‘It is hardly the fault of the soldiers if the government chooses to deploy them in such a fashion,’ Arthur protested.
‘Precisely, sir.Take yourself.’ Jardine gestured towards Arthur’s tanned face. ‘From your colour, I assume that you have been on service in the tropics, or some such?’
‘I have just returned from India.’
‘And what did you do there of any importance to this country?’
Arthur took a deep breath.The question was startling in terms of the breadth of the answer he could provide, but Jardine continued before he had a chance to begin.
‘I warrant that you and your men spent most of the time chasing the natives off the property of the East India Company.’
‘We achieved more than that, sir. It is thanks to the efforts of the army that Britain now rules over lands many times the size and population of the British Isles.’
‘India is a mere detail of our struggle against France,’ Jardine countered dismissively. ‘Besides, you were fighting savages, not proper civilised armies. How could you possibly lose in such an unequal contest?’
Arthur leaned back with a weary expression. The man was clearly ignorant of the campaigns that had been fought across the heart of the subcontinent over the last decade. He knew nothing of the bloody assault on the Sultan of Mysore’s fortress capital of Seringapatam. Nothing of the desperate march across the face of the vast Mahratta army at Assaye to attack their flank and defeat them. Nothing of the bold advance against the cannon and massed ranks of the enemy at Argaum. Nothing of the long months of bitter skirmishes with the bandit columns led by the bloodthirsty Dhoondiah Waugh. Clearly, the exploits of Arthur and his men had been overlooked back home in Britain. Almost as if they were a forgotten army led by a forgotten general. He sighed.
‘I can assure you that the troops I was honoured to command in India faced enemies every bit as dangerous as the French. When the time comes for our soldiers to face Bonaparte in pitched battle, they will be more than a match for him and his men.’
‘Of course, sir. Of course.’ Jardine nodded placatingly. ‘I am sure that you know your business. But from the point of view of the well-informed layman, such as myself, it would appear that our best hope of defeating the French lies in the Royal Navy.’
‘By God, you are wrong, sir. Quite wrong,’Arthur snapped.‘How can the Navy defeat Bonaparte? To be sure, Admiral Nelson can defeat his warships, but he can only pursue the French as far as their coast. And from there on, wherever there is solid ground, Bonaparte can defy his enemies. So it follows that the war between Britain and France can only be decided on land.When the time is right our soldiers will fight on the soil of Europe and there they will prove that they are more than a match for the very best of Napoleon’s men. Mark my words, sir.You will see the day.’
‘I hope so, sir. Sincerely I do. But that depends on our government’s being prepared to land a force large enough to make a difference.’
Arthur nodded. ‘And to keep it adequately supplied and reinforced when necessary. You are right, sir. The government has so far declined to commit to such an investment of its military power. But that will change. There are men with vision at Westminster. Men who can be persuaded to take the bold course.’
‘Who will persuade them, sir? Most of our generals seem to be the very fount of caution and, dare I say it, indecision.’
‘Then it will be down to men like myself to make the case for action.’
Jardine smiled.‘Pardon me, sir, but what makes you think that young officers will carry much weight in this affair?’
‘Because I shall speak the truth. I shall present the facts clearly and logically so that there can be no doubt as to the correct path to take.’
‘Ah, but you speak as a soldier. Those in Westminster are inclined to speak and listen as politicians. Facts and logic are as clay to their minds; soft and infinitely malleable. I fear you overestimate the influence of reason on such men.’
Arthur was quiet and still for a moment before he shrugged. ‘We shall see.’ He picked up the newspaper again. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, sir, I would like to finish this before the journey is over.’
Jardine nodded briefly and turned to look out of the window with a slight pout of piqued disapproval.
The coach soon emerged from the trees and entered the first of the villages that were slowly being swallowed up and overwhelmed by the sprawling capital. The cottages and small shops gradually gave way to dense housing that rose up on either side, crowding the cobbled streets. Occasionally the coach passed workhouses and the premises of small industries from whose chimneys smoke belched into the sky, adding to the brown pall hanging over London. At length they arrived at the yard of the coach station in Chelsea, and after a curt farewell to Mr Jardine Arthur tipped a porter to carry his travel case to one of the cabs waiting out in the street. The rest of his baggage was in the hold of the Indiaman and would be sent on to London as soon as it was unloaded.
‘Cavendish Square, if you please,’ Arthur called up to the cabby as he climbed aboard and pulled the small door to.
‘Aye, sir!’ The cabby nodded, and then flicked the reins, urging his horse forward. The cab rattled out into the traffic passing along the crowded thoroughfare. At once Arthur was struck by the stark difference between the streets of London and those he had become used to in India.As a boy, his family had mostly lived in the countryside of Ireland, and Arthur had been horrified by the squalor and the smoky, sweaty odours of Dublin and then London. But he had quickly become used to them, just as he had become used to the appalling poverty and stench of the primitive slums of Indian cities. Now he measured London by a new standard and marvelled at the obvious wealth of the capital and the fine facades it presented to the paved and cobbled streets.
As the cab turned into Cavendish Square, Arthur’s mind turned to his family. The house that his mother rented was in a street off the square. It was modest by the standards of the aristocracy, but Anne Wellesley had been saddled with debts after her husband had died and what little was left of her private fortune was supplemented by loans from her sons. Arthur wondered what kind of greeting she would offer him after an absence of a decade.They had not parted on good terms, mostly because they had never been on good terms. She had regarded Arthur as the least able, and most indolent, of her sons, and had always been cold with him. Now that he was a major-general and the hero of Assaye he wondered if his stock with her might have risen. Would she now embrace him and hold him in the same regard as Richard,William and Henry?
Arthur rapped the side of the cab and called to the driver. ‘Stop here!’
The cab pulled up and Arthur stepped out on to the street in front of his mother’s house, straightening his jacket as he waited for the driver to bring his travelling case down from the roof. Then, taking a deep breath, he climbed the steps and rapped the brass knocker sharply.There was a short delay before he heard footsteps inside and the door opened to reveal a footman.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘I am Arthur Wellesley. Is my mother at home?’
The footman scrutinised his face for a moment before he nodded and stood aside.