A solid hand clamped suddenly down on William’s forearm from his left, and he spun around with surprise. His eyes ran up the arm gripping his, and he saw that it was Private Watson’s.
‘I’m sorry about last night, Cake-, er, Gisborne,’ Watson said sheepishly. ‘You gave me a fair wallopin’, you did. You’re a true man o’ the 17th, you are, a proper Death or Glory boy. Good luck for the charge, lad.’
Watson abruptly released William’s arm and coughed awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle, seeming to regret the words he had just spoken. William, taken aback by his former bully’s unexpected humility and kindness, could only nod his head and mumble an awkward ‘thank you’ as he turned and trotted off. Watson’s eyes followed him as he left, and there was a cutting sadness that tinged the big man’s gaze.
William reached Paul next, and he gave his friend a nod and a wink as he approached. Paul’s face was ashen, his jaw clenched tight to the point of grinding his teeth, with his eyes shifting from side to side, stark white even against his wan cheeks; fear was painted as plainly across his features as a fresh and copiously bleeding sabre slash.
‘We’re-, we’re, we-re—’ he began to stammer to William.
‘Charging the Russian forces across tha’ valley head-on,’ William murmured, completing his terror-stricken friend’s sentence for him. He hoped that his own pulsating fear was not splayed as blatantly across his face as it was across his friend’s.
‘We’ll make it, Pauly,’ he said, trying to fortify his words with at least some semblance of conviction. ‘We’ll make it there an’ back again, all in one piece, all together, as it has been since we were wee bairns. The good Lord above could surely no’ think tae separate the likes ay we brothers in the prime ay our lives. We’re destined fir greatness, all ay us – you, me, Mikey an’ our beloved artist an’ musician Andrew. Believe in tha’, brother. We will make it through this.’
‘God be with us,’ Paul whispered, his face corpse-pale.
He extended his right hand to William, who gripped it tightly. Each man stared deeply into the eyes of the other, and many words unspoken passed between them. Eventually William slackened his grip on his friend’s hand and gave him a curt nod, turning around with tears rimming the edges of his eyes.
‘Steel your will, William,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Steel your damned will. Now is no’ the time fir fear, regret or sadness.’
‘Gisborne!’
William spun around to see Private Smythe grinning at him. He couldn’t help but return the smile despite the dire circumstances.
‘Smythe! Are you ready fir’ tha’?’ William asked, sweeping an arm in the direction of the Russian army.
Private Smythe laughed boisterously, and then patted the hilt of his sabre.
‘The question, Gisborne, is are they ready for us? They’ve not yet faced the likes o’ the Death and Glory boys, and God ‘elp them poor bastards when we come charging through! We’ll send ‘em all running back to the ol’ Czar wiff their tails between their legs, won’t we!’
William smiled and winked at Smythe, relishing in this fleeting moment of levity before the inevitable plunge into the chaotic blackness of the tempest.
‘Aye Smythe, aye. We’ll show ‘em what fir.’
‘Death or glory!’ Smythe cried with a laugh and a wicked grin. ‘Death or glory!’
‘Death or glory, aye,’ William muttered, abruptly dropping whatever flimsy bravado he had thus far managed to accrue and tumbling back into an abyss of fear and apprehension. He turned about quickly on his horse, hoping that Smythe had not seen the sudden wash of dread that had bleached his cheeks. He made his way through the ranks to say one last farewell.
‘Andy,’ he said as he reached his friend. ‘Oy, Andy!’
Andrew looked up from the sketch he was furiously shading in his notebook, and he smiled warmly when he saw William.
‘Sketching in the saddle now, boyo? Crikey man, you are a true artist!’ William chuckled, his gnawing anxiety and fear temporarily allayed while he observed his friend absorbed in his artwork.
‘Wherever an’ whenever I can, Will,’ Andrew said in his gentle voice.
‘Can I see it?’
Andrew shot William a sly smile and shook his head, tucking the notebook away in his coat pocket, along with his pencil.
‘No’ yet. When it’s done.’
‘Aye, I’ll be waitin’ fir tha’ moment.’
William’s face clouded abruptly over, and he turned his face away from Andrew.
‘We have tae charge the Russians across the valley, Andy.’
Andrew nodded, still smiling; there was neither fear nor bravery evident in the expression he wore, only a simple radiance of vitality and love for his friends.
‘That’s what we’re tae dae,’ Andrew said cryptically.
William looked up, locking eyes with his friend.
‘Does the thought no’ terrify you?’
‘The thought ay what, Will? Being wounded? Dying?’
‘Aye. Tha’…’
An eerie light glinted in Andrew’s eyes, and his unwavering smile took on an uncanny edge.
‘We’re all here but for a short time. Short at least in terms ay how old our souls really are. Ay how old everything around us is. Maybe we’re here fir eighty years, maybe eighty days. It doesnae matter, fir we all came from the same place, an’ we’re all going back there, eventually – it’s just a matter ay what meanderings our souls take along the way.’
William released a long, slow sigh, slackening his grip on River King’s reins for a time.
‘I … I dunnae understand, Andy.’
‘No’ yet,’ Andrew said. ‘But you will.’
At that moment a bugle call announced the imminent commencement of the charge.
‘Gisborne! What the ‘ell are you doing back there?! Get back to your bleedin’ place!’ Sergeant Fray shouted from the front of the ranks. ‘Go on, get out of ‘ere! You’re keepin’ your officer waiting, you are!’
‘I’ve got tae go,’ William said as he wheeled his horse about. ‘Good luck brother. I’ll see you on the other side.’
‘My soul will be with you always, my friend,’ Andrew said with a strange smile. ‘Remember tha’. Where’er our bodies
