Free Beat the Drums Slowly by Adrian Goldsworthy

death warrant.
    The Emperor was pleased that his praise had not provoked unnecessary bluster. Ney may have chosen well. ‘I have a task for you …’ He began by explaining the wider situation. With Madrid in French hands, the Spanish armies almost all routed and the British in retreat, the French had been gathering for a new invasion of Portugal and southern Spain. In the last days he had learned that the British were not in retreat, but still moving forward. ‘I do not know whether to call it courage or folly, but either way we have a chance to destroy them. All of the forces near Madrid, including my Guards, are now moving north as fast as they can. Marshal Ney is coming to join us and Soult is already there. Some of Junot’s men, back from Portugal, are on their way to support the drive.
    ‘This is what will happen.’ The three men knelt on the floor – an awkward posture for Dalmas in his high boots – crawling over the maps as the Emperor explained the choices facing Sir John Moore and his own moves to counter them. The British must retreat. The route to Portugal was closed so they must go to the north-west coast and one of the Spanish ports – probably Corunna or Vigo. His own armies were swinging round in a wide arc, rather than rushing headlong at the enemy. The Emperor talked of the ground, of the few roads able to take an army, the mountains they cut through and the rivers and bridges – especially the rivers and bridges.
    ‘I may cut off the English at Benevente. The odds are sixty-five to thirty-five in my favour, but much depends on when General Moore realises that I am coming. If we do catch him there then it is probable that you will not have a chance to do very much.’ Dalmas was to take his mixed squadron on an even wider loop to the north-east. He was to avoid any contact with the British, but try to get behind them. Marshal Soult was ordered to give him a company of infantry, a capable engineer and more cavalry squadrons if he wanted them. His force was to get behind the enemy. If possible – and the Emperor believed this to be unlikely, but worth the attempt – get behind their columns and destroy a bridge to slow them down so that they would be caught. More probably, his task would be to find and take a bridge that would allow the French to envelop any position where the English tried to stand. In short, he was to help keep them on the run.
    ‘It is not a duty for which specific instructions are appropriate. I need a man who can use his judgement.’
    ‘Sire.’ Again it was pleasing that there were no usual protestations of determination. The captain simply stood up, and nodded.
    ‘Good. I know that I can trust you. I only wish that the English army was three times the size. If one hundred thousand English mothers had to mourn the loss of their sons then we might have peace at last.’
    Dalmas barely remembered a world at peace. He had been a soldier now for ten years, far longer than his spell as a schoolteacher in St-Omer. A conscript like almost everyone else, he had discovered that he liked the army, and thrived on the excitement of war. He had also discovered a talent for the business, and so he had risen through the ranks and become an officer. His anticipation of farther advancement remained fierce. This was an opportunity to win the favour of the Emperor himself, who never failed to reward a good soldier. Dalmas would do his best to win that favour. The prospect of peace could look after itself.
    He stood and stamped to attention. Helmet still under his arm, he bowed rather than saluted. As he left, the Emperor was already dictating a new set of orders for one of the marshals in the south of the country.

5
     
    T hat evening Williams paid a call on Dobson and his family, as part of his round checking on the company. Dobson and Sally, their children and Hanks, along with Sergeant Rawson and his wife, occupied one of two ground-floor rooms in the little stone house on the edge of