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excluded Wickham quickly preferred to edge his horse closer to the duke, doing his best to exude the ardent enthusiasm of a true ally. There was never any harm in being noticed.
    ‘Obviously a great hero,’ said Velarde. ‘What would we do without the English?’
    The French had withdrawn well beyond musket range. The Spanish batteries were moving forward, but this took time because the heavy gun carriages were drawn by plodding oxen, which had to be goaded into life by their drivers. The infantry lines reformed, and men loaded their muskets. The lucky ones had some water in a bottle or canteen and took the chance to quench their thirst. Skirmishers on each side kept up a desultory squibbing of charges, but for the moment there was a lull.
    ‘I think they may be Germans,’ said Velarde suddenly, nodding in the direction of the dark-coated enemy column when Hanley looked puzzled. ‘From Baden, I would guess. We believe that some of General Leval’s division has joined Marshal Victor. Leval has Germans and Dutch.’ He paused and then gave a grim laugh. ‘The whole world seems to have come to Estremadura! Well, they do breed pretty women in these parts.’
    ‘I bow to your greater experience.’
    ‘Not much greater, from what I remember of you, Guillermo. Although one caught you in the end.’
    Hanley presumed that he meant Maria Pilar, the dancer he had taken as a lover in Madrid. He had abandoned her when he fled back to England, a decision which still caused him shame, even though he had no longer loved her. Perhaps one day he would confront that guilt, and maybe even meet the girl again, assuming that she had survived the brutal French suppression of the Mayuprising. For the moment, he did not want to be reminded of his actions, still less to discuss Mapi with Velarde.
    He was also intrigued by the Spaniard’s remarkably precise knowledge of the French Army, surprising in someone so recently turned soldier, whose manner otherwise conveyed a cavalier approach to his duties.
    Hanley looked over to the far right of the Spanish line, where the cavalry secured the flank. In the lead was a straggle of riders on lean, quick horses. Most had green jackets, and all broad-brimmed hats and tall lances, whose points sparkled with light.
    ‘Are those the famous Garrochistas?’ he asked. ‘The ones whose charge broke the French at Bailén?’ In June a French army had been trapped in Andalusia and forced to surrender. It was the first serious check suffered by Napoleon’s men for many years. It was also the only major battle won by the Spanish in almost a year of war. Since then there had been only defeat.
    ‘Yes. Their fame spreads as quickly as they can boast. The generous ones concede that there were others at Bailén as well, and that perhaps they helped a little.’ Velarde’s expression was wooden, reinforcing the heavy sarcasm. ‘It is a story people want to believe. Simple cattle herders rushing off to war, and herding the French soldiers as easily as they tamed their bulls. No need for training, no need for proper armies, no need for leaders and governments, no need for money.’
    ‘You have become serious, my friend.’ Hanley felt that there was nothing to be lost by behaving as if their companionship was as deep as Velarde believed or pretended.
    ‘My country has been invaded. Is that not a time to be serious?’ The Spanish officer spoke quite openly, his tone light, and his conversation attracted no particular attention from those near by. Only Hanley could see the hardness in his eyes. ‘We have had three kings in as many months, and more governments and leaders than a man can easily count. Now there is one Central Junta led by “Rey chico” doing its best to control the juntas in each region. That best is not very good.
    ‘The French hang and shoot those who oppose them. Ourpatriots hang those who do not. Bandits rob and kill whoever they please, and there is no one to stop them. Armies are