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”
„Another day?” Soultresponded scornfully. „He should have taken it in a short minute the very first day he arrived!” Soult had recalled Vuillard and his men from Vila Real de Zedes the instant he heard that the British and Portuguese were advancing from Coimbra, but he had been annoyed that so many men had failed to dislodge so small a force. Not that it mattered; what mattered now was that Wellesley had to be taught a lesson.
Soult did not think that should prove too difficult. He knew Wellesley had a small army and was weak in artillery. He knew that because Captain Argenton had been arrested five days before and was now spilling all he knew and all he had observed on his second visit to the British. Argenton had even met with Wellesley himself and the Frenchman had seen the preparations being made for the allied advance, and the warning given to Soult by Argenton had enabled the French regiments south of the river to skip backward out of the way of a force sent to hook about their rear. So now Wellesley was stuck on the wrong side of the Douro without any boats to make a crossing except for any craft brought by the British navy and that, it seemed, was no danger at all. Two frigates dithering offshore! That was hardly going to make the Duke of Dalmatia quake in his boots.
Argenton, who had been promised his life in exchange for information, had been captured thanks to Christopher’s revelation, and that put Soult in the Englishman’s debt. Christopher had also revealed the names of the other men in the plot, Donadieu of the 47th, the brothers Lafitte of the 18th Dragoons, as well as three or four other experienced officers, and Soult had decided to take no action against them. The arrest of Argenton would be a warning to them, and they were all popular officers and it did not seem sensible to stir up resentment in the army by a succession of firing squads. He would let the officers know that he knew who they were, then hint that their lives depended on their future conduct. Better to have such men in his pocket than in their graves.
Kate was crying. She made no noise, the tears just rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them away in an attempt to hide her feelings, but Soult had noticed. „What is the matter?” he asked gently.
„She fears, sir,” Christopher said.
„She fears?” Soult asked.
Christopher gestured toward the window which still rattled from the pummelling of the cannons. „Women and battle, sir, don’t mix.”
„Only between the sheets,” Soult said genially. „Tell her,” he went on, „that she has nothing to fear.
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