All in Scarlet Uniform (Napoleonic War 4) by Adrian Goldsworthy

Author:Adrian Goldsworthy [Goldsworthy, Adrian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780297866688
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group
Published: 2013-08-08T04:00:00+00:00

The bell in the cathedral chimed twice. The sound was a little muted near the castle, but tonight there was not much firing from the walls to drown the sound. It was dark, for the sky was cloudy and already a faint drizzle was falling. Pringle’s nose was full of the smell of damp horses and leather. He glanced behind him at the column of almost a hundred riders in the weird harlequin combinations of uniform worn by Don Julián’s lancers. He could not see the colours in the dark, but men had coats, hats and weapons of every shape and size. A man walked past, checking that rags were properly tied over the hoofs of each little horse to muffle their sound.

The governor stood at the side of the square, the bishop beside him, and Billy caught a muffled ‘Go with God’ as they conferred with El Charro, and then the guerrilla leader walked his horse over to join him.

‘Time to go,’ he said.

They began to move. Men were waiting holding torches to guide them through the streets. The Gate of San Jago near the river had stood open each day and night for more than a week, and now they walked their horses through the archway. It was strange how immediately the air felt more open than in the streets of the city.

‘If anything happens and you get lost, then it’s to the right on the far bank and then south-west.’

‘Thanks,’ said Pringle.

‘I promised Hanley.’ Billy caught the glint of El Charro’s smile.

Still walking their horses, the column went along the sunken way inside the ditch until this ran out and they came to open ground beside the River Agueda. The river was wide and although full it flowed nearly silently.

The lancers halted for a moment in front of the low Roman bridge while a sentry reported. Early on in the siege, the French had taken the suburb on the far bank. In the daytime, they did not maintain any outposts in the field ahead of the houses and gardens, but there were expected to be pickets at night.

A softly given order and the hundred horsemen set off, still keeping to a walk. The sound changed as the animals’ feet came on to the stone surface of the bridge, but the horses either had wrapped feet or were unshod ponies and it was no more than a soft drumming. It still seemed loud enough to Pringle, as did the inevitable creaks of harness and saddle as men shifted their weight and the gentle thumps of equipment shaking with the motion. Yet the discipline of El Charro’s men impressed him. They worked well as a team, and if the style was different from a well-run battalion – it was at once less formal and yet blatantly autocratic – it clearly served them well.

Halfway across the bridge and still silence. The fine rain had stopped, and a slow drift of wind uncovered a thin crescent moon. Pringle could see the

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