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Forcing her mind to the task of finding him, Mary said briskly, ‘We should start where you last saw the colonel.’
They took her to the ridge and clattered along the raised road. Mutilated bodies and broken wagons lined the way, and when they reached the spot where the artillery had been stationed the signs of carnage were everywhere, muddied corpses of horses and men lay where they had fallen. She glanced behind. Lady Sarah was looking very pale and Mary felt a quick stab of sympathy for her desperate appearance. She had not asked, but she hoped Sarah had suffered nothing worse than a muddied habit while she had been riding alone, looking for her brothers. One of the Rogues was riding with her now and the shaggy dog was loping along beside her horse so Mary turned back, concentrating on keeping her own fear and nausea under control. The sergeant stopped and turned to the gunner riding beside him.
‘You saw him last, Brent,’ he barked. ‘Tell the lady.’
‘He went off just after the duke had passed by,’ said Brent. ‘Followed the infantry down there, he did.’
‘Then that is what we shall do,’ declared Mary.
Turning her horse from the road, she made her way towards the plain spread below them. She imagined it had once been a rich green, or perhaps golden with corn. Now it was nothing more than a vast and muddy expanse, littered with the dead. Mary forced herself to look at the horror surrounding them, searching for Randall. The recent rain had softened the ground and now it was saturated with blood and it sucked noisily at the horses’ hoofs. In the distance people were walking amongst the corpses. Looters, possibly. She was suddenly very thankful for her ragged escort.
There was a discernible road leading down to the plain and they followed it until they reached a fork. The sergeant started along the route that led them towards the very heart of the blood-sodden plain. Mary choked back a cry of dismay. It was unthinkable that there could be anyone alive in that hell, yet even from here she could here men groaning, see movement amongst the carcases.
‘No, not that way!’ Lady Sarah’s urgent cry brought them all to a halt.
Looking back, Mary saw that the dog was running to and fro along the other road, the one leading away from the battlefield. She said nothing while the men debated which way to go, but in the end Lady Sarah had her way and they took the less bloody road. The dog bounded ahead of them and in the distance Mary could see a building, some sort of barn. The ground on either side of them was green, although patches of flattened grass and telltale bloodstains showed there had been fighting here. It was only as they approached the building that Mary saw the bodies piled against its outer walls.
‘Oh, dear heaven, they are using this as a charnel house!’
The dog was whining and scratching at the barn doors.
‘Justin is in there,’ cried Sarah. ‘I know he is.’
‘We shall see.’
‘Careful, miss,’ cried Sergeant Hollins, but Mary had already dismounted.
Leaving Sarah with the horses, she strode towards the barn. The dog had pushed his way in between the rickety doors and she heard him bark.
‘Well he’s found something,’ exclaimed the sergeant. ‘Dawkins, Cooper, you two stay with Lady Sarah while we has a look.’
Mary swallowed. She had come this far, she would know the truth, however painful. Steeling herself, she reached out and pulled open one of the doors. The heat and stench billowed out to meet her, making her retch. Quickly she turned away while she tied the scented handkerchief over her mouth and nose. It helped, a little.
The sergeant and two of the Rogues pushed the barn doors wide. The sight that met their eyes made Mary recoil and even the men were cursing softly under their breath. There were bodies everywhere, scattered over the floor and piled carelessly on top of one another against the back wall. Desolation swept through her. Nothing moved. If Randall was here, he was dead. The dog was sitting just inside the entrance, staring into one dark corner behind the door, his tongue lolling out as he panted noisily. Mary stepped closer, peering at a small patch of grey amongst the shadows. She gave a cry.
‘Randall!’
The dark uniform was encrusted with dirt and almost black in the gloom, but the jacket was undone and it was the white of his shirt that she had seen. It wasn’t until she fell on her knees beside him that she saw the bloodstain on his chest. As her eyes grew more accustomed to the shadows she saw the bloody gash on his head. It grew even darker as the three artillerymen ran up, adding their shadows to the gloom.
‘My Gawd, he’s dead!’ cried one of them.
‘Well, you two fetch those poles to make the litter,’ growled the sergeant. ‘Dead or no, we’re taking the colonel back to Brussels.’
Mary stared at the motionless figure stretched out on the floor and her eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t be dead. Not this way. Not without saying goodbye. She reached out and touched his fingers. They did not move, but they were pliant. Trembling, she stripped off her gloves and took his hand again. It was warm.
Snatching the handkerchief from her face, Mary wiped her cheeks and moved closer, placing her fingers on the skin of his neck. She held her breath, hardly daring to believe that she could feel the faint beat of a pulse.
‘He’s alive,’ she said, her voice not quite steady. ‘He lives.’
‘No.’ Sergeant Hollins gave a low whistle. ‘Well, bless me!’
The two artillerymen who had gone to fetch the poles, rope and blankets to form the makeshift stretcher returned in time to hear the news and crowded round her.
‘And he’s still got that old sword at his side,’ muttered one of them. ‘Always said it was lucky.’
The sergeant stepped up, saying tersely, ‘It won’t be lucky if he stays in this hellhole, Gunner Stubbs. Let’s get him out of here—’
‘No.’ Mary stopped him. ‘We must not move him yet, Sergeant. First I need to see just how badly he is hurt.’ She had heard Bertrand say often that carelessly manhandling a patient could make injuries much worse. ‘Stand back a little, if you please. I need as much light as possible.’
