Form on me.’
Followed by the guards from the carriage and a handful of other men who poured from the deserted houses and alleys they had been searching around the square, Steel ran headlong down the main street, towards the bridge.
Emerging on the upper stretch of the riverbank, behind the low, lichen-clad wall which ran along the waterfront, he looked about to assess their strength. He saw Carter, Macpherson, Mackay, six others. He glimpsed Williams running towards them.
‘Mister Williams. Sarn’t Slaughter. Form along the entrance to the street. Three ranks deep.’
‘But the wagons, Sir. Look.’
Williams was pointing down the road towards the remaining flour wagons which had not yet crossed the bridge. Steel could see there were still at least a dozen, perhaps fifteen of them. Half of the hussars, having finished off the Grenadiers in the river, had charged directly towards the transport and were now attacking the drivers and whatever of the escort they could find who had not already fled across the bridge and into the town.
Steel watched as the unarmed civilians threw themselves from their seats. Some, begging for mercy, were butchered in cold blood. Others attempted to run into the trees at the roadside or waded into the river, only to be ridden down by the blue-coated cavalry and spitted on the riders’ outstretched sabres, like vermin. Some of the hussars were armed with short axes and Steel watched as they hacked mercilessly into the running civilians. Many of the horsemen, he noticed, were grinning. He turned away.
‘It’s too late for them.’
Then he realized that a half platoon of Jennings’ men, the rearguard, were down there with the train. He looked and saw that they had been caught in a semi-circle of hussars, behind the last wagon. Form square damn you. He willed them to do it. It was their only chance. And then he noticed that none of them had fixed their bayonets.
‘Dear Christ.’
He saw one man, presumably a sergeant, attempt to take control, trying to form them into ranks before being cut down with an axe, his head severed from his neck at an angle. Steel knew their fate. The hapless redcoats managed to get off three random shots before the cavalry rode in and simply cut them to pieces. To his horror Steel realized too that the wagon directly behind the dying group of redcoats was that bearing the wounded. The poor devils would be killed where they lay. Sure enough, one man leapt from his horse and began to walk among the wounded. Between the wooden poles of the wagon, Steel saw his axe rise and fall with relentless repetition. He looked more closely at the cavalry and saw long pigtails and swarthy, moustachioed faces. What the hell were French cavalry doing here, so close to the allied lines and so far away from their own army? And then he noticed something else. There, among the slashing fury of the blue-coated hussars, was another uniform quite out of place. A man dressed all in white. An infantry officer, his head crowned with a fur cap. An officer of French Grenadiers. It occurred to Steel that perhaps there might be a connection between the man’s presence here and their encounter with the French Grenadiers at Sattelberg. Perhaps it was the Grenadier who had brought the horsemen here. Could the French have discovered the existence of Marlborough’s letter? It was possible. Word was that the allied camp was as rife with spies and informers as the French.
Putting his hand to his chest, Steel felt the reassuring presence of the package and turned back to Williams.
‘Form up the men here, Tom. Three ranks if you can manage it. You can be sure that they’ll come for us next. And I dare say there’ll be infantry not far behind. Have you seen who’s with them?’
He pointed out the white-coated rider.
‘Sarn’t Slaughter. Three ranks. Alternating fire. However you care to do it. Just keep those bloody cavalry away from the town. And have them fix bayonets. Quick.’
Dashing back up the street towards the square, Steel began once again to shout into the traversing alleyways, desperate to gather to him all the men he could.
‘Grenadiers. To me.’
Three redcoats had joined him as he ran and from the top of the hill another dozen of his men, Corporal Taylor, along with Tarling, Cussiter, Milligan, Henderson, Hopkins, came running to meet him. He shouted to Taylor.
‘Is that all of us?’
‘Think so, Sir.’
‘Where’s Major Jennings?’
‘Han’t seen him, Sir.’
Damn that man, thought Steel. They needed everyone now. And to be honest, Jennings was as good a fighter as they had. He spotted another seven of Jennings’ men, including Stringer, and called to them.
‘You men. Sarn’t Stringer. Follow me.’
At the top of the street he turned and counted his small force. Eighteen in all.
‘Right. This is where you stand. This is as far as they’re going to get. Corporal Taylor, Hopkins, Tarling, you other men. Form up here. Three ranks. Load up and have a second round ready. Be sure to check your flints and fix your bayonets. Oh, and if you see Major Jennings, tell him he’s wanted on the bridge.’
He positioned the men himself so that they were standing right at the top of the narrow street, facing down in the direction of the bridge. Three ranks deep, front rank kneeling, with six men in each rank – a hedge of bayonets and loaded muskets.
‘Now listen all of you, and listen well. You’re our final hope. Our last chance. Do nothing until you see me running up the street, then, quick as you can split in two and move to the sides. Half to the right, half to the left. We’ll be running straight for you, so make it quick. The minute we’re through your ranks, you close up. You’d better be ready. They’ll be right up our arses. Taylor, you’re in charge. Cussiter, you come with me.’
At the double the two men raced across the square to the carriage.
‘Herr Weber, Miss Louisa. Out please, if you wouldn’t mind. We’re going to find you somewhere a little less exposed.’
He turned to Cussiter.
‘Take them into that house over there. Make sure that they’re safe. Stay with them.’
Kretzmer stared at him.
‘I suppose you had better take him with you. Though frankly, I’d rather leave him in the carriage. It would save a lot of trouble if he caught a stray shot.’
In truth, he was half-tempted to shoot the man himself and pretend it to have been enemy fire. But there was no time for that. Steel turned and ran back down towards the bridge. The firing had ceased and he presumed that the cavalry had withdrawn to regroup. As far as Steel was aware across the bridge was the only way into the town. It was a natural defensive position but he knew too that it would not be enough for his small force to hold off a troop of hussars and whatever infantry they had in tow. If they were to survive, his simple trap would be the only chance they had.
Major Jennings had also made a plan. Moving from house to house up the hill, parallel to the main street, he had now reached the square. In his hand he held a short infantry sword, a side-weapon borrowed from Stringer. He had but one purpose in mind. He had heard the crack of musketry from the bridge below and the cries as the redcoats engaged the French. Had watched the cavalry charge from an upstairs window. The arrival of the hussars had been a real
