Hervey readily agreed. The tacking was called for and, after a little difficulty fitting the saddle (‘He is somewhat cold-backed,’ Jessope explained), they set off for the park near the great cathedral of St-Bavon.
To Jessope’s frustration, however, he could not keep his gelding on the bit.
‘Is he green?’ asked Hervey, trying not to make too obvious a suggestion that Jessope’s hands might be wanting.
‘Well, he was warranted eight years old. I think, perhaps, I have not been able to give him quite sufficient exercise since coming here.’
Hervey was sceptical, however, and he observed the gelding intently as they trotted along the sandy ride that bisected the park. The horse would not relax its back, seeming instead to hold it stiffly, and there looked to be too little activity in the hind legs for so well bred an animal.
When they returned to the chateau Hervey asked if he might look him over more closely.
‘Do you think there might be some ailment, then?’ asked Jessope, with more than a note of concern.
Hervey paused before making any reply, running his hand along the horse’s back, feeling for obvious sore points. But there were none: the back was as clean as could be. ‘Look,’ he began, ‘I know only a very little about these things. But I am always a trifle uneasy about short-coupled thoroughbreds. I like more room for the lungs, though I must say that yours seems to have not too shallow a chest. You say he is eight years. Has he done much?’
‘I don’t rightly know,’ said Jessope, a might uncomfortably. ‘I bought him at Tattersall’s, as the property of a gentleman.’
Hervey looked in the gelding’s mouth. The groove in the crown of each incisor was gone, and the star was present in the central ones. ‘Well, he is eight at least. Beyond that I cannot tell.’
‘What do you suppose is the trouble, then?’
Hervey let out his breath and raised an eyebrow. ‘Look, Jessope, he is a handsome thing, but …’
Jessope had by now braced himself. ‘Tell me what you suppose!’
‘I fear he may have a kissing spine.’
Jessope looked puzzled.
‘I have seen it only a couple of times before, and there is no sure way of knowing, but each time it has been a thoroughbred with a short back. A kissing spine is when the vertebrae impinge, invariably in the middle back.’
Jessope looked crestfallen. ‘And what may I do about it?’
‘The first thing you must do is seek the opinion of someone better-qualified than I. There must be a staff veterinary officer with the duke’s headquarters.’
‘Yes, there is,’ replied Jessope. ‘And what if he confirms your diagnosis?’
Hervey paused again. ‘I am very much afraid that at his age you can do nothing. But in any event, you must have a horse that you may rely on in the field. You do have others?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘of course, but they are not one bit as magnificent as he.’
‘Jessope, my dear friend, believe me,’ urged Hervey, ‘I understand that it is necessary to be turned out magnificently on the staff. But when it comes to fighting you know full well that it’s “handsome is that handsome does”.’
Dinner comprised both agreeable company and good fare, the Guards having paid handsomely for the contents of a market garden nearby and for venison from their chateau’s deerpark. There was champagne brought that day from Rheims by traders of resource, its cost inflated, however, by the ‘tolls’ paid to French patrols near the border. In respect of champagne, at least, even during the late wars, neither the allied blockade nor Bonaparte’s edicts had ever quite extirpated trade. But Jessope had been curiously reserved throughout dinner. And afterwards, walking in the formal gardens of the chateau, he revealed why. ‘You must not breathe a word of this,’ he began, in almost a whisper, ‘but matters are looking very grave indeed as regards the Prussians.’
Hervey committed himself to absolute discretion.
‘There might even be a thorough rupture in the alliance,’ he continued, Hervey’s expression of surprise encouraging his conspiratorial manner. ‘It would seem that earlier this year, at the congress in Vienna, there was some
‘Great heavens!’ sighed Hervey, ‘and I suppose you are going to say that the secret is now out?’
‘Bonaparte discovered it — naturally — and is now most skilfully driving a wedge into the alliance.’
‘What shall happen?’
‘I know not. Lord Fitzroy considers that it will not make a deal of difference in so far as the congress is concerned. Bonaparte must be dealt with — the Prussians know it well enough. And the only way is by concerted action. But in Vienna they may have their stately dance: the difficulty will be in the field, for it seems there is much resentment already amongst the Prussians. Gneisenau, their chief of staff, can be trying at the best of times — so hearsay has it.’
‘But is not Prince Blucher to be their commander? He has a reputation as a seasoned soldier, has he not?’
‘Yes, indeed. But you with all your study will know that the Prussians have a most curious system. The chief of staff answers direct to their king in many matters — principally in the strategy of the campaign. So even though Blucher is the field commander he is bound by Gneisenau’s orders in certain circumstances.’
‘It is a curious system for sure; it evidently works, however.’
‘Evidently so, though it is untried in coalition. Oh, and by way of adding to the discord,’ said Jessope almost as an aside, ‘they are shooting the Saxons!’
‘Several Saxon regiments have mutinied, and the Prussians are shooting the ringleaders. Altogether, then, not everything on our left flank is as the duke would have it be!’
Hervey raised his eyebrows and then shrugged. ‘And what does headquarters think Bonaparte will be about next?’
‘The duke believes there will be no attack in the north — at least, to begin with. He believes Bonaparte will strike first at the Austrians on the Rhine.’
‘And what of us here, then?’
‘Oh, there will be some offensive to hold us in Belgium, that is for sure. But look, my good friend, I have to be back at headquarters ere long. I will tell you all as I hear it, but it must go no further. I tell
‘You may be sure of it.’
‘Then be there by eight: the duke will be very prompt.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN. DESIGN FOR BATTLE
When Hugo Styles had raised an eyebrow at the supposed inadequacy of Hervey’s equipage — ‘do you think that two will be enough?’ — he had scarcely fancied that one of those two horses would be an unprepossessing little mare. And had it been Styles about to ride out in the company of the commander-in-chief, albeit no doubt at the back of a large field, that ornament of an officer would for certain have ridden the poorer-looking charger to the headquarters, his groom leading a finer one, and there he would have changed horses — just as at home he might take a hack to a covert, and thence change to a blood for the chase. But Hervey had chosen to do the contrary,
