Sharpe’s Havoc by Bernard Cornwell

Kate did not answer. She no longer believed her husband’s complicated explanations of why he was friendly with the French or his high talk of the new ideas controlling Europe’s destiny. She clung instead to the simpler idea of being a patriot and all she wanted now was to cross the river and join the men on the far side, but there were no boats, no bridge left and no way to escape. She began to weep and Christopher, disgusted at her display of misery, turned away. He worked at his teeth with an ivory pick and marveled that a woman so beautiful could be so prey to vapors.

Kate cuffed at her tears, then walked to where the gardener was slowly clipping the laurels. „How do I get across the river?” she asked in Portuguese.

The man did not look at her, just clipped away. „You can’t.”

„I must!”

„They shoot you if you try.” He looked at her, taking in the tight-fitting hussar uniform, then turned away. „They shoot you anyway.”

A clock in the palace’s hallway struck eleven as Marshal Soult descended the great staircase. He wore a silk robe over his breeches and shirt. „Is breakfast ready?” he demanded.

„In the blue reception room, sir,” an aide answered, „and your guests are here.”

„Good, good!” He waited as the doors were thrown open for him, then greeted the visitors with a broad smile. „Take your seats, do. Ah, I see we are being informal.” This last remark was because the breakfast was laid in silver chafing dishes on a long sideboard, and the Marshal went along the row lifting lids. „Ham! Splendid. Braised kidneys, excellent! Beef! Some tongue, good, good. And liver. That does look tasty. Good morning, Colonel!” This greeting was to Christopher who replied by giving the Marshal a bow. „How good of you to come,” Soult went on, „and did you bring your pretty wife? Ah, I see her. Good, good. You shall sit there, Colonel.” He pointed to a chair next to the one he would occupy. Soult liked the Englishman who had betrayed the plotters who would have mutinied if Soult had declared himself king. The Marshal still harbored that ambition, but he acknowledged that he would need to beat back the British and Portuguese army that had dared to advance from Coimbra before he assumed the crown and scepter.

Soult had been surprised by Sir Arthur Wellesley’s advance, but not alarmed. The river was guarded and the Marshal had been assured there were no boats on the opposite bank and so, as far as King Nicolas was concerned, the British could sit on the Douro’s southern bank and twiddle their thumbs forever.

The tall windows rattled in sympathy with the pounding guns and the sound made the Marshal turn from the chafing dishes. „Our gunners are a bit lively this morning, are they not?”

„They’re mostly British guns, sir,” an aide answered.

„Doing what?”

„Firing at our sentries on the quay,” the aide said. „They’re swatting at flies with six-pound balls.”

Soult laughed. „So much for the vaunted Wellesley, eh?” He smiled at Kate and gestured that she should take the place of honor at his right. „So good to have a pretty woman for company at breakfast.”

„Better to have one before breakfast,” an infantry colonel remarked and Kate, who spoke more French than any of the men knew, blushed.

Soult heaped his plate with liver and bacon, then took his seat. „They’re swatting sentries,” he said, „so what are we doing?”

„Counter-battery fire, sir,” the aide answered. „You don’t have any kidneys, sir? Can I bring you some?”

„Oh do, Cailloux. I like kidneys. Any news from the Castelo?” The Castelo de Sao was on the Douro’s north bank where the river met the sea and was heavily garrisoned to fight off a British seaborne assault.

„They report two frigates just out of range, sir, but no other craft in sight.“

„He dithers, doesn’t he?” Soult said with satisfaction. „This Wellesley, he’s a ditherer. Help yourself to the coffee, Colonel,” he told Christopher, „and if you would be so kind, a cup for me as well. Thank you.” Soult took a bread roll and some butter. „I talked with Vuillard last night,” the Marshal said, „and he’s making excuses. Hundreds of excuses!”

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