Escorted by a company of men from one of the regiments that had newly arrived from Britain, Arthur made his way through the crowd towards the reception committee of local dignitaries waiting on a small stage in a large public square decorated with ribbons and flags. He was relieved to see Major-General Beresford amongst them. Beresford had served under him at Vimeiro, and had, thanks to his command of Portuguese, remained in Portugal to train soldiers recruited from the local populace. The two officers exchanged a salute before Arthur grasped the other man’s hand.
‘Good to see you again, Beresford.’
‘And you, sir.’
‘I understand that you have been promoted in my absence.A marshal of Portugal, no less.’
‘The rank serves its purpose,’ Beresford replied self-consciously. ‘At least the locals respect it. Makes my job of training them that much easier. Besides, I shan’t be the only Englishman with such a fine rank bestowed on him.’ Beresford turned to the local dignitaries and exchanged a few brief words with a small dapper man in a fine dress coat with a bright red sash across his shoulder.
‘This is the High Chamberlain of the Royal Court, sir. The senior official left behind after the government fled to Brazil.’
Arthur bowed to the chamberlain and at once the man burst into speech, talking so rapidly that Beresford could not keep up and struggled to follow the man’s address. At the end the chamberlain turned and clicked his fingers at one of his officials and the man stepped forward with an ornate case.The chamberlain took the case and opened it carefully to reveal a jewelled star on a purple ribbon, together with a gilded baton. He offered the case to Arthur with a deep bow.
‘What’s this?’ Arthur asked Beresford.
‘The acting head of the Portuguese government confers upon you the rank of marshal-general of the allied forces in Portugal.’
‘And the rest of the speech?’
‘Usual flummery, sir. And a nice bit about how you are going to crush the French armies in Portugal and Spain before you finally defeat the French Emperor himself.’
‘Ah, well, yes,’ Arthur responded awkwardly. ‘Please convey my humble appreciation for the honour the chamberlain does me.Tell him that I give my word that the French aggressors will rue the day that they ever dared to wage war on the people of Portugal.’
Beresford translated, speaking loud enough for his words to be clearly audible to the element of the crowd closest to the stage. As he finished the crowd erupted in a great cheer and Arthur turned towards them and raised his hat to acknowledge their acclaim. When he had finished, he crammed his bicorn back on his head, this time front to back to indicate that he was on active service. He turned to Beresford.
‘Better cut this as short as we can. There are matters to discuss, not to mention the usual formalities.’ Before Arthur could assume command of the army he would have to present his authorisation to the current commander, General Cradock. It would be an altogether more formal affair than the occasion when Burrard had superseded Arthur on the battlefield of Vimeiro. It suddenly struck him that the worm had finally turned.This was the first time he had enjoyed the fruits of seniority.
‘Yes, of course.’ Beresford nodded. ‘I will take you to the army’s headquarters at once, sir.’
Arthur expressed his thanks, waved and bowed his head to the crowd once more, and then left the stage. With his escort in attendance, he followed Beresford through the crowd out of the square and along a street into the heart of Lisbon. As they walked, Arthur recalled his first impressions of the city from the previous year. He was surprised again by the squalor of many of its thoroughfares, where human urine and ordure mixed with that of dogs and other animals, since the inhabitants still slung the contents of their slop buckets into the streets from overlooking windows. As they progressed Arthur could not resist glancing up warily from time to time.
General Cradock’s headquarters were situated in a large mansion overlooking the harbour. The position was elevated enough to ensure that a cooling breeze flowed through the house most of the year, and even though it was still only April the breeze was welcome, especially as it helped to dissipate the less pleasant odours of the city.
General Cradock and his staff were waiting in a large reception room overlooking the garden courtyard. After a formal announcement in front of these witnesses, Cradock surrendered his command. As soon as the brief ceremony was over Cradock relaxed and led Arthur down to the garden, where a small banquet had been prepared for the gathering of officers. As the others ate amid a hubbub of conversation, Arthur led Cradock to one side so that they might talk in confidence.
‘What is the latest intelligence on the enemy?’
Cradock raised his eyebrows briefly as he composed his response. ‘You have picked a hard time to take charge,Wellesley. Marshal Victor is at Mérida, not far from the Portuguese border. He defeated a Spanish army in March so we can’t expect much help on that front for a while. Meanwhile, Marshal Soult still occupies Oporto and is awaiting reinforcements before renewing his attempt to conquer the rest of Portugal. It is most likely that Ney will march to join him the moment the rebels in Galicia have been subdued.’
‘That may take rather longer than Ney might think,’ Arthur responded thoughtfully, recalling the latest intelligence he had read on board the frigate. ‘It seems that the Spanish who have banded together to fight the French are proliferating right across the country. Which makes my task easier. The more enemy troops they can tie down, the better our chances of picking off the French armies one at a time.’
Cradock looked surprised. ‘Good God, you can’t be serious. They outnumber you at least ten to one.’
Arthur smiled. ‘Which is precisely why I must face them one at a time. Our soldiers are more than a match for the enemy. I proved that at Vimeiro. We can, and will, prevail.’
‘I hope so,’ Cradock said wearily.‘This war has gone on long enough. Perhaps it is time to tackle the bull by the horns.’ He scrutinised Arthur for a moment and then added,‘And perhaps it is time for a new kind of general. I wish you good fortune, sir.’
Having despatched a small column to watch for any advance by Marshal Victor, Arthur left ten thousand men to defend Lisbon and set off to join the main body of his army.At the start of May he reached his forces camped in and around the town of Coimbra, five days’ march from Oporto. A guard of honour greeted the new commander and his staff when they arrived, and after a brief inspection of the well-turned-out troops Arthur summoned all the senior officers to the army headquarters, a religious school on the outskirts of the town. The surrounding hills were covered in the greens of spring, and dotted with bright flowers and blossom on the trees. Despite a cooling breeze the air was hot, and inside the school’s lecture theatre the British and Portuguese officers sat in sweltering temperatures, talking quietly as they waited for their new commander to arrive.
Outside the hall, Arthur paused to compose himself.The formalities of assuming command were now over. In a moment he would be addressing his officers and informing them of his plans for the immediate future. More immediate than many of them suspected,Arthur mused with a faint smile. It was vital that he struck the right note with his subordinates. After the fiasco at Cintra and the stalemate between the allied and French armies that had dragged on over the intervening months, he needed to inspire them with a new sense of purpose. All his plans for the future depended upon a high state of morale, an effective organisation of the army and confident leadership. He drew a deep breath, and entered the lecture theatre.