fight well, they kill well and they're rewarded well. I keep them separate. They're not billeted with other troops, they don't mix with other troops, and that way no one knows where they are or what they're doing. If you send six hundred men marching from here to Madrid then I guarantee you that every guerrillero between here and Seville will know about it before they leave. But not with my men. We don't tell anyone what we're doing or where we're going, we just go there and do it. And we have our own places to live. I emptied a village of its inhabitants and made it my depot, but we don't just stay there. We travel where we will, sleep where we will, and if guerrilleros attack us they die, and not just them, but their mothers, their children, their priests and their grandchildren die with them. We horrify them, madame, just as they try to horrify us, and by now my wolf pack is more horrifying than the partisans.”
“Good,” Juanita said simply.
“Brigadier Loup's patrol area is remarkably free of partisans,” Ducos said in generous tribute.
“But not entirely free,” Loup added grimly. “El Castrador survives, but I'll use his own knife on him yet. Maybe the arrival of the British will encourage him to show his face again.”
“Which is why we are here,” Ducos said, taking command of the room. “Our job is to make certain that the British do not stay here, but are sent packing.”
And then, in his deep and almost hypnotic voice, he described the military situation as he comprehended it. Brigadier General Loup, who had spent the last year fighting to keep the passes through the frontier hills free of partisans and who had thus been spared the disasters that had afflicted
Marshal Masséna's army in Portugal, listened raptly as Ducos told the real story and not the patriotic lies that were peddled in the columns of the
Moniteur. “Wellington is clever,” Ducos admitted. “He's not brilliant, but he is clever and we under-estimated him.” The existence of the Lines of Torres
Vedras had been unknown to the French until they marched within cannon shot of the defences and there they had waited, ever hungrier, ever colder, through a long winter. Now the army was back on the Spanish frontier and waiting for
Wellington's assault.
It was an assault that would be hard and bloody because of the two massive fortresses that barred the only passable roads through the frontier mountains.
Ciudad Rodrigo was the northern fastness and Badajoz the southern. Badajoz had been in Spanish hands till a month before and Masséna's engineers had despaired of ever reducing its massive walls, but Ducos had arranged a huge bribe and the Spanish commander had yielded the keys to the fortress. Now both keys of Spain, Badajoz and Ciudad Rodrigo, were firmly in the Emperor's grip.
But there was a third border fortress which also lay in French hands. Almeida was inside Portugal and, though it was not so important as Ciudad Rodrigo or
Badajoz, and though its massive castle had been destroyed with the neighbouring cathedral in an earth-shattering explosion of gunpowder just the previous year, the town's thick star-shaped walls and its strong French garrison still presented a formidable obstacle. Any British force laying siege to Ciudad Rodrigo would have to use thousands of men to guard against the threat of Almeida's garrison sallying out to raid the supply roads and Ducos reckoned that Wellington would never abide that menace in his army's rear.
“Wellington's first priority will be to capture Almeida,” Ducos said, "and
Marshal Masséna will do his best to relieve the fortress from the British siege. In other words, Brigadier"-Ducos was speaking more to Loup than to the
Dona Juanita - “there will be a battle fought close to Almeida. Not much is certain in war, but I think we can be certain of that.”
Loup stared at the map, then nodded agreement. “Unless Marshal Masséna withdraws the garrison?” he said in a tone of
“Good,” Juanita said simply.
“Brigadier Loup's patrol area is remarkably free of partisans,” Ducos said in generous tribute.
“But not entirely free,” Loup added grimly. “El Castrador survives, but I'll use his own knife on him yet. Maybe the arrival of the British will encourage him to show his face again.”
“Which is why we are here,” Ducos said, taking command of the room. “Our job is to make certain that the British do not stay here, but are sent packing.”
And then, in his deep and almost hypnotic voice, he described the military situation as he comprehended it. Brigadier General Loup, who had spent the last year fighting to keep the passes through the frontier hills free of partisans and who had thus been spared the disasters that had afflicted
Marshal Masséna's army in Portugal, listened raptly as Ducos told the real story and not the patriotic lies that were peddled in the columns of the
Moniteur. “Wellington is clever,” Ducos admitted. “He's not brilliant, but he is clever and we under-estimated him.” The existence of the Lines of Torres
Vedras had been unknown to the French until they marched within cannon shot of the defences and there they had waited, ever hungrier, ever colder, through a long winter. Now the army was back on the Spanish frontier and waiting for
Wellington's assault.
It was an assault that would be hard and bloody because of the two massive fortresses that barred the only passable roads through the frontier mountains.
Ciudad Rodrigo was the northern fastness and Badajoz the southern. Badajoz had been in Spanish hands till a month before and Masséna's engineers had despaired of ever reducing its massive walls, but Ducos had arranged a huge bribe and the Spanish commander had yielded the keys to the fortress. Now both keys of Spain, Badajoz and Ciudad Rodrigo, were firmly in the Emperor's grip.
But there was a third border fortress which also lay in French hands. Almeida was inside Portugal and, though it was not so important as Ciudad Rodrigo or
Badajoz, and though its massive castle had been destroyed with the neighbouring cathedral in an earth-shattering explosion of gunpowder just the previous year, the town's thick star-shaped walls and its strong French garrison still presented a formidable obstacle. Any British force laying siege to Ciudad Rodrigo would have to use thousands of men to guard against the threat of Almeida's garrison sallying out to raid the supply roads and Ducos reckoned that Wellington would never abide that menace in his army's rear.
“Wellington's first priority will be to capture Almeida,” Ducos said, "and
Marshal Masséna will do his best to relieve the fortress from the British siege. In other words, Brigadier"-Ducos was speaking more to Loup than to the
Dona Juanita - “there will be a battle fought close to Almeida. Not much is certain in war, but I think we can be certain of that.”
Loup stared at the map, then nodded agreement. “Unless Marshal Masséna withdraws the garrison?” he said in a tone of
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