‘But, sir,’ wheedled one of his aides, ‘it is still some time until dawn, the men are in disarray, we can’t—’

Mitterick shook his sword in the young man’s face. ‘I’ll give the orders here!’ Though it is obviously too dark to mount a horse safely, let alone ride several hundred at a gallop towards an invisible enemy. ‘Put guards on the bridge! I want any man who tries to cross hanged for desertion! Hanged!’

Colonel Opker, Mitterick’s second-in-command, stood just outside the radius of blame, watching the pantomime with grim resignation.

Gorst clapped a hand down on his shoulder. ‘Where are the Northmen?’

‘Gone!’ snapped Opker, shaking free. ‘There were no more than a few score of them! They stole the standards of the Second and Third and were off into the night.’

‘His Majesty will not countenance the loss of his standards, General!’ someone was yelling. Felnigg. Swooped down on Mitterick’s embarrassment like a hawk on a rabbit.

‘I am well aware of what his Majesty will not countenance!’ roared Mitterick back at him. ‘I’ll damn well get those standards back and kill every one of those thieving bastards, you can tell the lord marshal that! I demand you tell him that!’

‘Oh, I’ll be telling him all about it, never fear!’

But Mitterick had turned his back and was bellowing into the night.

‘Where are the scouts? I told you to send scouts, didn’t I? Dimbik? Where’s Dimbik? The ground, man, the ground!’

‘Me?’ a white-faced young officer stammered out. ‘Well, er, yes, but—’

‘Are they back yet? I want to be sure the ground’s good! Tell me it’s good, damn it!’

The man’s eyes darted desperately about, then it seemed he steeled himself, and snapped to attention. ‘Yes, General, the scouts were sent, and have returned, in fact, very much returned, and the ground is … perfect. Like a card table, sir. A card table … with barley on it—’

‘Excellent! I want no more bloody surprises!’ Mitterick stomped off, loose shirt tails flapping. ‘Where the bloody hell is Major Hockelman? I want these horsemen ready to charge as soon as we have light to piss by! Do you understand me? To piss by!’

His voice faded into the wind along with Felnigg’s grating complaints, and the lamps of his staff went with them, leaving Gorst frowning in the darkness, as choked with disappointment as a jilted groom.

A raid, then. An opportunistic little sally had caused all this, triggered by Mitterick’s petty little display with his flags. And there will be no glory and no redemption here. Only stupidity, cowardice and waste. Gorst wondered idly how many had died in the chaos. Ten times as many as the Northmen killed? Truly, the enemy are the least dangerous element of a war.

How could we have been so ludicrously unready? Because we could not imagine they would have the gall to attack. If the Northmen had pushed harder they might have driven us back across the bridge, and captured two whole regiments of cavalry rather than just their standards. Five men and a dog could have done it. But they could not imagine we might be so ludicrously unready. A failure for everyone. Especially me.