Free True Soldier Gentlemen (Napoleonic War 1) by Adrian Goldsworthy

away, he had certainly changed too much. Honour commanded that he marry, but they were now utterly unsuited.
Nimmukwallah
, once again, although this time duty bound to a wife he no longer loved or even respected. The last few months offered hope at last of serious work and great opportunities. He had been promoted to lieutenant general, at thirty-nine the youngest in the British Army. Then came the command and the chance of leading an army to war. So in truth the thought of how to beat the French had concerned him especially closely of late, if not that particular evening up until this point.
    ‘I have not fought the French for fourteen years. They were good then, and from all I have heard have since grown better.’ Sir Arthur shook his head when Croker gestured towards the decanter. The young lawyer helped himself to another glass and then settled back into his chair.
    ‘From what I understand, we made a lot of mistakes in Flanders,’ he asserted in his best barrister’s voice.
    ‘That is most certainly true. It would have been difficult to make a greater hash of things. I suspect that the main thing I learnt from that campaign was how not to wage a war.’
    ‘Well, I suppose that is something.’
    ‘Rather an expensive way to learn a lesson.’ As always, waste appalled him, and there was bitterness in his ice. ‘Since then Bonaparte has devised a new system of strategy which has outmanoeuvred and overwhelmed all the armies of Europe.’ Sir Arthur gave another faint smile. ‘’Tis enough to make one thoughtful; still, no matter.’
    ‘I would guess that consideration has produced an answer – a remedy to this new strategy?’
    Again the smile. ‘Well, let us hope so. In any case my die is cast. The French may overwhelm me, but I don’t think they will outmanoeuvre me. First, because I am not afraid of them, as everybody else seems to be; and secondly because if what I hear of their system of manoeuvre is true, I think it a false one as against steady troops. I suspect all the continental armies were more than half beaten before the battle was begun.’ Suddenly he burst into something that sounded like a cross between a sneeze and a horse neighing. Croker knew his friend well enough to recognise his unique laugh, although as with most people its volume and abruptness still took him by surprise. It stopped just as unexpectedly, but Sir Arthur’s smile was broad as he continued. ‘I at least, will not be frightened beforehand.’ The smile faded and his face was once again a mask of confident purpose. ‘I think I shall beat them.’ He opened his hands in a gesture. ‘But I can’t help thinking about them.’
    Comforts were fewer in the cabin of a small merchantman, beating as close as it could into a south-westerly wind in the Bay of Biscay. They had not seen the sun for days, and late spring or not, the atmosphere below decks was cold and damp. The ship’s captain had left them, and the three men sat around his table. One was slumped over, arms resting on the wooden surface and cradling his head as he snored loudly. The younger ofthe other two men watched with mild interest as a spilled pool of wine flowed against the sleeping man’s sleeve every time the deck rolled beneath them, and then trickled away back to the raised rim of the wooden table whenever it pitched back the other way. He was half surprised the sleeper did not wake up, lick the puddle dry and then resume his slumbers, for the man had spent almost all the voyage either drinking or asleep. Would he be any more active once they arrived and he took charge of one of his Imperial Majesty Tsar Alexander’s warships? Would he have drunk himself to death before they arrived?
    The racking cough interrupted his thoughts, but Major the Count Denilov barely registered it, for the sound had been so very frequent in the last weeks. Surprise had long since gone, and even the disgust had faded. The third man in the cabin had skin that hung loose