But a young lieutenant shouted, ‘À moi! Vive l'Empereur!’ and seizing the standard he leaped into the ditch, quickly followed by the remnant of the company. All of the men knelt, heedless of the wet, and together they became a bristling mass of bayonets and rifle-fire spitting at the dragons from below.

‘Well, that is bad luck,’ Temeraire said, as they were forced to lift away for a respite; but Laurence could not agree: they had wrecked the advance on the French right flank with too little cost to call it anything but the very best of luck. Some of the dragons had taken fire, and a handful were turning tail for the camp with shots to their wings or heads. One small Yellow Reaper being helped away by his fellows had a long dreadful bayonet-slash across his belly, which had lain him open to the ribs. But they were still more than forty in number, after casualties and those who had been up at night fighting, and in a few hours the latter would return to the field.

The opening gambits had been made; no decisive stroke had yet fallen. The aerial combat settled into the steadier, grinding work of attrition. ‘You must send some of your fellows to rest,’ Laurence said to Temeraire when they had been aloft for an hour, fighting nearly without a pause and in a tiring style. The French had not made any more convenient mistakes, so it was quick darting strikes, whenever an opening could be seized, to get past the pepper guns and the rifles and do a little damage. ‘You cannot get worn down. The French dragons will take advantage as soon as they see you slowing. You see they are already departing the field in shifts.’

‘I suppose,’ Temeraire said, rather disconsolately, ‘only it is difficult enough already with all of us here, to manage to do any good. We have not seized a single eagle, or even taken a gun; only that one Majestatis broke, just now,’ he added, ‘but that is not as good.’

‘You are doing better than that; you have worn down their right flank, and the advantage to our own infantry will tell more and more over the course of the day,’ Laurence said. ‘You cannot expect a quick victory. Remember how long the battle lasted, at Jena?’

It was still a struggle to make him rest; he would not do so until Laurence at last resorted to pointing out, ‘If you do not, then you will only get more tired; and if Lien should come in at the last moment—’

‘Oh!’ Temeraire said, ‘That would be just like her; I suppose I must. Ballista!’ he called, ‘you must take charge, so I can go and rest, in case Lien comes sneaking in later. I wonder where she is hiding,’ he added, rather darkly, and craned his head to scan the rear of the French lines, hidden around a curve of the river.