La Marquesa climbed to the topmost tier. She smiled at the wife of a cavalry Colonel, knowing that the woman eagerly spread gossip about her. `Your husband’s piles are better, dear Jeanette? Or is he riding to battle in a cart again?’ She did not wait for an answer, but climbed on upwards then waited as her maid spread cushions on the bench. She felt in her reticule for some coins and nodded towards one of the pastry sellers. `I want some of the lemon pastries.’
`My Lady.’
She sat. She carried a small ivory spyglass. There was little to be seen on the plain. The killing ground was hidden from her beyond the Arinez Hill. On a lower ridge that was closer to the city she could see troops drawn up in close order. Over their heads floated the great purple and white banner that told her they were King Joseph’s household guards.
She wondered where General Verigny was. He had left her eagerly, exhilarated at the thought of battle. With victory this day, he assured her, Pierre Ducos would be defeated. Joseph would keep the Spanish throne and La Marquesa’s wagons could be taken from the Inquisitor. Helene had smiled at her lover. `And what if we lose today?’
`Lose? We can’t lose!’
Just days before, she reflected, the French army had expected nothing but retreat and the abandonment of Spain. Suddenly, with a volatility brought by news of Napoleon’s victories, the army was replete with confidence. Today, they were sure, they would revenge themselves on Wellington.
It was all so unexpected. At Burgos she had tried to persuade Richard Sharpe to betray his honour in order to defeat Ducos’ scheming. She wondered whether Sharpe would have signed the parole, then dismissed the thought because he was dead and the question was irrelevant. Instead King Joseph was fighting for his throne and victory today would mean an end of bribing Spaniards for favours. France would crush Spain again. The world would watch an Empire rear back to greatness.
A Captain, in the green and pink uniform of General Verigny’s regiment, appeared at the bottom of the steps. He had one arm in a sling, and one eye’bandaged. He limped. He could not fight this day and he had been ordered to attend on La Marquesa instead. It was typical of General Verigny, La Marquesa thought, to make sure that her escort was of an unbelievable ugliness. She raised her fan, caught his eye, and smiled as he joined her. `You’re looking for me, Captain?’
`Are not we all, my dear lady?’ He bowed over her hand, kissed the gloved fingers, and smiled. `Captain Saumier, at your obedient service.’
He really was extraordinarily ugly, with a face like a grumpy toad. `Do sit down, Captain. You must be desolated not to be fighting today?’
`There’ll be other days, my Lady, but this one is yours, flow can a man regret such a thing?’
`So prettily said. A lemon pastry?’
She sent the maid for more, and ordered wine to be brought from her coach. `How did you fetch your wounds, Captain?’
`Falling from the balcony of a lady. Her husband objected.’
No doubt, La Marquesa thought, at his wife’s egregious taste. She waved her fan at the battlefield. `You must tell me what is happening, Captain.’
She could see the small clouds of musket smoke on the Puebla Heights. Captain Saumier borrowed her glass, stared through it for a few seconds, and delivered himself of the opinion that Wellington was attacking on the Heights because he dared not attack on the.plain.
`But if they take the hills,’ she paused as her maid brought her the fresh pastries and wine, `won’t they have to come down to the plain?’
`Oh indeed, my Lady. How very true!’
`And what happens then?’
`We beat them with the guns.’ Saumier grinned, showing long, yellow teeth.
`As simple as that?’
Saumier smiled. `War is simple.’
`No wonder men like it so much.’ She smiled. `Perhaps Wellington will do something you don’t expect?’
Captain Saumier shook his head. He subscribed to the view commonly held in the French army, a view he stated now with manly certainty to reassure this nervous, beautiful, wide-eyed woman. `Wellington can’t attack. He puts up a reasonable defence, my Lady, but he can’t attack.’