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Above the noise of the rain Randall heard voices and running feet. Flint had arrived with a party of men. Randall laid Gideon gently on the ground and rose to his feet. He blinked rapidly.
‘Confounded rain is in my eyes,’ he growled to Flint, who was standing beside him.
Thunder crashed and rolled around the skies. Raising his voice to make himself heard above the storm, Randall gave orders for Flint to take care of the body, then he walked to his horse and rode away without a backward glance.
Gideon was right. War was a damned bloody business.
* * *
There was no time for Randall to dwell on everything Gideon had said, to do more than regret—bitterly—that he had stormed at Mary and changed the warm glow in her eyes to one of bemused horror and heartbreak. The unit had to retreat to Genappe to meet up with the other two divisions that were some way ahead of them. Apart from giving Rawlins a dressing down for letting another officer—even worse, a cavalry officer—take charge of his troop, he had said no more about the incident. At one point they came upon the main body of the cavalry drawn up beside the highway and Randall’s eyes narrowed when Bennington Ffog broke away and cantered towards him on his showy black charger.
‘Colonel Randall, sorry about your loss, old fellow. Your brother was shaping up to be a fine officer.’
Randall nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was glad to give his attention to Pompey, who had taken exception to the black’s posturing and swung his head to nip at the glossy flank that was temptingly close. Bennington Ffog was momentarily alarmed by the attack, but he was not going to be driven off until he had delivered the ultimate humiliation.
‘Died a hero, though, what? I told him to follow Uxbridge, but instead he stayed and saved your artillery division from being captured by the enemy. I shall be making sure Wellington knows of it.’
Randall’s eyes narrowed in response to the fellow’s guffaw of laughter. He said coldly, ‘If he had stuck to his orders, my brother might be alive now, Colonel.’
The laughter stopped immediately. ‘What? Oh, yes—yes, of course. Well, mustn’t keep you. You’ll be wantin’ to get your men settled for the night.’
Bennington Ffog saluted and rode off, leaving Randall scowling after him.
‘What in damnation did he want?’
Randall did not have to look round to know that it was Major Flint who had ridden up. His angry tone was unmistakable and perfectly matched Randall’s mood.
‘Offering his condolences,’ he said shortly. ‘I might ask the same of you. Why are you here?’
‘Bartlett’s division and my own are already bedded down for the night on the far side of Genappe. I came back to find Rawlins and show him the way, to save him taking the artillery pieces into the centre of another town.’
‘Very well. Let’s find the lieutenant.’
He turned and Flint fell in beside him. Randall noted that his half-brother was leaving a safe distance between them: not that it was Pompey who was likely to be the aggressor this time. Flint’s brute of a horse was known to lash out at anyone or anything within range.
Something of a Latymor trait, thought Randall grimly. Certainly one that he and Flint shared. And Gideon? No, his younger brother had merely been foolhardy.
‘He’d been sent ahead with Uxbridge,’ he
said suddenly. ‘That’s when he came upon Rawlins and his men trying to get the guns turned about.’
‘And the damned fool wanted his moment of glory.’
‘He had the Latymor sword. He must have taken it when he came to see me on Thursday.’
And Mary was innocent.
‘The devil he did.’ Flint shot a quick look at him. ‘The men noticed you weren’t wearing it yesterday. Your lucky charm—’
‘It carries no more luck with it than that tree stump.’
Worse, it had caused him to lose her.
‘With respect, Colonel.’
Randall frowned, knowing Flint was never in the least respectful.
The major continued. ‘It isn’t what you or I know, it’s what the men think. I’d wager it was the lack of the sword that panicked Rawlins and his men once Sheffield was dead. It’s why they were so quick to follow Major Latymor.’
