russians at Borodino and was on the verge of capturing Moscow.

  Somerset sat back in his chair despondently. ‘Unless our luck changes, it may well be prudent to cut our losses and retreat.’

  ‘From Burgos, perhaps,’ Arthur agreed. ‘But I fear that we may also have to abandon Madrid as well. What else can we do if this news is accurate? If I had the whole army here I could take on Souham and defeat him, at the price of leaving Madrid open to Soult. If I return to Madrid and combine Hill’s army with mine that would give us sixty-five thousand men with which to face Soult with as many as a hundred thousand, while Souham closes on us from the north. We would be caught in a vice.’ Arthur shut his eyes and forced his exhausted mind to think as clearly as possible. ‘The best we can hope for now is to take Burgos and put in a strong, well-provisioned, garrison. That will hold Souham up while we return to Madrid. Then? All I can do is pray that Soult is delayed.’

  Somerset watched his general closely for a moment, noting how sunken his eyes looked and how exhausted he appeared. The cold, miserable weather of the past weeks and the mud and depressing landscape of Burgos had added to his burden and for the first time Somerset began to wonder how one man could endure the strain of command for so long. The campaign had begun at the start of the year and now, ten months on, the officers and men were clearly exhausted and their morale was low. If they were close to the end of their tether, then by what greater order of magnitude was Wellington close to the end of his? Only one man could have led the army to achieve all it had in the Peninsula, and looking on that man now, Somerset feared for himself, and for the whole army, far from a home some had not seen for years.

 

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