Albert Sanchez Pinol - Victus - The Fall of Barcelona

As to the general situation, the good part ends here, and there wasn’t much to it. And so begins the bad bit.

A fortress without troops to defend it is as useless as a garrison in a stronghold without walls. Even you, my dear vile Waltraud, can understand that. Well, we had neither one nor the other. Neither an army nor walls.

The first time I went over the rolls of the army, my soul plummeted into my feet. Villarroel wanted a precise calculation of the resources and forces at his disposal. One day he came through the door while I was discussing matters with Costa. He interrupted us as brusquely as usual. He wanted to know why he hadn’t seen the list of all the units.

“I’m sorry, Don Antonio,” I said, “I haven’t been able to calculate the totals because of a mistake.” I couldn’t help laughing while I showed him some papers. “Some idiot in the government has sent us this. I ask them for the army rolls, and they send us the plans for a proposed new market.”

As Villarroel was reading the papers, I laughed again. “They must have muddled the documents,” I added. “What you’ve got there must be the layout for positions for sellers, suppliers, and traders. As you know, they’re saying that, after the war, they want to restructure the market in Plaza del Born. I’ll go myself to the Generalitat in person today and demand the correct rolls.”

But Villarroel was looking at me with those frowning eyes, saying nothing.

“That can’t be.” I swallowed. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Until that day, I had thought we would be making war like any other European kingdom (albeit with no king). The government would hire professional forces wherever they could be found, or would bring them in from elsewhere by making them a reasonable offer. The local militia would be there for support and supplies. What else could you expect from civilians who were barely more skilled than old Peret?

The only professional troops the city had were remnants of the Allied army, the odd individual who, for one reason or another, had decided not to go when his fellows were evacuated. The best little group were the hundred Germans. They were together in a unit of their own, led by eleven officers of the same origin. And such compact ranks! I had to bring them countless messages, which they obeyed with a watchmaker’s precision. Professional soldiers will always have a bit of the adventurer about them. I say this because Waltraud, who has less imagination than an ant, couldn’t understand what some of her compatriots were doing in Barcelona between 1713 and 1714. In those days, it was hardly the most pleasant place in the world to be, though an adventurer isn’t looking for what’s safe but what’s exciting. Many of them had reasons for not returning home, and the Generalitat paid reasonably well; others, in short, had good reasons for staying.

You must understand, my dear vile Waltraud, that in this world, there is such a thing as mutual attraction between male and female genitals, also known as love. Barcelona was full of beautiful women, either single or married to seamen who were practically never home, and. . Well, need I go on? As for the other enlisted foreigners, there were so few, they’re not even worth counting. Yes, we did have a bit of everything, from Hungarians to Irishmen (even Neapolitans, who were still everywhere). I met one who was from the Papal States.

But as I say, the bulk of our army was made up of simple civilians. I had left my city when I was very young, and was only vaguely aware of what was considered the traditional way of defending it. It was based on the Coronela, the local militia. Each trade was assigned its own unit as well as one of the city gates. This was all very well by the military standards of the thirteenth century, but this was five hundred years later, and we were living in Vauban’s technical age.

To give you an idea of my distress, I shall describe to you the entire roster of the Fifth Battalion.

First company: attorneys-at-law. (And they didn’t even know how to take care of my case! How could we expect them to fire a rifle or man a bastion?)

Second company: blacksmiths and tinkers.

Third company: market gardeners.

Fourth company: potters, upholsterers, and makers of pots and pans. (At least these latter are easier to understand: When the hunger sets in, there will be empty pots and pans aplenty.)

Fifth company: belt-makers.

Sixth company: butchers. (Another group who’ll be out of work before long.)

Seventh company: cobblers.

Eighth company: silk weavers and dyers.

Ninth company: students of theology, medicine, and philosophy. (A fine graduation awaits them.)

And with this, we had to face dragoons and grenadiers trained through experience in a thousand battles: with companies of coopers, innkeepers, and velvet-makers; booksellers, glovers, rope-makers, grooms, tailors, stevedores, legal clerks. As I recall, the Sixth Battalion had an entire company made up of people who resold things. Yes, you read that right, they weren’t people who sold things; they re sold them. What could they have been thinking when they signed them up? Reselling to the quartermaster the bullets that had been used by the enemy?

The total came to fewer than six thousand armed men. Fewer than six thousand against forty thousand. Some of those forty thousand were tied up trying to hold back our Miquelets from the interior, but even if there were only thirty thousand, the math didn’t lie: As far as troops were concerned, for each defender of Barcelona, there were five Bourbons. To complicate matters still further, our problems began before the siege had even been formalized.

The only scenario in which the running of a military dictatorship is permissible, indeed necessary, is in a city under siege. It isn’t a matter of politics but common sense. Because the worst position for a military stronghold is trying to face an attack while under a split command. And that was precisely what happened to us.

Villarroel was supposed to be the commander in chief of all the pro-Austrian troops remaining in Spain. But as I have already explained, the problem was that the vast majority of the soldiers belonged to the Barcelonan militia, under the control of the council. Furthermore, Don Antonio always bore the burden of having been named commander in chief by the Catalan government, who considered him a general there to do their bidding. Villarroel insisted that his position be ratified by Vienna, which finally happened in November 1713. But this only made matters worse, because according to the terms of the Treatise of Evacuation between the Two Crowns and the Allies, imperial troops were not allowed to remain in Spain. The Red Pelts considered him a foreign subordinate; to the enemy, he was a rebellious Castilian.

The Red Pelts always guarded their prerogatives very jealously, and Don Antonio had to ask their permission if he even wanted to transfer the company of the Impedits , made up of former soldiers who had lost limbs. Going to war with people missing an arm or half a leg might seem a little absurd, but I can assure you, they were tremendously useful fellows. They had experience and extremely high morale. I remember one of them, with one leg that went down only as far as the calf of the other, raising his crutch as Don Antonio walked past, exclaiming: “General! I shall not retreat, I give you my word!”

During a siege, garrison work is a terrible drain on troops. Even if a system of rotation is used on the bastions, tiredness, bombardments, and sickness lead to a trickle of losses that we couldn’t allow to happen. The Impedits would be useful covering bastions and stretches of walls that were not under the most severe threat, allowing those being relieved a bit of rest.