Chapter 1111: Relocating the Capital
"Very well, I shall keep you in mind," the Marquis of Talavera nodded, but then noticed Blake still lingering there. "Is there something else?"
Joaquín Blake spoke with careful hesitation.
"Well, if you wish to secure the towns of Alentejo, I might have a strategy."
Talavera’s expression turned disdainful.
"You? An engineering battalion commander wishes to interfere with operational deployments?"
Blake’s face flushed red, and he turned as if to leave.
The Marquis of Talavera reconsidered for a moment and raised a hand to stop him.
"Wait. Since there is nothing else to attend to, let me hear your plan."
Blake halted, took a deep breath, and began.
The Marquis of Talavera burst into a mocking laugh.
"It seems you truly are only skilled at constructing pontoon bridges.
"The moment my army departs this position, the British will pounce on Mortágua. Before we even reach Góis, the Anglo-Portuguese forces will already be attacking Guarda. After that, even Salamanca would be under threat!"
Blake countered immediately.
"You are absolutely correct. Therefore, Colonel Junot will also recognize the severity of that problem. This is precisely why I suggested you withdraw all your corps—to force him into a quicker decision."
The Marquis of Talavera froze, his mind racing through the potential outcomes.
Junot would suddenly discover that the Spanish forces on the Coimbra front had vanished. Meanwhile, thirty thousand Anglo-Portuguese soldiers would be staring down an empty Mortágua, with the undefended towns of Gouveia and Guarda lying just beyond.
At that point, he would have only one choice: rush all French forces to Coimbra to block the Anglo-Portuguese counter-offensive.
The Marquis of Talavera frowned. What if Junot simply retreated back to Salamanca regardless?
He shook his head almost instantly. That was impossible.
The French strategy was clearly to let Spain exhaust the British as much as possible, which was why they had been so passive on the battlefield. But if the British broke through the rear of the Franco-Spanish alliance and invaded Spain itself, it would no longer be a matter of France and Spain wearing down Britain. Instead, the Anglo-Portuguese forces would be bleeding Spain’s national strength dry.
Junot would never dare allow that to happen.
That left only one final question.
The Marquis of Talavera looked at the engineering Major.
"Junot’s corps only has a little over seven thousand men. If they are defeated by the Anglo-Portuguese forces..."
Blake spoke with absolute certainty.
"I have had many interactions with the French army over the past six months and have observed their training. They are undeniably the finest, most elite army in Europe. Furthermore, two years ago in the Low Countries, the French crushed the Duke of York’s forces despite being outnumbered.
"I believe they can hold off thirty thousand enemies. As you know, a third of those are Portuguese soldiers."
Seeing the Marquis of Talavera still hesitating, he added one more thing.
"You can quietly leave eight thousand soldiers on standby on the south bank of the Mondego River. If things go poorly for Junot’s corps, you can immediately return to reinforce them."
The Marquis of Talavera brooded for a long moment before finally gripping his sword hilt and nodding.
"Your plan is highly feasible. It is time the French ended their vacation."
Three days later.
The Marquis of Talavera’s messenger arrived at the camp of the French Iberian Army and handed a letter from his commander to Junot.
When Junot read that Talavera had judged the main Anglo-Portuguese force to be retreating to bolster Lisbon’s defenses and had decided to lead a pursuit, his face turned livid.
He asked the messenger testily, "How many troops did your general take with him?"
"Three infantry divisions and all the cavalry and artillery, Colonel."
"That stu—" Junot barely managed to restrain himself from spitting out an insult.
The Spanish army had been reorganized last year to mimic the French structure; three infantry divisions meant over thirty thousand men. With the cavalry and artillery included, the total was likely close to forty thousand.
The entire Spanish force within Portugal only totaled fifty-seven thousand men, and they had to control a front spanning over two hundred kilometers.
In other words, there was virtually nothing left near Coimbra.
At that moment, two French Hussars galloped up to report.
"Colonel! The Spanish forces on the Coimbra line have suddenly moved south. Currently, there are fewer than a thousand soldiers remaining on the front!"
"Damn it!" Junot hissed, roaring at his adjutant, "Assemble all units immediately! Have Lieutenant Colonel Gaspard take the cavalry to Coimbra first to stall the enemy! Move!"
...
Twenty days later.
Lisbon, the capital of Portugal.
Queluz Palace.
Crown Prince João stared blankly at the group of ministers standing before him with bowed heads. Only after a long silence did he speak dejectedly.
"So, there are no forces left to stop the Spaniards?"
The Chief Minister, the Marquis of Louriçal, nodded helplessly.
"Your Highness, the Marquis Wellesley has confirmed that he will concentrate his strength at the Lines of Torres Vedras... while General dos Santos’s army has only just reached Alvaiázere."
The Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Duke of Arcos, added in a low voice.
"General dos Santos’s corps will find it difficult to stop the Spaniards as well..."
Indeed, the Marquis of Talavera’s army of forty thousand had suddenly abandoned Coimbra and raced south. They had already reached the south bank of the Sorraia River, less than a week’s march from Lisbon.
Meanwhile, the Lines of Torres Vedras had only completed their outermost ring, and the southern end was far from covering the Lisbon area.
Furthermore, the British government had decided to implement a policy of strategic contraction, recalling ten thousand British troops under Wellesley back to the mainland.
This allowed the Marquis of Talavera’s gamble to become a massive success. At this point, he had occupied over seventy percent of Portugal’s territory, excluding only the southernmost tip and the western coast.
After another long pause, João spoke again.
"Does anyone have a plan to deal with this?"
The Minister of Finance, Joaquim Loureiro, said hesitantly.
"Your Highness, perhaps we could negotiate for peace with the Spaniards. We could offer some money to bribe the French, just as we did over a hundred years ago."
More than a century prior, when Portugal was resisting Spanish rule, they had relied on bribing powerful nations like France and the Netherlands. Through diplomatic pressure, they had forced Spain to accept Portuguese independence.
The Marquis of Louriçal stepped forward and declared loudly.
"No! We must never surrender to the Spaniards!"
He was a staunch pro-British loyalist and would never allow Portugal to fall into the orbit of France and Spain.
Loureiro looked at him.
"But we simply do not have enough troops to defend Lisbon."
"Lisbon is merely the current capital of Portugal," the Marquis of Louriçal stated. "Even if we abandon this place, we can continue the fight against the Spaniards.
"We possess vast territories in South America. The Kingdom shall have a new capital there!"
He turned to João.
"Your Highness, I propose we relocate the capital to Rio de Janeiro."
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