As Temeraire banked away, Laurence turned in his straps to watch: the ranks of the Corps were coming on, not in their usual arrowhead formations, but drawn out into a single thin line of lightweights, courier beasts and middleweights. At intervals flew small clusters of harnessed dragons: two middleweights in front with a heavyweight behind, like knots on a string. Maximus made one of them: red-gold and roaring behind Messoria and Immortalis.

As the two forces met, the middleweights clawed their way into the cloud of French lightweights, opening room for the heavyweights to bull through behind them; the lighter British dragons also engaged, but only a little, slashing and continuing on so the whole line advanced together through the French ranks, scattering them above and below.

It was as neat an answer to the harrying French strategy as any that could be imagined, and now the heavyweights swept through with their tremendous loads of munitions: dropping bombs and spikes like black iron rain upon the French infantry and their gun emplacements. Laurence could see Excidium, those vast purple-and-orange wings spread wide as the Longwing darted low with a protective guard of two heavyweights, and another on his flank who must have been Mortiferus, with a more yellow cast to his wing-tips. Their acid caught the morning sun and sparkled as it descended; a hot grey cloud of smoke and agony rose in its wake.

The gap in the French defences did not last for long. The French dragons regrouped and flung all of their heavyweights after the Longwings: three Petit Chevaliers, a couple of Defendeur-Braves, and a marbled orange-yellow Chanson-de-Guerre. Together they massed some hundred tons and more, and descending with ferocity they could not be turned aside. Excidium and Mortiferus were forced back up into the safety of the British line, as the other British heavyweights turned to cover their escape, and the quick skirmishing cloud of the French harried them back away from the field.

Laurence was only vaguely aware of the last of this, Temeraire had stooped down upon the infantry, shockingly low, and now the unharnessed dragons were wreaking ruthless havoc on the awkwardly placed French infantry, who could not easily get their guns up to shoot, compressed as their column was by the uneven ground. The great Chequered Nettle, Ballista, even landed for a moment, and laid waste with her massive barbed tail in great sweeps.

Temeraire was so close to the ground himself that Laurence was able to draw his pistols and shoot four men from his back; Demane and Emily accounted for another two apiece, and Allen another. It was more difficult to miss than to hit at first, so packed were the French ranks. Then Laurence and his small crew stood in their straps and drew their swords as a few of the soldiers leaped aboard daringly.

‘Hi! Look there, the eagle, the eagle!’ Moncey yelled in great excitement, darting around.