‘Why don’t we offer to feed and supply the general’s light troops, in exchange for having them seconded to our army?’
Arthur considered the idea for a moment and then nodded to the guide to translate. Freire was quiet for a moment as he stroked his beard. Then he nodded and made his reply.
‘He agrees, as long as you provide his men with full rations, and they still remain under his command at all times.’
‘No,’Arthur replied at once.‘As long as I’m feeding ’em, they’re mine to command.’
Freire made a great show of reluctance before finally conceding. Then Arthur moved on to address the matter of the advance on Lisbon. Somerset produced Arthur’s map of the region and spread it out across the cool tiles in the shaded courtyard. Arthur indicated the coastal route leading from Leiria to the capital.
‘This is the route I intend to follow. It is open country and the enemy might well take advantage of the fact to use his cavalry to harass my advance, but until the army is reinforced I must remain in contact with the British fleet following us along the coast. If we combine our forces, we should be able to cope with anything the French can put into the field against us between here and Lisbon.’
The Portuguese general looked at the map and tapped another route, further inland.
‘He says that this is the best route. There are hills here that will conceal the advance. It is safer. He insists we should take this road,’ the guide translated.
‘Out of the question,’ Arthur replied at once. ‘It’s too far from the coast. If it’s mountainous it will only slow down my wagons and artillery. I am taking the coastal road. Tell him.’
Freire was adamant that he would march through the hills and re-join the British outside Lisbon to take part in the liberation of the capital. Then, rising to his feet, Freire announced that he was fatigued and the interview was over. He would give orders for his light infantry to join the British column.With a curt bow, he turned and disappeared inside the house.
Arthur stared after him for a moment. ‘Charming fellow.’
‘Quite,’ Somerset said softly. ‘I just hope this is not typical of the co-operation we can expect from our new allies, sir.’
‘So do I.’ Arthur took a deep breath and smiled. ‘Well, at least we have some extra men to strengthen our army. Pass the word to Colonel Trant. I believe he has some mastery of the local tongue. He can command the Portuguese contingent. Now roll up the map and let us go and hunt the French. Even if our allies prove difficult I am sure we may at least rely on the enemy to be obligingly consistent.’
The British army continued marching south under the blazing sun. To their left, across a small plain, lay the hills where General Freire’s column was supposed to be marching parallel to them, but there was never any sign of Portuguese patrols and Freire might as well be on the moon, Arthur reflected bitterly.To the right lay the sea, and some miles out the British fleet, under reduced sail, kept pace with the army. The sea was calm and sparkled seductively in the sunlight, so that the soldiers were constantly tormented by the prospect of a refreshing swim in the sea, and muttered sourly about the easy life of a sailor.
Towards the end of the fourth day, as they approached the village of Obidos, the faint crackle of musketry came from the direction of a windmill a few miles ahead of the main column. Arthur and Somerset rode ahead to investigate and discovered that a company of the 95th Rifles had driven off some French skirmishers and chased them a short distance before coming in sight of the main body of a sizeable French force.
Arthur felt his pulse quicken as he turned to Somerset with an eager glint in his eye. ‘So it begins. With a bit of luck tomorrow will see the first battle of our campaign in the Peninsula. Now we’ll see how well the French stand up against our boys.’
Chapter 44
The church tower of Obidos provided fine views towards the south, and through his telescope Arthur examined the small French army formed up in front of another village, Roliça, some eight miles away. One of the enemy skirmishers captured the previous day had revealed that the French were led by General Delaborde, a tough, experienced veteran. Even though the French were outnumbered nearly four to one, their commander had chosen a good defensive position. Roliça lay in a flat-bottomed valley surrounded by a horseshoe of steep hills that protected the enemy’s flanks. The sun had risen an hour earlier and the slanting light bathed the landscape in vivid colours. Three columns of British soldiers were already setting off towards Roliça, and the dense ranks of red jackets gleamed brilliantly, like threads of blood flowing across the dusty landscape.
During the night a peasant had arrived from a village in the hills to the east. He reported that another French column, of perhaps five thousand men, was marching to join the force at Roliça.That news had determined Arthur to strike as soon as possible, and destroy General Delaborde and his men before they could be reinforced. His plan was simple enough.Two smaller columns of British troops had set off before dawn, marching swiftly towards the left and right of the hill. With luck Delaborde’s attention would be drawn to the three main columns, allowing the others to scale the hills and fall on the flanks of the French force.
Satisfied that things were proceeding according to his intentions, Arthur snapped his telescope shut and turned to Somerset, who had just joined the small group of staff officers observing the deployment of the British army. ‘Time to join the fray, I think.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Still no word from Freire, I assume?’
‘No, sir. None of our mounted patrols could locate him.’
‘Well then, he will just have to miss the battle. Too bad.’
Arthur called on his officers to follow him and descended from the church tower. They mounted the horses waiting in the street and rode off to join their commands.When Arthur reached the small rise behind the centre column that he had chosen as his command post he halted and watched as the three British columns formed into lines.The bands of each brigade began to play lustily to add to the spectacle that Arthur hoped would preoccupy the enemy’s attention while the trap was closed. For nearly an hour the two armies faced each other, just beyond cannon range, while Arthur and Somerset watched for signs of movement along the crests of the hills that overlooked General Delaborde’s flanks.
At length, Somerset thrust his arm out. ‘There, sir!’
Arthur followed the direction indicated and saw the head of a column appearing over the crest of the right-hand hill. No more than a minute later the troops of the leftmost column came into view.
‘Time to begin the attack.’ Arthur nodded, then turned his attention towards the French. ‘No, wait.’
‘Sir?’
‘Delaborde’s seen the danger. Look.’
Already the single battery of French guns was being limbered up and then, together with the main body of French infantry, they began to retire. Delaborde’s cavalry and skirmishers waited a moment to cover the retreat and then followed the rest of the small army as it marched past Roliça and made for the higher ground behind the village. By the time the flanking columns had descended from the slopes the last of the French had retreated out of danger.