Hervey 11 - On His Majesty's Service (20 page)

‘Very well. They can go with the Cossack servants.’

Hervey did not doubt the
esaul
’s appreciation of the situation. It was possible that if the cavalry hastened and the infantry made a forced march, their fires tonight would be seen from the walls of Siseboli; but after so many weeks’ delay, what should now compel the Seraskier to hurry?

‘What is the
esaul
’s intention on closing with the Turk?’

Agar asked the
sotnik
. He heard ‘
khameereh
’ – Persian – in reply, and had to press for explanation.

‘Well?’ said Hervey, becoming impatient.

Agar turned, looking unsure. ‘He says, I believe, the
esaul
wants to test the
mettle
of the Turk.’

‘How?’

Agar asked the
sotnik
again.

‘
Napadat!
’

It was one of the handful of Russian words that Hervey had acquired. He looked at Fairbrother, disbelieving. ‘
Attack?
Two hundred against – how many?’

Fairbrother shrugged. ‘If one Black Sea Cossack is equal to three from the Don, perhaps he’s equal to ten Turks?’

It had occurred to Hervey more than once that the object of the Horse Guards’ interest ought perhaps to be the Ottoman army rather than the Russian, for a good deal was known of the Tsar’s troops, but very little of the Sultan’s new army, the ‘Mansure’ –
Muallem Asakir-i Mansure-yi Muhammadiye
(‘the Trained Victorious Troops of Muhammad’). The Mansure had been formed three years before, after the mutiny of the Janissaries gave the Sultan his chance to disband that corrupt corps. For a century the Janissaries, non-Turkmen, had held the Porte to ransom, while the empire fell apart. The Sultan had brought in foreign officers to advise him, or so it was believed; the artillery and transport had been reorganized, and there were new regiments of infantry, though the cavalry – the
sipahis
– remained as before, since unlike the Janissaries they were all Turkmen. In Hervey’s estimation, London could not remain indifferent to a new and efficient army astride a road to India.

In an hour there came the first sighting, at about three-quarters of a mile – a cohort of Turk lancers, two hundred strong at least, ambling in column along the road due east. The country was rolling, unbroken, coverless, with short springy turf, not too hard underfoot; it was very apt, thought Hervey, that they should make their first contact on ground so good – ‘cavalry country’.

‘Odd that they come on in column still,’ he said, reining to a halt and taking out his telescope.

Fairbrother and Agar were already following suit.

‘I must say, the time and course couldn’t be more favourable, with the sun low and in their eyes.’

Fairbrother glanced at him questioningly. ‘Is “favourable” entirely apt? Should we have a preference for the way the sun shines?’

‘Apt for observation,’ replied Hervey, blithely but perfectly aware that his friend had detected the slip. ‘Lances and green dolmans, would you say?’

He threw out the question generally, to any who had answer. Corporal Acton was first to speak (even with the disadvantage of a poorer glass). ‘Green, sir, ay – and a gun, half a dozen files rear.’

Hervey found it. ‘Bronze, too – you have a hawk-eye, Corporal Acton.’

Johnson, relishing not being sent back with the bat-horses, did not have a telescope, but he had an opinion nevertheless. ‘Dressed for paradise, then, sir, like some of ’em’ll be seein when them Cossacks gets at ’em.’

Hervey continued observing. ‘Not the time for riddles, Johnson, thank you.’

‘Weren’t a riddle, sir. That’s what them Turks believes in, that they wears green pee-jams when they goes to ’eaven.’

Hervey frowned. ‘Where on earth did you hear such a thing?’

‘One o’ them Bulgars in camp, sir. Mr Agar’ll know.’

‘Mr Agar, what can you tell us of this?’ asked Hervey, content to play along while still surveying the field.

‘Of the Turk’s beliefs, sir, or their appearance now?’

‘If there be anything at all, pray speak.’

‘The Koran promises that a believer will wear green silk in paradise.’

Hervey lowered his telescope momentarily and glanced at his groom. ‘Then I stand corrected. I beg pardon, Johnson.’

‘That’s all right, sir. Mrs ’Ervey told me that ages ago.’

By ‘Mrs ’Ervey’ he meant Henrietta. Johnson never could grasp, or never would, that on marriage to plain Captain Hervey, Lady Henrietta Lindsay became Lady Henrietta Hervey; just as he could not or would not that on marrying Lieutenant-Colonel Hervey, Lady Lankester became plain Mrs Hervey – for these things, he was convinced, were a conspiracy to confuse simple folk. Hervey smiled to himself: it was typical that Johnson remembered something Henrietta had told him an age ago. ‘Admirable recall,’ he replied, amiably.

‘Strange, I see no scouts,’ said Fairbrother, bringing the conversation to earth; ‘nor flankers either. A cool customer, our Turk, it would seem.’

Hervey had been searching for the same, certain they must be selecting their lines of advance with uncommon craft.

Suddenly the column came alive.

‘Ah, they deploy. We are discovered.’

The Turks looked well drilled, too. They halted in column of route, turned left and right by alternate troops and then wheeled into line. In less than two minutes they were formed in close order in three ranks, the cannon unlimbered front and centre.

‘Prettily done,’ said Hervey. ‘A support and a reserve line, too.’ He looked across to where the
sotnia
had come to an unruly halt.

Not for long. The
esaul
yelped a single word of command, dug his heels into his mare’s flanks and galloped for the Turks full tilt.

Hervey struggled to keep his own mare still as the
sotnia
took off like hounds on a running stag. ‘What in heaven’s name …’

He watched in some amazement as the
esaul
pulled up after a furlong as abruptly as he’d taken off and the
sotnia
extended in a single line either side of him.

‘Extraordinary!’ he declared, stowing his telescope and taking the reins in both hands.

Fairbrother was equally impressed. ‘I wonder how it looked to the Turks.’

‘No pivot, no words of command … I don’t believe a troop of ours could have done it with fewer than ten.’ (Hervey had long held that the Dundas drill book was a thing of aptness no more, but ‘It beat the French!’ was the usual retort to any suggestion of a better way.)

Not that he wished to substitute any old swarming tactics for good regulation. The Cossack line overlapped the Turks’ by a furlong on either flank, but it was a single line only: cavalry could not fight through without supports – nor extricate itself if the tide turned.

‘Do they intend attacking – or receiving a charge?’ asked Fairbrother, equally incredulous.

But before Hervey could answer, the line billowed into a fast trot.

‘They attack – and with that crest yonder! There’s no knowing what’s beyond it.’ He took up his telescope again.

Fairbrother was not so measured. ‘Madness!’

‘Intrepid, certainly. Mark, Mr Agar: to advance with dead ground to the rear of an objective, in which might be concealed more cavalry, is perilous in the extreme.’

‘When the scouts came in just now, might they have reported that the Turks were without supports?’

Hervey shook his head. ‘It’s a possibility, but in half an hour there’s no saying what might have come forward. Except that yonder
esaul
’s had uncanny fortune so far.’

The
sotnia
had picked up speed – a hand gallop – and with half a mile to run.

The Turks started to show a flank left and right, but did so hastily. Their support line buckled rear and some of them began turning, making the reserve line give way. In a moment the cohort had lost its solidity.

‘He’s checking the pace a fraction,’ said Hervey, shielding his eyes although the sun was on his back. ‘I wonder if …’

Down came the Cossack lance points, and the flanks began extending.

‘I do believe he intends enveloping them! By God, he has nerve!’

‘
Look
,’ called Fairbrother, standing in the stirrups; ‘the reserve line’s high-tailing!’

They had turned about as one, then galloped for the crest. It was so uniformly done that Hervey wondered if it was by design, except that the support line now disintegrated, half of them following the reserve and the other taking shelter with the front rank in what had become a misshapen and hollow square.

‘I can scarce credit it,’ he said. ‘What a reputation these Cossacks must have.’

‘You would have charged just the same in India, I think,’ suggested Fairbrother, his telescope out again.

‘Perhaps it’s easier to execute than to watch,’ said Hervey drily, scarcely able to credit, too, that his sabre was yet undrawn. And what silent battle this was, with not a shot yet fired. ‘Your first taste of action, Mr Agar, and quiet as the grave.’

‘Sir.’

Hervey assumed the gun had canister loaded, waiting the moment – fifty yards. The Turks lowered their lances. Without artillery to make holes in the great steel-tipped hedge, the Cossacks would find it a deadly fence to take. What had induced the reserves to turn tail?

Fifty yards … forty … and still no fire. Hervey tried in vain to make out what the gunners did, his line of sight obscured.

But the Cossacks had no intention of taking the fence of steel. Just short of lance-contact they inclined left and right, tilting as they galloped the length of the line, taking advantage of their extra reach (the Turk lances three feet shorter) and the oblique attack.
Sipahis
fell here and there, but not a single Cossack.

‘And thus they test their mettle, it seems,’ said Hervey, not sure what to make of the Cossacks’ aversion to charging home, or the Turks’ to counter-charging.

Round to the rear they galloped, deftly picking off any
sipahi
who stood a foot proud of the man to left or right. ‘Tent-pegging,’ muttered Hervey to himself; ‘pure sport.’

But the game suddenly changed.

Fairbrother saw it first. ‘My God – look yonder!’

The crest was now topped by a line of red, as if a curtain had gone up – two hundred
sipahis
, perhaps more.

‘They don’t see them!’ gasped Hervey.

The tent-pegging continued.

‘No – they
do
. They’re breaking off. But they’ll never get away in time. Damned impetuous Cossacks! Come on!’

He put his mare into a gallop.

Fairbrother dug in his spurs after him. ‘What in God’s name are you doing? This ain’t your fight. Let ’em break off and run for it!’

But he would not. Hervey galloped for another hundred yards, pulled up hard by a dry stream bed a furlong in front of the skirmish, and looped his reins. He had not once looked behind to see who was with him; theirs was to be there. ‘Unship carbines and make ready!’

They did as they were told – seven men in extended line.

Fairbrother closed to his side and spoke quietly. ‘It’s not our affair, Hervey. Don’t hazard all in an unworthy scrap.’

‘If we stand by and the Cossacks are worsted, we’ll never be received by a single Russian again.’

Fairbrother said nothing. He would himself have taken that risk, but he did not have his friend’s obligations. For now, he was prepared to take a spear in the chest, but only because his friend was prepared to. He smiled at the contrariness of his own logic, and at what meagre price (to those who did not understand) he held his life.

They loaded afresh, having drawn the charges after stand-down. Corporal Acton’s hands were as nimble as a card-sharp’s, tamping the wadding before the other two dragoons had yet dropped in the ball. ‘Bite harder when you reload,’ he told them, sharp but encouragingly. ‘And don’t fret about spilling at the pan. It’s always a business loading astride: the best of ’orses never stand stock still.’

Even Johnson, sweat that he was, found Acton’s words welcome. As a rule he disliked NCOs, but it was strange how when there was trouble …

‘Volley or aimed shots?’ asked Fairbrother archly, seating the butt of his carbine on his off-foreleg.

Hervey took no notice, clipping back the swivel ramrod while trying hard to fathom what they could do to help.

Down the slope at a slow trot came the line of red, lances up.