‘General!’

Hervey was surprised to see him on his feet, and dismounted at once to return the salute. ‘Colonel Dennie, my hand, sir; my compliments to you. And my condolences. I came on the graves an hour ago.’

‘Thank you, General. Two were rogues and worse, but the others were good men.’

‘And you yourself?’

Dennie shrugged. ‘I can testify to their distress.’

Hervey nodded. Dennie’s face was like a pug’s who’d lost his wager. ‘Is there anything more to report?’

‘No, the night passed quietly. I had the horse troop make a clearing patrol after stand-to this morning – about three miles – and they saw nothing. There’s a village of sorts a mile or so east, but they appear unworried, or unknowing. The dragoons’ll make another clearing patrol later.’

‘Capital. I’m minded not to wait, however. There’s a good moon, and with no enemy abroad … Do your men have another march in them?’

‘Certainly. They’ve full canteens and bellies, though biscuit mainly. To where?’

‘To cork the bottles, so to speak. The sooner we belabour those Chintalees from the rear, the sooner we can invest the palace.’

Dennie nodded. Hervey had explained it before he’d marched. ‘But I’m loth to divide the battalion.’

‘No, I wouldn’t have you do that. The corking’ll be for the dragoons. I would have you make a demonstration before the palace. Cavalry alone won’t fright them behind walls.’

Dennie agreed, but doubted the wisdom of marching at once. By his reckoning, Chintalpore was a dozen miles and more, and the going uncertain. It would take an hour to break camp, there were but a couple more of daylight left, and there was cloud looming. If they did march at once they’d hardly be fresh for a fight before midday; if they marched at dawn, however, they’d cover the ground quicker, and be better ready after a bit of sleep – and just a few hours later.

Hervey thought for a moment, then bid Dennie sit on the wall of the goat-house as they took coffee. For the advice of an officer of infantry on such a matter as a night march was not something to dismiss lightly. Yes, he’d known the odd old woman of a colonel who wasn’t content unless he’d an hour for mustering and his fifes and drums every step of the way, but Dennie was no such colonel. Some officers needed encouraging, and some driving; but very few needed restraining. And Dennie, most decidedly, was in the latter category.

Then he understood. ‘No, you mistake me. I’ll not have your men make an assault. I’ll hazard no more lives than strictly necessary. I mean to manoeuvre them out.’

Philanthropists, said the Prussian, with evident disdain, might easily imagine there to be a skilful method of overcoming an enemy without great bloodshed; and this was an error that must be extirpated. But Hervey was unconvinced. He’d no objection to the enemy spilling blood, but counted it a commander’s first duty to spare as much of his own men’s as possible. It was no great art to suppose that since men must die there was no point in troubling if they did so needlessly. There were some who counted men merely as ordnance, to be spent and then replaced at will – that was Bonaparte’s way, as he’d seen for himself – but while well and good for Frenchmen, in the end it never did for ‘gentlemen in red’. Besides, he’d been at Badajoz and Bhurtpore: the best-regulated troops could turn into fiends after storming a fortress. In the long run it was to no one’s advantage, least of all to discipline.