'Looks like you've finally got what you wanted,Arthur,' Fitzroy muttered. 'Your very own battle.'

'Yes.' Arthur turned away quickly and beckoned to the brigade quartermaster. 'Hampton! Up here, man!'

'Sir!'The stocky officer trotted up, and Arthur caught the scent of spirits on his breath as the man drew himself up before his colonel.

'Is there any gin left in the wagons?'

Hampton gave a lopsided smile as he nodded a shade too emphatically. 'Plenty, sir.'

'Good. See to it that the men have a tot immediately. I want fire in their bellies when they catch sight of the Frogs.'

'Yes, sir. And a tot for yourself?'

Unlike every other officer in the brigade, the colonel abstained from alcohol, a fact that had provoked a degree of amusement and curiosity in his subordinates, who regularly drank themselves insensible as easily as breathing. Arthur was well aware of their bemusement, and took it as further proof of the dire condition of the British Army. While he could accept that the rabble who served in the ranks needed their drink, the gentlemen who commanded them must remain sober and alert in the face of the enemy. He realised that Hampton was still watching him and snapped his fingers.

'Move yourself, man!'

'Yes, sir!' The quartermaster saluted and trotted away towards the small convoy of wagons lining the route beyond the crossroads, calling out to his assistants lounging beside the wagons as they puffed on their clay pipes. His men reluctantly stirred themselves in response to his summons and slouched after him.

Fitzroy leaned closer to him. 'Gin? Is that wise?'

'Wise?' The colonel shrugged. 'I doubt it will do them any harm, and at least it will help distract them while we wait. Anything to take their minds off the enemy, eh?'

Fitzroy looked down at his hands and rubbed them together to take the chill off his long fingers. 'As you wish, sir.'

The quartermaster's assistants began to move down the lines of each company. Each man carried a keg of gin under one arm and they paused briefly to pour a measure into each battered mug that was eagerly held out towards them.Arthur watched disdainfully as most of his men downed the fiery spirit in one gulp. Only a few sipped at their mugs as they stared pensively in the direction from which the French would soon appear.

Suddenly, one of the pickets, just visible on the edge of the mist, turned round and cupped a hand to his mouth.

'Cavalry! Cavalry approaching!'

For an instant the officers froze and then Fitzroy cocked an eyebrow at his colonel. 'No cavalry, eh?'

'I didn't see any at the time,' Arthur snapped back, before he drew a deep breath to shout out his orders.

'Recall the pickets! Brigade… stand to. Prepare to receive cavalry!'

Chapter 84

The orders were relayed down the lines by the harsh bawling of the company sergeants, and the redcoats hastily downed the last of their gin and stuffed the battered mugs back into their knapsacks before porting their muskets and waiting for the next order.

Arthur paused a moment to think. There was precious little powder to waste on cavalry. That must be saved for the infantry. Since the cavalry could not turn the British flanks they would surely be discouraged by a gleaming thicket of cold steel. 'Fix bayonets!'

The order was bellowed down the length of the brigade and one company after another rasped the long blades from their scabbards and slotted them on to the end of their muskets. As the clatter and rattle of the manoeuvre filled the cold dawn air, Arthur could hear the first sounds of the approaching enemy: a rolling rumble of hoofs, then the chink of accoutrements buckled to each rider, every sound faintly muffled by the mist. The men who had been posted on picket duty were sprinting back up the gentle slope towards their comrades, casting anxious looks over their shoulders as they ran. Behind them the noise of the approaching enemy swelled and filled the still air.

'Any time now,' a frightened ensign muttered close behind Arthur. 'Any time now.'

Arthur twisted round and shot the boy a withering glance. 'You, sir! Silence there!'

The ensign dropped his gaze towards his muddy boots.

A voice cried out from the ranks. 'Here they come!'

The first of the horsemen burst out of the mist. They wore unbuttoned grey greatcoats over their green and red jackets, with high leather boots and oilskin-covered helmets.

'Dragoons,' muttered Fitzroy.

'Nothing that need cause us undue concern,' Arthur replied calmly. 'They're too light to take us on. Still, we might as well show them that we mean business. Have the men advance their bayonets.'

Captain Fitzroy called out the order and all along the brigade the front rank lowered their muskets to present the glinting points of their bayonets to the dragoons. The French had been momentarily startled by the suddenness with which they had encountered the redcoats. Now their commander recovered his wits and began to shout out a string of orders. As his men emerged from the mist they moved out each side of the track and formed up opposite the British line, two hundred yards away.

'Surely he's not going to charge?' said Fitzroy.

Arthur shook his head. 'Not unless the man's quite mad. No, he'll just want to fix us here while he sends word back to his general. We're safe for the moment.'

'And then?'

Arthur glanced sidelong at his adjutant, and friend.'Have faith, Richard. Once our lads give them a whiff of shot they'll bolt like rabbits.'

'And if they don't?'

'They will. Trust me.'

For a while the two sides confronted each other in silence. Then one of the dragoons called out, and several of his comrades jeered. The rest took up the cry and soon the whole enemy line was shouting and whistling in derision.

'What are they saying, sir?' asked one of the ensigns.

'De Lacy, do you not have any French?' Arthur smiled. He knew that De Lacy had abstained from learning almost as devoutly as Arthur now abstained from drink. 'I'd translate for you, but for the embarrassment it would bring to us both. Just be content that it is nothing fit for the ear of a gentleman.'

Captain Coulter of the grenadier company came striding up towards his colonel. Coulter, despite his rough manner, knew enough of the enemy's language to take offence and his eyes were blazing with indignation.

'Colonel? Want me to take my boys forward a pace and give the bastards a volley?'

'No, Coulter. Let them waste their breath.While they do us no harm, indulge them.'

'But, sir!'

Arthur raised a finger to quiet the man. 'I'll thank you to return to your post, Captain.'

Coulter blustered a moment, and blew hard before he turned back towards his men. Some of the redcoats had started to shout insults back at the enemy and Arthur rounded on them furiously.

'Shut your mouths! This is the bloody army, not a Dublin bawdy house! Sergeants, take their names!'

The soldiers fell silent at once and stared fixedly towards the dragoons as angry men with chevrons on their sleeves stormed down the line in search of miscreants. Arthur nodded with approval as one of the sergeants started screaming into a man's face and ended the harangue with a sharp punch to the man's nose. The head snapped back and a flush of blood poured down the man's chin. A hard but necessary lesson. Arthur was satisfied the man would keep his discipline the next time.

The catcalls abruptly ceased and Arthur quickly turned his attention towards the enemy. The dragoons were turning away and trotted off to his right, and formed up opposite the wood that protected his flank. Almost at once the first of the French infantry emerged from the thinning mist and marched directly for the centre of the British line. At the side of the column rode the enemy general and his staff officers, and they stopped as soon as they had a clear view of the ground. The French commander let his men close to within a hundred and fifty yards of the redcoats before he gave the order to halt. Further orders followed at once, and the officers at the head of the division began to marshal their men across the road until they had widened the column to company width.