Captain Liversage’s lips curled into a strange and eerie half-smile, and something uncanny gleamed in his eyes.
‘Their faces have not left my dreams for forty years, and I doubt they ever will. You’d best prepare yourself for that.’
William swallowed uneasily, and a chill rippled down his spine.
‘Aye … aye I’ll try tae do that, sir.’
‘Very good, very good. Tell me, Private, what is your name?’
‘Private William Gisborne, sir.’
Captain Liversage nodded contemplatively.
‘Gisborne eh? I’ve seen you handle a horse on the training grounds on occasion. You ride with the expertise and finesse of a grandmaster, despite your youth.’
William blushed; he wasn’t used to compliments these days.
‘I, er, thank you, sir. I just love tae ride is all, sir.’
‘As do I, my boy, although I dare say I’m not quite as good at it as you are, despite my years of experience. Look to me when we charge, Private Gisborne. Should my mount be shot out from under me, I’ll expect you to help me out, eh?’
William nodded and saluted stiffly.
‘Aye sir! I’ll aid you in whatever way I can, sir,’ he declared in as confident a tone as he could put on.
‘Good man, good man,’ Liversage said, his eyes sparkling and his crow’s feet deepening as the corners of his mouth edged upwards. ‘Listen, my batman Bowker, who is my personal aide, he has, unfortunately, been taken with dysentery and is gravely ill. To be honest, I don’t think the poor fellow is going to make it. If you survive this battle, I’d like you to take his place.’
‘As your batman, sir?’ William, asked, taken aback with surprise.
‘Yes. I need an expert horseman to assist me in my duties. I like you, Private Gisborne, and I think you might be the right man for the job.’
‘I’d be most honoured, sir,’ William said slowly, still struggling to process this very unexpected turn of events.
‘Excellent. Good luck in the battle, Private.’
‘Thank you sir.’
Captain Liversage trotted off, and as William watched him go, he wondered if he could live up to the promise he had just made, or whether he’d turn tail and flee should the time come to charge headlong into a wall of artillery and musket fire. The oddness of this new development perplexed him greatly, and he chewed on his lower lip and squeezed his lance tightly, masticating on the conversation that had just taken place as he peered across the valley at the infantry battle, watching the distant soldiers staggering, stumbling and falling, with whatever cries or last words they uttered drowned out by the earth-shaking storm of cannon and musket fire.
After a time, he felt as if he could not bear to observe the brutality of it all for a moment longer, so he closed his eyes and tried to immerse himself in the memories of his time spent with Aurora. He could not, however; the present was all too real for the time being, for all of his senses were under an all-out and relentless assault. Firstly, there was the stink of unwashed human bodies packed close together, sweating even more profusely now with an especially rancorous type of perspiration, brought on by the whirling tangle of fear and the presence of immediate, mortal danger. This smell was intermingled with the pungent, earthy scent of the horses and their own fear, physically manifested in the barrage of urine and faeces that was piling beneath their hooves. The acrid, sulphurous stench of spent gunpowder wafted from the valley up to the heights, adding to the concoction of unpleasant aromas.
Even with his eyes closed, William could not ignore the feel of the lance gripped in his right hand, his fingers wrapped too tightly around the bamboo shaft, nor could he will away the weight of the sabre hanging in its scabbard on his left thigh, or wish himself out of the hot stuffiness of his constricting uniform.
Beneath him his stallion stamped, snorted and whinnied, clearly unsettled by the rolling thunder of the battle in the valley. William had named his horse River King after the ancient skeleton Aurora had showed him, and he stroked the stallion’s neck and leaned forward to whisper soothing reassurances into the beast’s ear. He had been given River King, who was a stubborn, wild and unruly animal, partly because he was the best horseman in the squadron and thus most likely to be able to handle the beast, but also because Sergeant Fray disliked William and disapproved of his gentle nature and his lack of fighting prowess, and wanted to punish him for these traits by giving him the most unmanageable horse of the bunch, and thus try to humiliate or injure him.
That particular jab on the part of Sergeant Fray had backfired, however. William, being a natural with horses, had quickly bonded with the implacable stallion, and had been able to coax the formerly irascible animal into becoming rather tame and balanced. Of course, the horse’s calm temperament was a temporary state, which only lasted when William himself was on River King’s back. When Sergeant Fray had tried to ride River King, the stallion had promptly returned to his former ways and had thrown him off, and it had taken all of William and his friends’ willpower to hold back their laughter as they had watched the harsh sergeant rolling and groaning in pain in the dust.
This, of course, had only served to further stoke Sergeant Fray’s dislike of William, and for this engagement, William’s first ever battle, Fray had assigned him a place at the very back of the squadron.
‘I wouldn’t want a coward and weakling such as yourself anywhere near the front o’ the line, Gisborne,’ he had said. ‘That’s where the ‘eroes belong, the best o’ the best, the true lads o’ the regiment – not the bleedin’ likes o’ you. You’re an ‘opeless waste o’ skin, you are. I don’t ‘ow you convinced the recruiting sergeant to let you into this regiment, but if I ‘ad
