“How good these prawns are!” Vendôme crowed.
The people of Vinaroz were scared to death, naturally, so they just kept serving him trays and more trays of prawns. The glutton wolfed down sixty-four prawns. No one dared to tell him that they were served in their shell but that you eat them without. Vendôme was such an exalted aristocrat that it never would have occurred to him that a servant would bring him in a shell something that was eaten peeled, and that his noble little fingers were being smeared with grease from the sea.
That very night he died of indigestion.
In the days that followed Brihuega, we became intoxicated by a false sense of security. Since we’d left Toledo, the cry that had united the army had been “Return to Barcelona or die!” After the failure of the great Bourbon attempt to annihilate us, everybody let go a little.
We were already on Aragon land, barren like the Castilian but at least an Allied kingdom. Don Antonio was in command of a motley troop made up of a few hundred Dutch, Portuguese, Palatines, Hessians, a real ragtag bunch. (Italian mercenaries, too! They were everywhere!) Most were ill or bore wounds from Brihuega, and we carried them in wagons that were full up and groaning heavily. So as not to be a burden on the march of the army, we took a parallel route.
Although I didn’t like the idea at all, I went with Don Antonio. From the very first, I knew that looking after this little troop of invalids, riding apart from the main army, was a bad idea. I was anxious as I rode alongside my great general, asking myself what good old Zuvi was doing there. The answer, as you can imagine, is that I had grown to feel a loyalty for this man very similar to that which had bonded me to Vauban. The marquis taught me what I needed to do; Don Antonio went further, filling the work with moral meaning. That same day he would be practicing what he preached.
Being so far away from the army, we were easy prey. Nine out of ten of these wounded men couldn’t lift a rifle. If we were attacked by a decent-sized force, we would be condemned to disaster. I had a bad feeling about it all. I was constantly turning in my saddle, scanning the horizon, or racing up and down the short column of wagons chivvying the drivers. What we hoped was that the Bourbons would not pay any attention to these little crumbs of the army and we would be able to get ourselves lost on minor roads. We couldn’t.
The Castilian warriors attacked us on both flanks at once. The diminished mounted escort charged — led by Don Antonio — then charged again, and a third time. The Bourbons avoided them like wolves escaping a shepherd, but they were soon back in pursuit of the defenseless flock, and there were more of them each time. Those in the wagons who were in a fit state had armed themselves and fired from where they were on the flatbed of the carts. Don Antonio gave the order to take refuge in the nearest settlement, a small place called Illueca that we could make out on the horizon.
I was desperate. “Don Antonio! Please don’t do it! You know as well as I do what that order will mean. Please!”
He didn’t answer. We entered Illueca like a mouse into a trap. Don Antonio’s logic was absolutely impeccable: The Bourbons exceeded us in number; if those of us on horseback fled, the injured in the wagons would be annihilated in the excitement of the fighting.
As an engineer, I knew that Illueca was impossible to defend. We had neither the provisions nor the arms to defend it. And we knew, furthermore, that there was nobody to come to our rescue. But once we had dug ourselves in, when all the smoke had cleared and the siege begun, Don Antonio could agree to a reasonable settlement with someone in the Two Crowns’ command. At least they would have respect for the lives of the wounded. That was what duty and sacrifice meant to Don Antonio: to lose the warrior’s most sacred possession, freedom, if in doing so, he could save the lives of his men.
But I could not forget two details that were crucial to my own interests: that good old Zuvi was neither ill nor wounded, and that the prospect of captivity was unbearable to me. I tried, exasperated, to reason with Don Antonio. As the gates to the town were closed and some improvised defenses set up, I asked him to reconsider: “Let’s flee while there is still time, leaving the command in the hands of some lame officer who can negotiate the terms of the surrender.” I had plenty of tactical reasons for this: he was a general, the finest commander under Karlangas. Was it worth the army losing his talent for some hundred invalids?
Nothing doing. He would never abandon men under his command, never. I had escaped a razed Toledo, the cold Retreat, the battle of Brihuega. And now, because of a stupid question of honor, I was going to fall into the hands of an intransigent enemy. His example was an admirable one; more than that, it was heroic. But Longlegs Zuvi wasn’t yet ready to grasp The Word, as evidenced by the fact that I exploded in frustration.
“You’re more stubborn than a deaf mule! You hear me? A fucking mule in a general’s sash! That’s what you are.”
Anyone else would have had me hanged on the spot. But he didn’t do it. Why?
He was fond of me, there was no other explanation. He and his adjutants just left me alone there, stamping on my tricorn hat in utter fury. After a while I was called into his presence. I had calmed down a little and I could recognize my insubordination. I went to meet him like a lamb to the slaughter.
He was in the castle. I had to climb a spiral staircase to get to the top of a solitary turret, whipped by the four winds. From there you could keep an eye on the whole landscape all the way to the horizon.
Although I wish I could, I know I never shall forget that sight. Our good general standing alone, wrapped in a long, ragged, rat-colored cloak. He looked like a human échauguette, impassive at the gusts of wind that shook those heights. He was using his spyglass to watch the Bourbons’ movements. The warriors of Castile had already called for the French regular troops. Seen from where we stood, they looked like little white roaches. Soon they would have Illueca surrounded. Soon our sacrifice would come to a head.
“What am I to do with you?” he said, still looking through his spyglass.
Resigned, I allowed my gaze to follow the direction of the spyglass and just answered: “I suppose it doesn’t much matter, Don Antonio.” I sighed. “We are going to fall into their hands.”
“Do you have a family?”
“I think so.”
He lowered the spyglass. “You think so?” he boomed. “Either you have a family or you don’t!”
“I do.” I hadn’t the slightest idea what he wanted.
“I need a messenger to tell the king what has happened,” he said. “I have served under the Bourbon flag. It might be thought that I took advantage of the situation to commit treason.”
“But anyone thinking that, Don Antonio, would be an idi—” I shut up, suddenly understanding that this was just an excuse he had dreamed up to spare me from captivity. “Forgive me, Don Antonio.”
“General! Address me according to my rank.”
“Yes, General.”
He went back to his spyglass and said: “Take saddlebags filled with plentiful provisions. And my horse. It’s in the best condition. I don’t want it to end up with some French fop.”
I wanted to thank him, dizzy with delight, but he prevented me with a shout: “Now get out of my sight before I change my mind!”
I withdrew. All the same, when I reached the staircase, something made me turn. I couldn’t go just like that.
“Don Antonio, I want you to know that I have been thinking a lot about what you said that night. I don’t have the courage to take on that invisible border which God has put in front of us. And you, what’s more, you seek it out with tireless tenacity.”