“My lord?” I said, but a whirlwind had now taken Utterback’s soul, and he stood in his stirrups, turned, and waved the cavalry on. He trotted back to join them, then led the column off to the left so that all the elements could wheel and come into line, and the air was suddenly full of trumpet calls and shouted orders. “Ranks by threes! Farriers to the rear! Right wheel! Halt, dress! Walk! Halt, dress! By the standard—walk! Halt! Dress your lines!”
The Utterback Troop was experienced at this sort of thing by now, and managed the maneuver well, and as speedily as Captain Frere could have hoped. Soon, Lord Utterback had his troop formed in two lines facing down the slope to the east, with Lord Barkin’s Troop just behind them. The infantry, having received no orders, stood in their column and watched these maneuvers in some surprise.
Lord Utterback, now unable to be still, trotted back and forth in front of the lines as they dressed, then placed himself in front of the standard.
“Ready to advance! Walk!”
From the sidelines, I watched in complete astonishment as the cavalry walked on down the field. In his eagerness to strike the enemy, Lord Utterback had abandoned us, along with most of his army. Frere, who stood with me, turned to me.
“I should gather up my lads. Do what you can here.” His tone was not unkind.
I rode back to where the infantry stood in their marching column, and finding Coronel Ruthven and his party with their lead regiment, I asked him to have his trumpeter make the officers’ call.
I looked over the ground while waiting for the officers to come up, and tried to see it as an experienced soldier might. The flat pasture was nearly as smooth as a bowling green, for any trees or bushes were grazed away by sheep while they were mere sprouts. South of the narrow field, the ground fell away into a ravine, and on the north the land rose into steep cliffs until the escarpment bent away to make a passage to Exton.
The road to Peckside ran east and west down the length of the pasture, but closer to the south side of the field than to the north. At the crossroads, the road to Exton branched off to the north.
Erosion by wagons and other traffic had sunk the roads anywhere from three to six feet below ground level, and thick blackthorn hedges, where tender new leaves were mingled with last year’s black, half-rotted sloes, lined both sides of the roads, broken only occasionally by a wooden gate. The roads were intended as chutes to guide flocks of sheep and cattle to new grazing, but now after the rains, the roads were bogs of mud, and in some places were under water.
I could only think that the hedges and sunken roads that cut across the sett would aid the defense.
“An enemy force is coming on,” I told the officers when they arrived. “Lord Utterback has gone with the horse to attack their advanced body, but he expects he’ll be obliged to retire, and wants us to prepare to fight here.”
Coronel Ruthven was a man of fifty, in elaborate armor of boiled leather sculpted to look like the muscles of an ancient hero. He stroked his gray, pointed beard as he looked with narrowed eyes over Exton Scales. “Yon thick-pleached hedge will make a fine barrier,” he said. “This is a good field for defense, and no way around us.”
My friend Captain Lipton took off his bonnet and scratched his balding head. “I know not where to put the guns,” he said.
I ventured an answer. “In front, I suppose.”
“In front of the hedge? They will be overrun.” He closed one eye and looked over the sett with his remaining eye, as if pretending to view the ground with a telescope.
“We’ll find a way to site your guns,” I told him, “but first we must place the foot.”
That business went more quickly than I’d expected. I was as inexperienced in battle as Lord Utterback, but the customs of war made many of the decisions for me. Ruthven, commanding one of the Trained Bands of Selford, had by custom the position of honor on the right. Bell, as the senior of the two mercenary commanders, took the second position of honor, on the left. That left Grace’s Trained Band inside of Ruthven, and Fludd’s mercenaries between Grace and Bell.
While the sergeants-major ordered their companies on the field, Lipton and I rode off to view the ground, and found a place for his demiculverins on the far left, where the ground rose as it neared Exton. Were the eight guns placed here, they would overlook the entire field, and shot would be fired over our soldiers’ heads to land among the enemy.
From this point of vantage I could see the hedges and the roads winking with water, the flat brown ground, the companies marching to their places with shouldered pikes and hackbuts. Below Exton Scales, the road curved off to the right as it followed the line of the mountain, and from this point of vantage I could see well down the track, far more than I could see from the level ground.
Lipton brought out his telescope and peered down the road. “See you,” said he. “Our demilances return, sure.”
He offered me his telescope and I looked to see horsemen coming up the road. Not lines of disciplined troops such as Lord Utterback had led down to meet the enemy, but small groups, moving slowly. I felt my stomach clench at the sight, and I looked in some desperation for the standards and saw none.
“Is it some disaster?” I asked.
Lipton cackled. “You cannot ask too much of horsemen,” he said. “It is too easy for them to run away. Not like we gunners who must stand by our pieces though hell and hailshot come at us.”
I looked at him. “Do you really do that?” I asked.
“Nay,” he said. “We run. But not as fast as the cavalry.”
“I’ll go down and speak to the horse,” I said.
I rode down to the field while Lipton trotted off to bring up his guns. Passing by the soldiers, who were still deploying, I rode to discover a group of Frere’s dragoons wearily riding along, their bell-mouthed firelocks lying across their saddles. They told me that they had been skirmishing with the advance guard, and were being chased away by cavalry, when Utterback’s horse had arrived, and driven the enemy cavalry back. Captain Frere had then arrived and told them to withdraw and re-form behind the infantry.
The last they had seen of the fight, things were going well for Utterback.
The next groups of horsemen were also dragoons, with much the same story. It was another few minutes before I met demilances of Utterback’s Troop, and these were weary men, some wounded, some with hacked swords and dented armor. Their horses were worn, and walked along with their heads drooping. These said they were driving the enemy, but were then assaulted by fresh forces and forced to fly. None of them knew what had become of Lord Utterback, Lord Barkin, or Captain Snype.
A few more interviews and I understood what had happened. Utterback’s Troop had come upon the dragoons being pursued by enemy horse, who had while chasing split into small bands. Utterback ordered a charge, and faced by the formed troopers, the enemy were driven back until they came up to the first bodies of foot, who formed pike-hedges and held off the attackers while firing hackbuts and calivers into them; and as the Troop milled about in confusion, another enemy unit of horse formed and charged; and this time it was Utterback’s disorganized demilances who were driven back. They fell back upon Lord Barkin’s Troop—and Barkin, because he had kept his men in order, was able to countercharge successfully and knock the enemy back, and that enabled our people to withdraw without pursuit.
I was relieved at this, for it seemed the greater part of our horse had survived, but still I felt an anxious gnawing because I saw not a single officer, not Lord Barkin, or Frere, or Snype, or any of their lieutenants, nor our Captain General Lord Utterback. None of the standards had returned, and the horse were leaderless. Some had lost their horses and were on foot. I told them all to go to the pond and water their animals, and then rally behind the infantry; but I knew not what to do with them after, as they seemed exhausted and beaten.
I was wondering how we would fare without a commander, and whether I should pretend that I was in charge, and whether more experienced soldiers l
ike Ruthven would accept my leadership. It is not without precedent for me to assume an authority that I do not possess, but there was so much at stake, hundreds and perhaps thousands of lives, that command seemed less a pleasure than a dark, approaching pall of cloud swollen with the promise of death and slaughter.
I returned to the lines to view our foot and speak with the coronels. Pikes and pollaxes lined the west side of the hedge four deep, with calivers and hackbuts in the interstices. The standards waved bravely overhead. Behind the line, a few reserve companies loitered on the grass.
In battle, the soldiers with hackbuts and calivers would descend into the sunken road, splash across, and fire through the hedge into the enemy as they approached, then fall back as the rebels came near. Any attackers would have to fight their way through the hedge, then jump down into the sunken road only to fight their way up through the hedge on the other side, with our pikes stabbing down at them.
The only exception to this was on the far right. Most of the foot were lined up behind the road to Exton, but this road ran only to the juncture with the Peckside road, which left fifty yards of clean smooth turf between the Peckside road and the ravine falling away on the south. It was such a narrow front that an advance along it couldn’t be decisive, but Coronel Ruthven had put a company of pikes there, just to discourage any attempt.
I was viewing this area with Coronel Ruthven when a group of straggling dragoons was walking past, and I turned to him and said, “The enemy will attack along our main front, I assume?”
Ruthven was amused. “They can scarce attack anywhere else.”
“Let’s put dismounted dragoons here, ahead of the main body. When the rebels advance, the dragoons will be able to fire into their flank. And if the enemy attacks them, the dragoons can find safety behind the pikes.”
Ruthven considered this. “Ay,” he said. “For what else can we do with dragoons on such a field as this?”
“Or any field,” said I. “For I know not what dragoons are for.”
“Today,” Ruthven said, “we may find out.”
I rode up the scales to find the dragoons where they were rallying by the pond, and sent them down to the field. Then, from my higher position on the pasture, I could look down over the hedge, and I saw a body of horsemen approaching from the east, riding under three standards. My heart gave a leap as I recognized Lord Utterback’s blue standard among them, and I urged my horse down the gentle slope to join them.
Lord Utterback rode abreast with Lord Barkin and Captain Frere, each beneath his own banner, and followed by fifty or so horsemen drawn from the three units. Utterback rode perfectly straight in the saddle, his eyes fixed to the front, lower lids drooping to show a lot of white below the pupils. He still held his straight sword in his right fist, and the steel cage that protected his face was lowered. His plume had been clipped short, and I saw fresh dimples on his breastplate where bullets had rebounded.
“You should congratulate your armorer, my lord,” I said as I reined up and joined the party. “Proofs you bear now that his steel is proof indeed.”
Utterback gave me a strange white-eyed look, as if he did not comprehend my words. His right hand clenched on the hilt of his sword. Perhaps, I thought, he was not in the humor for such badinage. I essayed again.
“I am heartily glad to see you, my lord,” I told him. “I have tried to put the soldiers in order, and I hope my dispositions will meet with your approval.”
Utterback said nothing, and Lord Barkin spoke up instead.
“We have been trying to sweep up as many of our men as we can,” he said. “Have many come ahead of us?”
“Indeed,” I said. “I’ve told them to water their horses at the pond, then rally behind the foot. The dragoons I have put on the far right, to harass the enemy as they advance. But they have had no horse-officers till now.”
“We shall set them in order,” said Barkin.
Coronel Ruthven met us as we rode into our lines, and saluted Lord Utterback with a cheerful smile. “Would you come and inspect us, my lord?”
For the first time, Utterback spoke. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I shall do that.” He reined up. “Let me see your brave fellows, coronel.”
Lord Barkin and the others streamed up the slope as Ruthven and I guided Lord Utterback over the field. He returned the soldiers’ salutes with a brandish of his sword, and spoke little, but approvingly, of everything he saw.
We ended on the far left, just under the rise where Lipton had drawn up his guns. We turned our horses toward the guns, and Lord Utterback leaned toward me.
“I know not what happened when we met the enemy,” he said.
“My lord?”
“I know not what happened. I could not see.” His helmet rattled as he gave a shake of his head. “The enemy were not there, and then they were all about us. I tried to give orders, but there were precious few to hear. I fought—I struck at them. Then I seemed to be all alone, with troops of enemy horse charging, and I had to fly. I clashed with some of them, then Lord Barkin found me and took me back.” He shook his head again. “I know not what happened.”
“You drove them in, my lord,” I said. “And most of the men have come back. So, that is a victory.”
“Is it?”
I put on my sincere face. “I believe it is, my lord.”
“I know not. I hope that is so, but I know not.”
He rode up the slope toward the guns. They had all been placed, and the limbers and wagons withdrawn. Lipton and his men had taken off their boots, had opened barrels of powder, and were pouring the powder out onto tarpaulins.
“Captain!” said I in surprise. “What is this?”
Lipton looked up from his work, then came toward us in his bare feet, holding out his hands. “Keep back, your honors,” he said. “You don’t want your horseshoes striking sparks near that powder.”
I hastily drew my horse back. “What are you doing with the gunpowder?”
“The powder has separated, sure,” said Lipton. “Days of rattling up and down these mountains has shaken the serpentine powder in its barrels, and the nitre has come adrift from the sulphur and charcoal.” He made heaping gestures with his hands. “We must remix the powder by hand and return it to the barrels before we can use it.” He looked up at the sky. “Gods be thanked, it is not raining.”
“Gods be thanked,” I repeated. “You will finish this task before the battle begins?”
“Fear not, your honors,” said Lipton. “Once the powder is remixed, you can count on each gun firing every four or five minutes, sure.”
That seemed not such a good pace. “Is that the best you can manage?” asked I. “When I was on a privateer, the powder was in premade linen bags that were stuffed down the muzzle. Can you not use such cartridges, instead of ladling the powder into your weapons?”
Lipton put on a dignified expression. “It is part of our art to know exactly how much powder to ladle into the gun, so that the ball may land exactly where intended.”
“Yet if you could more than double your rate of fire, would that not compensate for a certain amount of inaccuracy?”
“Yet the powder would still separate, whether it was in linen bags or no,” said Lipton. “Can you imagine us opening hundreds of those bags, remixing the powder, and then stuffing it into the bags again and sewing them up?”
“The privateer needed not to do this.”
Lipton looked over his shoulder at the powder, and then shook his head.
“A privately owned ship may buy good corned powder,” Lipton said. “Corned powder does not separate. But that is not permitted to us.”
I looked at him in surprise. “Why may you not have corned powder?”
“The royal army is required to purchase its powder from the Royal Powder Mill outside Selford, and the Royal Powder Mill does not make corned powder—has no reason to, you see, because they are guaranteed to sell to the army and navy whether their powder is good or no. So, they make this i
nferior serpentine powder, and we gunners must suffer.”
Lord Utterback showed no surprise at this revelation. “Well,” said he. “You may return to your mixing.”
“Very well, your lordship.”
When Lipton returned to his task, Lord Utterback remained unmoving, sitting very straight on his horse with his sword still in his hand.
“My lord,” I said. “You can put your sword away.”
He looked at the sword in his fist as if seeing it for the first time, and then drove it into the scabbard.
“My lord,” I said. “You can see the enemy from here.” I pointed down the slope, to where the road curved away to the right.
I had bought a cheap cardboard telescope in Selford, and I drew it from its scabbard and put it to my eye. The rebels had resumed their advance down the road, and the lead elements of horse were already filtering up onto the scales, and were in sight of our force. I could see light winking from the enemy telescopes as they viewed our line, all drawn up behind the hedge with their flags flying above.
Farther down the road was nothing but long dark lines of men marching beneath a waving succession of banners. Occasionally the sun winked off a spear-point or a piece of armor, but of particulars I could make out nothing.
“Perhaps, my lord,” I said, “you can see more than I can.”
Lord Utterback brought out his own telescope, a far more useful device than my cardboard toy, and tried to use it, but then realized his face-cage was in the way. He raised the cage, then applied the glass to his eye. His face remained expressionless as he viewed the marching enemy, and then I could see his lips move as he counted regimental flags. Then he stopped counting, and leaned forward.
“Lipton!” he said. “Bring us your glass!”
The gunner hastened to us, drawing his brass-mounted telescope from its case as he came. Utterback made an impatient gesture.
“Give it to Quillifer!”
I tucked my own glass under my arm, took Lipton’s instrument, and put it to my eye. The enemy force appeared in much greater clarity than previously—and my heart sank as I realized their numbers were greater than I had imagined.
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