Whose Business Is to Die by Adrian Goldsworthy Read Free Book Online Page A

Beresford that I have lost sight of the Thirteenth Light Dragoons and the Seventh Portuguese under Colonel Otway, but I have the First Portuguese with me. If the Heavy Brigade comes up then we can complete our victory. Go.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’ Williams caught the hint of an accent before the man galloped off.
    ‘That is Baron Tripp – a Dutchman, although he now holds the King’s commission,’ Baynes said as if passing the time of day. ‘General Long has been less than a week with the army, and his own staff and camp equipment have not yet arrived.’ That explained why the general was riding a troop horse.
    Baynes edged a little closer, but the general’s expression was scarcely welcoming.
    ‘You may follow if you wish, sir, but I have no time for you,’ Long said, the force of the rebuff weakened by a sudden rumble from his stomach. Without looking at them, he trotted over to the head of the remaining three squadrons of Portuguese horse, with white collars and cuffs to their dark blue tunics. Riding beside the regiment’s commander, he led them forward, veering towards the road. The French column had begun moving again almost as soon as the 13th Light Dragoons had chased away their opponents. The infantry were still in square, which mademarching a slow business, yet even so they were making clear progress along the highway. The rearmost squadron of French hussars was several hundred yards away, with just a few skirmishers out covering the withdrawal. They were dressed in a faded light blue and had carbines in hand, although as yet none had fired.
    General Long halted just short of the highway and stared at the retreating enemy. Then he looked round to the rear past Williams and the others. The Welshman followed his gaze and realised that the heavy brigade had not followed them. He could see the two regiments, formed in column some distance away, but to the south of the road. They looked to be almost half a mile away, and at this distance their dark horses looked black, topped by a streak of red from the jackets of the men.
    ‘Mr Williams.’ Brigadier General Long did not shout, but had a carrying voice. ‘Would you be so good as to join me.’
    Williams reached the general and saluted. Long looked even paler than before, the red rims around his eyes standing out against his pale cheeks.
    ‘Mr Williams, I do not have all my staff with me today and so I must ask you to carry a message for me.’ It was politely done, even if neither man could possibly imagine a lieutenant refusing the request of a general.
    ‘Find Marshal Beresford. I think it likely that he is with the heavies. Give him my best compliments and tell him that the Heavy Brigade must advance to support me. If it does then we have these fellows trapped. If the artillery is up then all the better. Tell the marshal that the Thirteenth and the Seventh Portuguese have gone, and I have only the First Regiment still with me, and so I need the heavy dragoons to finish the job. Have you got that?’
    Williams repeated the message, even after a few days used to the routines of staff work, and the solemnity of the moment passed without any more unfortunate eruptions from the general’s stomach.
    ‘Good,’ Long said, ‘then go, and better take that fellow withyou.’ He nodded in Baynes’ direction, his voice raised so that the merchant would hear. Williams glanced at the French column and saw that they were still moving, and then turned his horse, pretending not to notice a fresh churning gurgle from the general’s innards.
    ‘It seems my presence is not wanted,’ Baynes said drily once they were out of earshot. Williams put Francesca into a canter, and the others matched her pace. Baynes was a better horseman than his looks suggested. ‘Still, the poor man appears most unwell. And he is a twin, of course, and it is always interesting to see how a twin copes without his sibling. Some are not good on their own.’
    Williams said nothing, not caring to