On His Majesty's Service

Agar asked the sotnik. He heard ‘khameereh’ – Persian – in reply, and had to press for explanation.

‘Well?’ said Hervey, becoming impatient.

Agar turned, looking unsure. ‘He says, I believe, the esaul wants to test the mettle of the Turk.’

‘How?’

Agar asked the sotnik again.

‘Napadat!’

It was one of the handful of Russian words that Hervey had acquired. He looked at Fairbrother, disbelieving. ‘Attack? Two hundred against – how many?’

Fairbrother shrugged. ‘If one Black Sea Cossack is equal to three from the Don, perhaps he’s equal to ten Turks?’

It had occurred to Hervey more than once that the object of the Horse Guards’ interest ought perhaps to be the Ottoman army rather than the Russian, for a good deal was known of the Tsar’s troops, but very little of the Sultan’s new army, the ‘Mansure’ – Muallem Asakir-i Mansure-yi Muhammadiye (‘the Trained Victorious Troops of Muhammad’). The Mansure had been formed three years before, after the mutiny of the Janissaries gave the Sultan his chance to disband that corrupt corps. For a century the Janissaries, non- Turkmen, had held the Porte to ransom, while the empire fell apart. The Sultan had brought in foreign officers to advise him, or so it was believed; the artillery and transport had been reorganized, and there were new regiments of infantry, though the cavalry – the sipahis – remained as before, since unlike the Janissaries they were all Turkmen. In Hervey’s estimation, London could not remain indifferent to a new and efficient army astride a road to India.

In an hour there came the first sighting, at about three-quarters of a mile – a cohort of Turk lancers, two hundred strong at least, ambling in column along the road due east. The country was rolling, unbroken, coverless, with short springy turf, not too hard underfoot; it was very apt, thought Hervey, that they should make their first contact on ground so good – ‘cavalry country’.

‘Odd that they come on in column still,’ he said, reining to a halt and taking out his telescope.

Fairbrother and Agar were already following suit.

‘I must say, the time and course couldn’t be more favourable, with the sun low and in their eyes.’

Fairbrother glanced at him questioningly. ‘Is “favourable” entirely apt? Should we have a preference for the way the sun shines?’

‘Apt for observation,’ replied Hervey, blithely but perfectly aware that his friend had detected the slip. ‘Lances and green dolmans, would you say?’

He threw out the question generally, to any who had answer. Corporal Acton was first to speak (even with the disadvantage of a poorer glass). ‘Green, sir, ay – and a gun, half a dozen files rear.’

Hervey found it. ‘Bronze, too – you have a hawk-eye, Corporal Acton.’

Johnson, relishing not being sent back with the bat-horses, did not have a telescope, but he had an opinion nevertheless. ‘Dressed for paradise, then, sir, like some of ’em’ll be seein when them Cossacks gets at ’em.’

Hervey continued observing. ‘Not the time for riddles, Johnson, thank you.’

‘Weren’t a riddle, sir. That’s what them Turks believes in, that they wears green pee-jams when they goes to ’eaven.’

Hervey frowned. ‘Where on earth did you hear such a thing?’

‘One o’ them Bulgars in camp, sir. Mr Agar’ll know.’

‘Mr Agar, what can you tell us of this?’ asked Hervey, content to play along while still surveying the field.

‘Of the Turk’s beliefs, sir, or their appearance now?’

‘If there be anything at all, pray speak.’

‘The Koran promises that a believer will wear green silk in paradise.’

Hervey lowered his telescope momentarily and glanced at his groom. ‘Then I stand corrected. I beg pardon, Johnson.’

‘That’s all right, sir. Mrs ’Ervey told me that ages ago.’

By ‘Mrs ’Ervey’ he meant Henrietta. Johnson never could grasp, or never would, that on marriage to plain Captain Hervey, Lady Henrietta Lindsay became Lady Henrietta Hervey; just as he could not or would not that on marrying Lieutenant-Colonel Hervey, Lady Lankester became plain Mrs Hervey – for these things, he was convinced, were a conspiracy to confuse simple folk. Hervey smiled to himself: it was typical that Johnson remembered something Henrietta had told him an age ago. ‘Admirable recall,’ he replied, amiably.

‘Strange, I see no scouts,’ said Fairbrother, bringing the conversation to earth; ‘nor flankers either. A cool customer, our Turk, it would seem.’

Hervey had been searching for the same, certain they must be selecting their lines of advance with uncommon craft.

Suddenly the column came alive.

‘Ah, they deploy. We are discovered.’

The Turks looked well drilled, too. They halted in column of route, turned left and right by alternate troops and then wheeled into line. In less than two minutes they were formed in close order in three ranks, the cannon unlimbered front and centre.

‘Prettily done,’ said Hervey. ‘A support and a reserve line, too.’ He looked across to where the sotnia had come to an unruly halt.

Not for long. The esaul yelped a single word of command, dug his heels into his mare’s flanks and galloped for the Turks full tilt.

Hervey struggled to keep his own mare still as the sotnia took off like hounds on a running stag. ‘What in heaven’s name …’

He watched in some amazement as the esaul pulled up after a furlong as abruptly as he’d taken off and the sotnia extended in a single line either side of him.

‘Extraordinary!’ he declared, stowing his telescope and taking the reins in both hands.

Fairbrother was equally impressed. ‘I wonder how it looked to the Turks.’

‘No pivot, no words of command … I don’t believe a troop of ours could have done it with fewer than ten.’ (Hervey had long held that the Dundas drill book was a thing of aptness no more, but ‘It beat the French!’ was the usual retort to any suggestion of a better way.)

Not that he wished to substitute any old swarming tactics for good regulation. The Cossack line overlapped the Turks’ by a furlong on either flank, but it was a single line only: cavalry could not fight through without supports – nor extricate itself if the tide turned.

‘Do they intend attacking – or receiving a charge?’ asked Fairbrother, equally incredulous.

But before Hervey could answer, the line billowed into a fast trot.

‘They attack – and with that crest yonder! There’s no knowing what’s beyond it.’ He took up his telescope again.

Fairbrother was not so measured. ‘Madness!’

‘Intrepid, certainly. Mark, Mr Agar: to advance with dead ground to the rear of an objective, in which might be concealed more cavalry, is perilous in the extreme.’

‘When the scouts came in just now, might they have reported that the Turks were without supports?’

Hervey shook his head. ‘It’s a possibility, but in half an hour there’s no saying what might have come forward. Except that yonder esaul’s had uncanny fortune so far.’

The sotnia had picked up speed – a hand gallop – and with half a mile to run.

The Turks started to show a flank left and right, but did so hastily. Their support line buckled rear and some of them began turning, making the reserve line give way. In a moment the cohort had lost its solidity.

‘He’s checking the pace a fraction,’ said Hervey, shielding his eyes although the sun was on his back. ‘I wonder if …’

Down came the Cossack lance points, and the flanks began extending.

‘I do believe he intends enveloping them! By God, he has nerve!’