'What is it, Excellency? What brings you here?'
'Mon Colonel, as you are proceeding to Lisbon, I thought you should know of this without delay,' the Ambassador replied tersely. 'I have just received a despatch by fast courier. On the 27th of last month a treaty was signed at Fontainebleau. Spain is to join France in a war against Portugal. That country is to be divided into three parts. France takes the central section, the Emperor's puppet the King of Etruria is to receive the north in exchange for his Italian lands, so that they may be merged with the greater territories already under the direct rule of France, and Godoy is to be given the southern section as a kingdom for himself. But more. The Emperor has secretly massed an army of thirty thousand men in the neighbourhood of Bayonne. General Junot is in command. He has already crossed the Pyrenees and his orders are to drive with all possible speed on Lisbon.'
To Be or Not to Be?
At dawn next morning Roger was to horse. Now that the die had been cast, he felt that he ought to lose no time in getting to Lisbon and finding out the situation there. He knew that Junot would move as fast as the terrain permitted. For him this was not only a matter of pleasing his master. It was a personal affair.
Andoroche Junot, now Due d'Abrantes, had been one of Napoleon's sergeants when he had been a junior officer of Artillery at the siege of Toulon; then when promoted, Bonaparte had made him his first A.D.C. Later, when the Corsican was living on a shoe-string in Paris, Junot had frequently given him bed and board and lent him money. In view of Napoleon's well-known attribute of never forgetting, and always rewarding old friends, it had surprised everyone that, when he had announced the names of the Generals he had selected to become Marshals of the Empire, he had not included that of Junot. But, when choosing the men he had made Marshals, Napoleon had been influenced by three things. Either, like Bernadotte, they must be kept sweet because they were politically dangerous; or, like Massena, be rewarded because they had led their troops to victory in great campaigns; or—at least like Davoust and Bessieres—shown that they had the qualities needed to command an army in the field.
Poor Junot had none of these qualifications. He was just a brave but not very intelligent soldier; so he had been given the sop of being made a Duke and the Military Governor of Paris. But now, as Roger saw it, in this new campaign, where there could be no opposition from a formidable enemy army, the Emperor was giving his old friend a chance to win his Marshal's baton. That meant that Junot would drive his troops to the limit, in order to reach Lisbon at the earliest possible moment.
Three days after leaving Madrid, Roger reached Alencantares, a few miles short of the Portuguese frontier. At the inn there he again studied his face in a mirror. Side-whiskers, ending in fine 'mutton-chops' graced both cheeks, and a short moustache brushed up at each end gave him the look of a man in the latest fashion; but he was not entirely satisfied that this had sufficiently changed his appearance.
While in Madrid he had bought from an apothecary a bottle of hair dye which, had he used it indiscriminately, could have turned his hair ginger. Adding only a few drops to a basin of water, he proceeded to rinse his hair. To his satisfaction, this resulted in giving his normally brown hair, with its white wings above the ears, just sufficient tint to suggest that either his mother or father had been a red-head.
He then changed into his civilian suit, and went downstairs to cat a dinner, the main course of which was so highly flavoured with garlic that, after a few mouthfuls, he had to abandon it and make do on fruit.
At the frontier next day he presented himself as Mr. Roger Brook, an English gentleman of means travelling for pleasure; and explained his being unattended by saying that a few days earlier his servant had met with an accident, and would rejoin him as soon as he was well enough to leave hospital. At that period many wealthy English 'milor's' spent a month or more in Portugal during the winter, and were always welcome; so no difficulties were made about Roger's proceeding. On the 10th November, he reached Lisbon and took a room at the Leao d'ouro.
That evening, feeling certain that the Foreign Office would know if such a distinguished diplomat as the Marquis de Pombal had returned to Portugal, Roger had himself taken there in a sedan chair, and asked to see someone in the Eastern department. After a prolonged wait, he was taken upstairs and a junior official dealt with his enquiry. De Pombal had not arrived, and no news of him had been received for several months.
Momentarily Roger was shaken by the awful thought that the ship in which the beautiful Lisala was sailing might have been wrecked or captured by pirates. But he swiftly reassured himself. After all, he had not expected that she would reach Lisbon before him, and during their long voyage her father would have had no means of communicating with the Foreign Minister.
Roger's next visit was to the British Legation. There he learned that the Minister en poste was Viscount Strangford. Roger had never met him, but knew him by repute. While still a young man he had made quite a name for himself in the literary world, through translating the poems of Luis de Camoens from the Portuguese. They were of a sentimental nature, well calculated to appeal to the romantic-minded young ladies of that day, so enjoyed a great vogue.
Having sent in his name, with a message to the effect that he had a communication of some interest to make, Roger was informed by a secretary that His Excellency would receive him at six o'clock the following evening.
Never before having been in the Portuguese capital, Roger spent the next day first driving round the city, then entering into casual conversation with several people in the parlour of his inn. All of them were aware that the future of their country had again become precarious; but none of them yet knew that Napoleon had already launched an army for its conquest. Having during the past six years been menaced by France and Spain on several occasions and nothing having come of it, the general opinion of the Portuguese was that the present crisis would also blow over.
Roger found them pro-British to a man. Portugal's most valuable export was the port wine from Oporto, at the mouth of the Douro, the second largest city in Portugal, and almost an English colony. In Lisbon, too, there was a whole section of the city known as Buenos Aires, in which lived hundreds of British merchants.
The British were also far more numerous and popular in Portuguese society than the wealthy of any other nation. For many years the genial Prince Augustus, Duke of Sussex, had wintered in Portugal and many English nobles had villas there.
That evening Roger was received by Lord Strangford. The diplomat's age was then twenty-seven. He was a handsome man, whose aquiline nose, firm, thin-lipped mouth and cleft chin gave him the appearance of a born aristocrat. His hair was red, and his eyes bright blue, but set rather too close together. It was evident that he had a very high opinion of himself, and Roger was not favourably impressed by his lazy and rather pompous manner.
Having made his bow, Roger said, 'Normally, I would not have troubled Your Lordship by requesting an interview; but have only left my name as a British subject who has arrived in Lisbon. However, I have come from Madrid, and felt that it might interest you to know the present situation there.'
'Indeed,' the Minister replied a shade coldly. 'That was good of you, Mr. Brook. But I am extremely busy, and if it is only gossip that you have picked up, I doubt if it could be of much value to me.'
Roger's object in securing an interview was to find out what was going on in Portugal's highest circles; so, instead of showing resentment at this snub, he smiled and said: