The Iberian Flame

Chapter 30

Pedro returned for the midday meal, by turns excited, apprehensive and boastful.

Word was that Murat had not delayed and at this hour near twenty-five thousand troops and guns were astride the road to Cadiz and expected in days only. This could only inflame a tense and angry situation, with the result that this afternoon the town council would go to Governor Solano, demanding he turn out the army of General Morla to defend the city, against a siege, if need be.

Sailors going ashore from the French squadron had been found murdered, the news and rumours from Madrid whipping up hatred in the local population that found release only in bloodshed. The ships had scuttled away for sanctuary in the well-defended naval base at Carracas until Murat’s forces could relieve them.

Renzi heard it all with growing unease. He’d been hoping for a relatively peaceful transfer of power and calm in the countryside as he’d slipped away from Madrid, but with hotheads like Pedro it would be a savage process that would set the whole region into seething hostility.

He had a short time only to come up with a plan to get himself away from the tidal wave of barbarity about to fall on Cadiz.

Pedro pirouetted before the women in his hip-hugging pantaloons and elaborate high-heeled boots, set off by a lavishly ornamented frogged crimson and gold jacket. ‘Ha! This is what I wear when we stand up for Spain’s honour before su excelencia - what do you think, mi corazon?’

Benita looked at him adoringly, then hugged him tightly and burst into tears. ‘You’ll be careful, Pedro, please tell me you will.’

He smirked. ‘There are times when sacrifice is demanded, mi amor, and know that I shall be always found there at the front.’

The streets were choked with even more excited, streaming crowds, for news of the deputation had got out. With bursting pride Pedro found he was recognised as a member of the town council and energetically cheered, lifted up and carried to the Plaza de los Pozos, before the stern nobility of the governor’s residence and office.

It was the greatest day of his life.

The curtains at the rear of the balcony were firmly closed but above all, huge and majestic, floated the ornate colours of the Bourbon King of Spain. With a full heart, Don Pedro joined the others in the marble-floored reception area.

When the doors from the outside were finally closed, the tumult on the streets was cut off and a respectful hush descended. At the top of the sweeping staircase, to one side behind the balustrades where he could address the throng, Don Francisco Solano appeared.

‘I know why you’ve come, gentlemen,’ he began. ‘There’s no need to tell me that the situation threatening us is singular and demanding.’

Fervid cries of agreement rang out. Solano frowned slightly. This was unbecoming behaviour in such distinguished surroundings. ‘And you are here to ask counsel of your governor under His Majesty, as is right and proper in you.’

He chose to ignore the rumble of muttered discontent.

‘I am, of course, privy to the King’s desiring and my counsel to you is this: to be allied to the greatest and most powerful empire in this world is infinitely to be preferred to insulting it, and I do remind you all that we are in fact so united. That differences do arise from time to time-’

‘We will not be dishonoured by these pigs! In Madrid they’ve-’

‘Cadiz shall not fall beneath the boots of the cursed franceses!’ Pedro blared. ‘Never while I live!’

There was a roar from the council that turned Pedro pink with pleasure.

Solano, pained, waited for the bedlam to fade. ‘Gentlemen. I can sympathise with your feelings but there are a number of good reasons why this cannot be. Apart from the impossibility of standing against the legions of French on their way here, might I point out that firing upon our ally will be seen as illegal, the act of murderers and pirates, and they will then be quite within their rights to hang every last one of you.’

Hostility was now radiating up from the massed councillors to Solano, and he shrank back.

Emboldened, Pedro roared, ‘They’ll have to get past me first! Arm every man who can carry a gun and let their blood run like water!’

A savage growl erupted into an angry howl.

Solano, pale-faced, waited long minutes to be heard. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying!’ he said loudly. ‘This is an act of war and we’re not at war. Emperor Bonaparte will take a fearful vengeance upon you if-’

Pedro snarled back, ‘If we’re not at war, we should be. All those of my comrades who vote to declare war on the franceses murderers, say aye!’

There was a storm of joyous shouting and Pedro smiled wickedly. ‘So you see, Excelentisimo, we’ve declared war. What do you now counsel us?’

Solano tried to speak but had to wait for quiet. ‘Gentlemen. Recollect yourselves. You’re the Cadiz town council, and town councils do not declare war on nations. Only His Majesty the King may declare war and-’

‘And he’s guest of the French and can’t speak for himself. So who does? You?’

By now the news that Cadiz had declared war on the French had spread, and yells of riotous approval came from outside. A muffled chanting – ‘?Muerte a los franceses! Muerte a los franceses!’ – grew in intensity.

Solano glanced around uncertainly for support but saw only the seething riot that was now the town council in session. A look of despair came over him. Abruptly he turned and left.

The council, offended, cast about in confusion but then a massive roar sounded from the plaza. ‘It’s the cabron gone to the people. He thinks to ignore us, the elected town council!’ Pedro spluttered. ‘He’s on the balcony.’

There was a general surge out into the plaza and the crowd looked up to see Solano standing under the huge flag motioning for quiet. Grudgingly, they fell silent.

‘Citizens of Cadiz, I urge you with all my heart to pay no mind to those who’d drive you into the jaws of death. This is not the way to solve our differences. We shall find a means-’

‘We have a way! We fight – for our soil, our people, our honour!’ Pedro bawled, and was forced to his knees by the storm of acclamation. He staggered back to his feet and yelled hoarsely, ‘We declare war on the butchers of Madrid! Long live Spain and all those who love their country!’

The crowd roared again. Pedro looked about – the army and militia were nowhere to be seen and the mood was furious and excited.

‘Why doesn’t Solano listen to us?’ he dared. ‘Is he bosom friends with the French? Does he pledge obedience to the detestado French puppet Joseph, instead of to the line of true Spanish kings?’

The crowd went wild, venom and hatred in their shouts.

‘Declare war on the French, Solano, or we’ll know what it means!’

‘This is not something I can do, believe me! Only if-’

It was the end. Past reason, the huge crowd surged forward, knocking aside the ushers and flooding into the residence. Solano quickly disappeared from the balcony.

But as the mob invaded from below he came into view again, this time on the roof, where his appearance was met by a roar of triumph. Hesitating, he shot hunted glances about, then ran to the end, leaped across to the next building and vanished.

‘Quick! To the back! Stop him getting away!’

There was an atmosphere of insane exhilaration in the crowd and Pedro revelled in it. ‘Get him out, the bastard!’ he shouted, smashing at the front door with his fists. It soon fell inwards to a swarm of enraged men.

Minutes passed, then confused faces appeared at the windows. ‘He’s not here! Gone!’

‘He must be there – look again!’ Pedro shouted angrily.

There was no result. Then a beefy man shouldered his way through to Pedro. ‘I’m Manuel El Albanil,’ he puffed. ‘Bricklayer. I know where he is, the pig. With my own hands I built a false fireplace in there – that’s where he’ll be.’

Pedro was exultant. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Go to it! Drag him out!’