‘Begging your pardon, sir, but I think you need to come with me.’
‘Why, what on earth has happened? Out with it, man.’
‘Yes, sir. It’s the Spanish troops. They’re looting one of the local towns. Their officers are doing nothing to stop them, and I don’t have enough men to restore order. It’s turning right nasty, sir, so it is.’
Arthur sighed heavily. He closed his eyes briefly and then stood up. ‘Come, Whitely, you’d better take me there directly.’
The streets of Ascain were crowded with Spanish soldiers as Arthur rode into the town, accompanied by Whitely and twenty of his men. Several of the houses were on fire, and nearly all the rest had been broken into and plundered. The ragged Spaniards had taken the opportunity to gorge themselves on food and wine, and now helped themselves to gold, silver and any other items of value that they could find. Some of the local people had clearly tried to resist and several bodies lay stretched out on the cobbled streets, beaten or bayoneted to death. As the small party of Englishmen rode into the town square Arthur saw a jeering mob gathered to one side. A shrill scream cut through the cold night air and he caught a glimpse of a woman trying to break through the soldiers surrounding her. One of them grabbed the torn dress she had clasped to her chest and wrenched it away, baring her breasts. There was a cruel cheer and then someone knocked her to the ground, out of sight.
‘Like I said, sir,’ Whitely muttered. ‘They’re out of control.’
Arthur reined in and looked round at the Spaniards. ‘It’s only to be expected. After enduring the depredations of the French invaders for so many years they now have the chance to turn the tables. The fact that the locals are blameless is irrelevant to them. Besides, their own government rarely pays or feeds them. They see this as their hard-won right, no doubt.’
Colonel Whitely looked warily at his commander. ‘Nevertheless, sir, your standing orders are that no looting is to be permitted, nor any violence to the locals.’
‘I know.’ Arthur sucked in his breath. ‘Where is the divisional commander, General Longa?’
‘He’s settled himself and his staff in the local hotel, sir.’Whitely raised his hand and pointed at a large, neatly whitewashed building fronting the square. ‘Over there.’
They rode across the square and dismounted. Leaving their horses in the charge of Whitely’s men, Arthur and Whitely entered the hotel. There were two soldiers guarding the entrance. One was already asleep, head slumped on his chest as he stood wedged into a corner to one side of the door. The other man brought his musket up to the salute, wobbling slightly as he fought to stay on his feet. He stank of wine, much of which had been spilled down the grubby white facings of his jacket. Inside the entrance hall they saw the torn remains of a tricolour on the floor, and a large painting of the French Emperor hanging above the counter had been slashed by swords. The sounds of shouting came through one of the doors leading off the hall and they made for that, entering a large dining room. The tables had been pushed together along one side of the room and General Longa and his officers were feasting from plates of cold meats and cured sausages, accompanied by wine poured into beer mugs. Some had already passed out, heads slumped on the table in front of them, but Longa, a tall, handsome man with thinning grey hair, was holding court at the head of the company. He smiled brilliantly as he caught sight of Arthur and rose to his feet so that he could bow elegantly in greeting.
‘My dear Duke, will you join us?’
‘Alas, no,’ Arthur replied evenly.‘My duties do not permit me to take pleasure at the moment. May I speak with you, alone?’
‘Alone?’ A frown flickered across Longa’s face before he nodded.‘But of course.’
Arthur gestured to Whitely to stay where he was and led the Spaniard to the far side of the dining room where there was a window overlooking the square. Arthur gestured to the men outside, their drunken expressions lit up by the impromptu bonfires they had made from furniture taken from the townspeople. ‘Your men are out of control, General Longa.’
‘They are celebrating our victory, sir.’
‘They are committing theft, rape and murder.’
Longa stared at them and shrugged. ‘Spoils of war.’
‘I gave orders that there was to be no mistreatment of French civilians. Why are you permitting your men to indulge in these atrocities?’
‘They will not obey their officers, sir. I will not put the lives of my officers in danger by asking them to confront the mob.’ Longa turned towards Arthur with a cold expression. ‘Besides, my men are entitled to revenge for what the French have done to our people.’
‘Indeed they are, but they must exact their revenge on the battlefield. They have no grievence against civilians. Now, General, you must bring them under control. Use force if necessary, but put an end to this disgraceful display.’
‘As you did at Badajoz?’ Longa shook his head and did not try to hide the tone of contempt that crept into his voice. ‘There, your troops treated my people as if they were a conquered enemy. As spoils of war. I do not think that I need a lecture from you on how my men should behave, sir.’
Arthur felt a surge of rage as he stood before the Spaniard. He would not tolerate such insubordination from one of his officers and the urge to put the fellow in his place was almost overwhelming. He fought down his anger and took a calming breath before he responded.
‘Look here, General Longa, it profits us little to discuss past deeds, however regrettable we may find them. We have to look forward. Every battle we have fought, every sacrifice we have made, has been to bring us to this point. We are on the cusp of defeating our enemy. The enemy is not France, but Bonaparte. We are here to liberate France from tyranny, the same tyranny that threatens the rest of Europe. If you allow your men to mistreat the French people, then you will drive them into Bonaparte’s arms. That is why you must put a stop to this, before you and your soldiers ruin us all.’
Longa stared back at him, then out of the window, and waved a hand in a helpless gesture.‘Sir, I understand what you say, but I doubt that theywill.’
‘Then I will be obliged to have a provost officer restore order by force.’
‘Would you really do that? And risk a divided army?’
Arthur gritted his teeth. General Longa had a point. Such division might pose an even greater threat to the allied army than the alienation of the French population. He was caught between two impossible situations. The thought tormented him. Here, at the very hour of ascendancy over Bonaparte, having won great victories, the allied army might be the cause of its own downfall. Not for the want of courage or perseverance, but for the lack of sufficient discipline far from the battlefield. As he considered the wretched difficulty Longa’s soldiers had placed him in, a third course of action occurred to Arthur. He nodded to himself. There was no question about what he must do, no matter the disadvantage it imposed upon the allied army. He cleared his throat and addressed Longa.
‘You are right. There is nothing we can do to stop this. However, at first light, I want your division to withdraw from Ascain and await further orders.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Longa replied with a relieved expression. ‘It is for the best.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Arthur turned towards the door and beckoned to Colonel Whitely. ‘Come, we must leave this place.’
‘Are you certain there is no other way, sir?’ asked Somerset as he lowered the draft order Arthur had penned for him.