Flashman's Escape Read Free Page A

pay?” Wellington, whose mind rarely strayed far from how to equip and feed his army, was already considering a new source of supply. But Grant just looked confused for a moment and then turned enquiringly to the partisan.
    “We paid two guineas a head, Excellency,” the partisan stated calmly. “But the villagers have sold all of their surplus cattle and the French might not let us through as easily a second time.”
    Wellington beamed at him. “Well we must be satisfied with what we have, for it looks an exceptional haul.” Then he turned to Grant. “Come and show me your bounty and tell me about your adventures.” With that Grant rode off with the general, basking in his newfound credit.
    “He never struck me as smart enough to pull off something like this,” muttered Campbell. “I mean, getting through French lines, persuading all those farmers to sell grain and livestock, organising the herds and then getting it all back under the noses of the French. How the devil has he done it?”
    “Of course he is not smart enough,” I fumed. “Look at him riding now with Wellington – even if you included their horses, he would still not make the top three for wits. And now I am going to have to pay the whining toady fifty guineas.”
    As I seethed I watched the partisan called Leon helping to drive the cattle up the road towards Lisbon. He was constantly looking about him and seemed the one in charge, sending one of the cattle drovers back down the column to help with the sheep. That is the real brains behind this outfit, I thought and I resolved to find out how Grant had pulled this off.
    That night there were celebrations for Grant’s achievement in the officers’ mess. No civilians were invited and I had no intention of attending. Instead I roamed the local taverns until I found my quarry. Leon was sitting at a corner table of an inn with a couple of the drovers. I took a bottle of brandy to their table and, uninvited, sat down to join them.
    “It is Leon, isn’t it? You’re the man who came in with Grant, aren’t you? Here, let me pour you a drink.” While I could speak fluent Spanish, having been taught by my Spanish mother, I spoke to Leon in English, deliberately trying to exclude the drovers as I wanted to get Leon on his own. It worked: the other two men looked apprehensive as the British officer joined their table, speaking in a language they did not understand; they mumbled their excuses and left. Leon watched me with an amused half smile as I poured a very generous measure of brandy into his cup.
    “I think you know I am Leon. You are the British officer who was watching me very closely when we arrived. Did my captain not call you Flashman?”
    Well, that confirmed my suspicion that Leon was as sharp as a tack. We made small talk for a while. I told him that my cousin was the Marquesa de Astorga and that I had ridden with the partisans the previous autumn to take her back to her husband. I decided not to include in this account that the venomous marquis then tried to have me killed. I told him the creditable parts of my action at both the battle of Talavera and Busaco and how with a few hundred men of the Loyal Lusitanian Legion we had stopped a French marshal with over ten thousand soldiers. In return he told me… nothing. He slipped away from my questions like a greased eel and every time I found myself answering more of his. I kept topping up his glass and ordered a second bottle. But either he was tipping it away when I was not looking or he had the constitution of an ox. The brandy seemed to have no effect at all. Eventually my booze-soaked brain realised that I would have to try a different tack.
    “Lishun, old sport,” I slurred at him. “I have been ordered by General Wellington to find out how you got all those animals past the French lines. I have orders in my pocket that say you have to tell me.” I reached in my pocket and brought out the paper I knew was in there. It was in fact