Chapter 17 - Lisbon, January 1811

Chapter 17

Lisbon, January 1811

‘Amateur dramatics?’ Arthur frowned. ‘What the devil is Masséna playing at?’

He sat back in his chair by the fireplace and folded his hands together, tapping his index fingers against his lips as he considered the news Somerset had brought him from one of the outposts on the first line of defences. ‘Tell me again, what exactly did Masséna’s officer have to say?’

Somerset was standing just inside the door to the office, and he quickly recalled the note he had received. ‘Masséna conveyed an invitation to our officers to attend a performance of Candide being staged at Marshal Masséna’s headquarters in five days’ time. Any of our gentlemen who accept are assured of free passage through the French lines.’

‘By God.’ Arthur shook his head. ‘One could be forgiven for thinking that England and France had been at war for the best part of eighteen years.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Somerset nodded, used by now to his superior’s sense of irony. ‘Would you like me to send orders to decline the invitation?’

Arthur thought for a moment. There had already been some criticism of his actions following the battle at Busaco. The Times had wondered why the British army had not followed up its victory over Masséna and hounded the French back into Spain. Despite that, Arthur was confident that he had the advantage over the enemy. After one bloody assault on the lines of Torres Vedras the French had been forced to camp on the bare ground before the British defences while Masséna pondered his next move. The French had managed to survive on dwindling rations for the last three months, but soon they would be forced to retreat or starve.

It might not be the most glorious manner of inflicting a reverse on the enemy, Arthur mused, but it was certainly the least costly. He would have to hope that the more enlightened politicians back in England appreciated his strategy and gave him the time and support that he needed to erode and then crush the French forces in the Peninsula.

He lowered his hands and smiled at Somerset. ‘We must indulge Masséna. The longer he remains in Portugal, the more his army will wither. Pass the word to all commands in the first line of the defences that their officers may accept the invitation. I will, however, be expecting full reports from any man who crosses into French lines for social purposes. They are under strict orders not to get drunk and to keep their wits about them. Tell them to keep their eyes and ears open for any information that might be useful to us.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘If there are any further attempts to fraternise then I will need to approve them. Make sure that is understood.’

‘Indeed, sir. And what if our officers should wish to reciprocate?’