‘And what of the troops that are not in the palace?’

‘My own observation, though only of the east side, which is, I fancy, the direction which they would have greatest care for, is that there are none but a guard for the moat. I observed for the better part of an hour at daylight, and saw no other. I suspect the dewan’s made the error of not being able to decide where most to place his effort and instead has placed it everywhere.’

‘The cavalry?’

‘The cavalry’s another matter – the Pindarees as Fairbrother calls them – I’ve seen nothing of them but the odd patrol. Fairbrother neither. Their grass month has just ended, apparently, and he thinks they may be kept to their quarters for fear they’ll desert. He has a few spies in their camp but hasn’t been able to make touch with them yet.’

‘Mm. And the road you came by?’

‘Pickets and camp-followers the length of it.’

Hervey thought for a moment or two more, then told him what he planned with Colonel Dennie’s. ‘If things go well with him, I ought to have the regiment and the Madras Horse before Chintalpore in two days. Tell Fairbrother to have Colonel Bell use all means to detach the Swiss – and to find out what he can of this tunnel. And where those damned Pindarees are.’

‘Colonel.’

‘And, Christopher, take no undue risks.’

In truth, the whole enterprise was one of risk; judging what was due and what was not would tax a Napoleon. Hervey knew it, but the sentiment made him feel better. Worsley knew it too, but appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

* * *

Colonel Dennie, eagle-eyed, his jaw set and sword in hand to do battle with the trailing vines that entangled anyone who tried to wrestle with them (the old Ava hands called it ‘wait-a-while’), marched at the head of his battalion like stout Cortez. If his infantrymen – light infantrymen – were to be sent through country unfit for habitation by any but savages, human and otherwise, it would be with him at the fore. For if he himself, Colonel William Dennie, were at their head, then no man, no matter how low his rank or base his nature, could shirk or falter. Or, if he did, he could not complain at the lash.

Behind him was his adjutant with the compass by which they would keep direction in the dense green. Then came the regimental pioneers, their axe blades new sharpened that morning, and behind them two dozen sappers lest their progress require more than just brute strength with the blade. ‘The crooked shall be made straight’, he’d told them, enlisting Isaiah; ‘and the rough places plain.’

Then came the light companies in double file: six centuria (on paper at least; their true bayonet strength nearer eighty), a quarter of a mile of red-coated soldiery seasoned by Burman jungle, hardened by strict discipline at Agra, and hoping for plunder as rich as at Rangoon. Behind them, the six-pounders of the ‘flying artillery’ and a cornet and two dragoons of the Sixth, and then a second column – the baggage and camp-followers, despite the express instructions to march light. But then, sutlers and wives didn’t count themselves under command; and who otherwise would care for those who fell sick or to the bullet – or provide them with spirits? Hervey had his doubts about the guns, even broken down and ported, but if there were the remotest chance of getting them through it was worth taking. ‘First reckon, then risk,’ he’d insisted. Dennie himself was certain of the matter, however: his battalion would make the way practicable. Any regiment of His Majesty’s Foot would be able to make it so, though none, he said, as fast and surely as his. Which was why he’d insisted an officer of the troop be forward with his pioneers.