Major Somers-Cocks was buried that afternoon, in an icy downpour. As his body, wrapped in a length of canvas, was lowered into the ground the chaplain of the Coldstream Guards read out the service in the usual blank monotone. Arthur did not listen to a word of it. He had heard all the words before, read out in the same dry manner over the bodies of many such young men. Some had shown similar promise to Somers-Cocks, most had not. Some had been cheerful spirits, gamely entering the field of war, while a few had been nervous, fearful even, eaten up by the prospect of death yet forcing themselves on until death had claimed them by shell, bullet, blade or disease.

The chaplain closed his prayer book and bowed his head for a moment, and most of the officers and men followed suit. Arthur did not. He glared at the fortress for a long time, the rain running down the sides of his face in glassy rivulets. Then at last he turned to Somerset, cleared his throat and spoke harshly. ‘I’m lifting the siege. The army is leaving Burgos and will march back to Madrid. Issue the orders, if you please. I’ll be in my tent if I am needed.’

He turned and splashed away through the puddles, rippled by the heavy rain.

‘Needed?’ Somerset repeated quietly.‘Now more than ever, my lord.’

Chapter 33 - Tordesillas, 31 October 1812

Chapter 33

Tordesillas, 31 October 1812

‘So, he’s done it then?’ Arthur shook his head in frank admiration of the achievement.

‘Yes, sir,’ Somerset replied, glancing down at the captured bulletin. ‘Bonaparte entered Moscow on the nineteenth of last month.’

‘And does it say anything about the Tsar coming to terms?’

Somerset scanned the rest of the item and tilted his head to one side. ‘Not exactly. It just says the Emperor is waiting for the Tsar to admit defeat.’

‘Hmph,’ Arthur snorted. ‘If the Russians make peace then Bonaparte will be free to switch the balance of his power away from the east and towards us. At which point our goose will be thoroughly cooked. Well, we shall just have to hope that the Tsar continues to defy him. Now then, what is the latest intelligence on the enemy’s movements?’

Somerset shuffled through his reports. ‘It seems the French have seized a crossing over the river Douro at Toro.’

‘Toro, eh?’ Arthur frowned. ‘That’s bad news. They threaten to cut us off from Portugal. I had feared that they might be attempting to get between us and Madrid. Now it looks as if they might have designs on catching us between the Army of Portugal and Soult’s force marching on Hill.’ He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘It seems that I am now in a worse position than ever, Somerset.’