Because Orkney's attack was clearly not a feint, Villeroi had unbalanced his dispositions. In strengthening the left flank, he'd seriously weakened the centre. Solid lines of infantry and cavalry had been drastically thinned down across two miles of open plain between Taviers and Ramillies.
From their position on high ground between the two villages, Marlborough had an excellent view of the entire battlefield. When Daniel realised what their commander-in-chief had done, he regretted his temerity in questioning the decision. It was a brilliant strategy.
Ramillies itself now came under attack. A dozen battalions under the command of General Schultz advanced against heavy resistance until they reached the village itself, forcing the garrison to look to its own defence rather than being able to offer support elsewhere. The grand attack on the French centre was led by General Overkirk with Allied cavalry supported by Dutch, German and Swiss infantry in the pay of the Dutch. They moved inexorably forward in four dense ranks along a line that extended from Ramillies to the Mehaigne. The real test was now coming.
Daniel was able to look down on four miles of unremitting warfare. Smoke billowed, cannon roared, cavalry charged, sabres clashed, foot soldiers traded fire, drummers beat out their calls and all the unstinting savagery of battle was released amid the tumult. Longing to be involved in it all, Daniel was forced to be an onlooker, trying to decide at which point the fighting was most intense and where the Allies were gaining the upper hand. Hurling themselves against the French centre, the Allied cavalry crashed easily through the first line of enemy horse. When they tried to penetrate even further, however, the infantry which interleaved Villeroi's cavalry responded with such a sustained volley that they were stopped in their tracks.
Of more significance was a counter-charge by the Maison du Roi, the French household cavalry, 13 squadrons in all. It was so swift, controlled and powerful that Overkirk's cavalry wilted before it. Patently, the Allied centre needed much more support. Marlborough supplied it in person.
Are you ready for action, Daniel?' he said, taking out his sabre.
'Yes, Your Grace.'
'Then let's not miss the fun.'
'I'm with you,' shouted Daniel above the hullabaloo.
With the rest of his staff at his heels, Marlborough led the way. Having already anticipated heavy resistance in the centre, he had withdrawn some of the squadrons from the right flank to act as reinforcements to Overkirk. Because of the undulations in the terrain, the additional horse had departed from Orkney's force without being seen by Villeroi. Thinking he was still threatened by a sizeable army on his left flank, he kept several battalions away from the centre where they would have been far more use. Once again, Villeroi had been tricked by Marlborough, leaving a sector of his line vulnerable.
The arrival of their commander-in-chief at the head of fresh squadrons rallied the troops and horse in the centre. In his long scarlet coat with the sky-blue sash of the Garter, he was recognised at once by his men. Unfortunately, in making himself so visible, he also became a target for the French. Rejoicing at the chance to kill the one man who could contrive their defeat, they tried to run him down. Before Marlborough went very far, his horse stumbled at a ditch and threw its rider, leaving him defenceless on the ground. The French cavalry tried to hack their way towards him. It was a critical moment and Daniel was acutely aware of it. To lose Marlborough would be to lose the presiding genius of the Allied army. Leaping from his horse in the middle of the melee, Daniel held its bridle and stirrup while Marlborough heaved himself up into the saddle.
There was more help at hand. Seeing their captain-general in difficulties, Major General Murray marched up rapidly with two Swiss battalions to cover his escape. Some of the pursuing French cavalry were unable to check their galloping horses and rode straight on to the gleaming bayonets of the Swiss infantry. Daniel was a grateful beneficiary While many of the horses were impaled, it was the riders who mostly felt the thrust of cold steel and writhed in agony on the ground. Loose horses were everywhere, neighing in fear, kicking out, bumping into each other and trying to escape the burning cauldron of battle. Seizing a passing bridle, Daniel steadied the prancing stallion enough to mount it. He was now able to wield his sabre to cut a swathe through the enemy. The action was hot and he revelled in it.
Everything turned on the cavalry engagement at the heart of the battle. The elite French squadrons held the early advantage. As the battle raged on, however, and as Marlborough fed more squadrons from the right flank into the action, the balance tilted in favour of the Allies. By late afternoon, when the plain was red with blood and littered with corpses, they had built up a superiority of eight to five. There was marked progress elsewhere as well. On the extreme left of Marlborough, the Danish cavalry beyond Taviers cut through the French anchoring force on the Mehaigne and swung north to threaten Villeroi's flank.
At 4 p.m. Marlborough deemed it the moment to order his final charge. Massing his cavalry, he sent them off at a trot to gain impetus as they went along. The Maison du Roi re-gathered and formed a line to meet them. Two large, proud, urgent, tiring, bloodstained, sweat-covered bands of horsemen charged forward with murderous intent. When they met once again, there was an ear-shattering clang of sabres as they tried to cut down each other like so much human timber. Neither side gave ground. In the mounting frenzy of battle, gaping wounds were opened up, eyes gouged out, hands and arms severed, horses slashed to death and, in one case, a Dutch head cut clean from its shoulders. The French held the charge at first but the numbers told steadily against them. Bursting through the gaps in the enemy squadrons, the Allied cavalry was able to attack from the rear. The end was at last in sight.
Responding to orders, Orkney marched his men forward over the crest of a hill, deploying his forces in such a way as to give the appearance of a sizeable army. In fact, it had been seriously depleted but Villeroi was unaware of that. What preoccupied him was the threat of a second attack on his left flank. The French commander was so fearful of the phantom army beyond the marshes that he did not realise what was happening on his extreme right. The Danish cavalry had encircled the French flank from the south. At the same time, with an irresistible surge, the Allied infantry finally captured Ramillies and drove its garrison out. When the French line broke, its nerve broke with it. The panic-stricken cry of sauve qui peut swept through the whole army and entire brigades ran for their lives.
Marshal Villeroi had lost the battle. As a last resort, he ordered the largely unused cavalry along the Gheete to form a line in order to cover the retreat. Naked fear was the only command they obeyed. To Villeroi's disgust, all 50 squadrons deserted him and rode hell for leather through the fleeing French infantry, knocking many of them over and pummelling some to death. It was a complete rout. The whole plain was a scene of undiluted chaos as thousands of French and Bavarian troops struggled madly to get past abandoned coaches, carriages and carts, running through the mud to escape the flashing blades of the pursuing Allied cavalry. To all intents and purposes, the battle of Ramillies was over.
Behind the victory lay thousands of individual stories, none more remarkable than that of Kit Davies, a tough and spirited woman who'd disguised herself as a man in order to pursue an errant husband into the army. For twelve years she'd enjoyed the life of a roving soldier without once arousing the suspicions of her fellows. Only her husband knew her secret. Ramillies exposed the truth. Davies was injured by a shell that bounced off a church steeple and fractured her skull. When the surgeons examined her, they were dumbfounded by what they discovered. Expecting to treat a wounded man, they had incontrovertible proof that she was a woman.
Marlborough himself would have tales to tell. Apart from being rescued by Daniel Rawson when in the path of the French cavalry, he had had another lucky escape. As he mounted a horse at one point, a round shot fired from a French battery passed under his cocked leg and skimmed the saddle before decapitating Colonel Bringfield who was holding the stirrup for him. A few inches higher and the missile would have killed Marlborough. The result of the battle might then have been different.
One of the incidents that would stay locked in Daniel's mind for ever occurred when the battle was over. He found a moment to congratulate the men from his regiment on their part in the triumph. As he approached them, he saw Major Cracknell lording it over a group of junior officers, boasting about his exploits during the battle. The major was holding a glass of wine and lifting it high. He never got to drink it. A shot rang out and a musket ball burrowed deep into his brain, killing him instantly and making his fist tighten around the glass until it broke apart. The person who'd fired the shot was Tom Hillier. Daniel ran towards him but he was too slow to prevent the drummer from using the bayonet to stab his own heart. When he fell forward, the weapon hit the ground hard and went right through him, piercing the flesh and protruding from his back. Hillier had taken leave of army life altogether. Turning him over, Daniel was astonished by what he saw. It was incredible. In spite of a grotesque
