“Oblige you…” Orrock said, his head darting forward like a turtle.
“Of course,” he added nervously, then turned his horse and spurred it back towards the road.
“Barclay?” the General addressed one of his aides.
“My compliments to Colonel Maxwell and he will bring all Company and King’s cavalry to take post to Orrock’s right. Native horse will stay south of the river.”
There was still enemy cavalry south of the Kaitna and the horsemen from Britain’s Indian allies would stay on that bank to keep those enemies at bay.
“Then stay at the ford,” Wellesley went on addressing Barclay, ‘and tell the rest of the infantry to form on Orrock’s picquets.
Two lines, Barclay, two lines, and the 778th will form the left flank here.”
The General, who had been gazing at the enemy’s calm re deployment now turned to Barclay who was scribbling in pencil on a scrap of paper.
“First line, from the left. The 778th, Dallas’s 10th, Corben’s 78th, Orrock’s picquets. Second line, from the left. Hill’s 4th, Macleod’s i2th, then the 74th. They are to form their lines and wait for my orders. You understand? They are to wait.” Barclay nodded, then tugged on his reins and spurred his horse back towards the ford as the General turned again to watch the enemy’s re deployment
“Very fine work,” he said approvingly.
“I doubt we could have manoeuvred any more smartly than that. You think they were readying to cross the river and attack us?”
Major Blackiston, his engineer aide, nodded.
“It would explain why they were ready to move, sir.”
“We shall just have to discover whether they fight as well as they manoeuvre,” Wellesley said, collapsing his telescope, then he sent Blackiston north to explore the ground up to the River Juah.
“Come on, Campbell,” Wellesley said when Blackiston was gone and, to Sharpe’s surprise, instead of riding back to where the army was crossing the ford, the General spurred his horse still further west towards the enemy.
Campbell followed and Sharpe decided he had better go as well.
The three men rode into a steep-sided valley that was thick with trees and brush, then up its far side to another stretch of open farmland. They cantered through a field of unharvested millet, then across pastureland, always inclining north towards another low hill crest.
“I’ll oblige you for a canteen, Sergeant,” Wellesley called as they neared the crest and Sharpe thumped his heels on the mare’s flanks to catch up with the General, then fumbled a canteen free and held it out, but that meant taking his left hand off the reins while his right was still holding Diomed’s tether and the mare, freed of the rein, swerved away from the General. Wellesley caught up with Sharpe and took the canteen.
“You might tie Diomed’s rein to your belt, Sergeant,” he said.
“It will provide you with another hand.”
A man needed three hands to do Sharpe’s job, but once they reached the low crest the General halted again and so gave Sharpe time to fasten the Arab’s rein to Fletcher’s belt. The General was staring at the enemy who was now only a quarter-mile away, well inside cannon shot, but either the enemy guns were not ready to fire or else they were under orders not to waste powder on a mere three horsemen. Sharpe took the opportunity to explore what was in Fletcher’s pouch. There was a piece of mouldy bread that had been soaked when the trooper’s body fell into the river, a piece of salted meat that Sharpe suspected was dried goat, and a sharpening stone. That made him half draw the sabre to feel its edge. It was keen.
“A nasty little settlement!” Wellesley said cheerfully.
“Aye, it is, sir!” Campbell agreed enthusiastically.
“That must be Assaye,” Wellesley remarked.
“You think we’re about to make it famous?”
“I trust so, sir,” Campbell said.
“Not infamous, I hope,” Wellesley said, and gave his short, high pitched laugh.
Sharpe saw they were both staring towards a village that lay to the north of the enemy’s new line. Like every village in this part of India it was provided with a rampart made of the outermost houses’ mud walls.