The Iberian Flame

Chapter 69

The encampment of General Moore, forty miles from Madrid

Rain drummed on the canvas of the tent and made noisy waterfalls where it descended to the ground.

‘It’s true, then,’ Moore muttered dully, holding a grubby piece of paper before a candle.

‘Sir?’ Packwood said, suddenly alert.

‘The Spanish right has broken, fallen back – they’re routed. And here we are, not two days’ march from Madrid and nothing between us and Bonaparte. He has the capital now. He’s to put brother Joseph back on the throne and then he’ll be after us.’

‘The men are in good heart, sir. As are your generals. If you choose to stand against Napoleon they’ll be there with you in good spirit.’

‘No, Packwood, I’m not going to ask that. This is the only army England has at this time and it’s as much my duty to preserve it as win battles.’

It had been Moore who, at the Shorncliffe military ranges, had forged the professionalism and dedication that had transformed the army from its stolid eighteenth-century lines of tramping redcoats to an active and aggressive modern force.

The wood and canvas chair creaked as he shifted position. ‘We’ll have to move quickly. This dispatch directs us to Vigo where the transports will mass to take us off. The question is how to get there.’

‘While the French are descending on us all from the same direction, surely we’re talking about retracing our route in the opposite direction back to the coast, to Lisbon?’

‘No,’ Moore said decisively. ‘Our Spanish allies are a broken reed but we owe it to them not to scuttle away without a show of spirit. It’s to be Galicia, across the mountains.’

Packwood chose his words carefully. ‘Sir, if we make Lisbon we’ve no need to go to Vigo and-’

‘We go overland to the north. Bonaparte at our heels I don’t worry on. He’s a huge army and massive field train to move and the mountains will check even him.’

‘The weather is-’

‘Be damned to the weather. My men know what’s at stake. They’ll do their duty and, once at Vigo, they’ll be able to get on board and take their rest. The navy will never let us down, Packwood, trust me.’