‘Yes, sir,’ replied the soldier, saluting. He moved away. Premian saw a group of soldiers trying to gather their belongings from a communal tent. ‘Leave them,’ he shouted. ‘If the wagons go up, we’ll all die. You three get to the picket line. Fetch horses. The rest of you start dragging these wagons into line for harness.’
The flames were licking at the edge of the camp now. Hundreds of men were trying to beat out the fires using blankets and cloaks, but Premian saw that it was pointless. Soldiers came running back, leading frightened horses. A tent caught fire. The first of the wagons was harnessed and a soldier climbed to the driving board and lashed out with the reins. The four horses leaned in to the harnesses and the wagon lurched forward.
A second wagon followed; then a third. More men came to help. Premian ran to the nearest picket line. ‘Cut the rest of the horses loose,’ he told a soldier standing by. ‘We’ll round them up tomorrow!’
‘Yes, sir,’ responded the man, slashing his knife through the picket rope. Premian grabbed the reins of the nearest horse and vaulted to its bare back. The beast was panicked, and reared, but Premian was an expert horseman. Leaning forward, he patted the horse’s long neck.
‘Courage, my beauty,’ he said. Riding back to the wagons, he saw that a further six had been harnessed and were moving east away from the line of fire. More tents were ablaze now, and smoke and cinders filled the air. To the left a man screamed as his clothes caught fire. Several soldiers threw him to the ground, covering him with blankets, smothering the flames. The heat was intense now, and it was hard to breathe. Flames were licking at the last of the wagons, but two more were harnessed.
‘That’s it!’ yelled Premian at the struggling soldiers. ‘Save yourselves!’
The men mounted the last of the horses and galloped from the burning camp. Premian turned to see other soldiers running for their lives. Several stumbled and fell, and were engulfed by flames. He swung his horse – and saw Gargan walking through the smoke. The general looked bewildered and lost. ‘Bren!’ he was shouting. ‘Bren!’
Premian tried to steer his horse to the general, but the beast would not move towards the flames. Dragging off his shirt Premian leaned forward, looping it over the horse’s eyes and tying it loosely into place. Heeling the now blind stallion forward, he rode to Gargan.
‘Sir! Mount behind me!’
‘I can’t leave Bren. Where is he?’
‘He may already be clear, sir. If we stay any longer we’ll be cut off!’
Gargan swore, then reached up to take Premian’s outstretched hand and, with the practised ease of a skilled horseman, he swung up behind. The young officer kicked the stallion into a gallop across the burning steppes, swerving around the walls of flame that swept towards the north-west. The heat was searing, and Premian could hardly see through the smoke as the horse thundered on, its flanks scorched.
At last they outran the fire and Premian dragged the exhausted stallion to a stop. Leaping from its back, he turned and watched the camp burn.
Gargan slid down beside him. ‘You did well, boy,’ he said, placing his huge hand on Premian’s shoulder.
‘Thank you, sir. I think we saved most of the water wagons.’
The stallion’s flanks were charred and blistered, and the great beast stood shivering now. Premian led him to the east, where the main body of soldiers had gathered.
Slowly, as the fire died away in the distance, men began making their way back to the camp, searching through the wreckage. By dawn all the bodies were recovered. Twenty-six men and twelve horses had died in the flames. All the tents had been destroyed, but most of the supplies had survived; the fire had passed too quickly to burn through all the sacks of flour, salt, oats and dried meat. Of the nine water wagons left behind, six had caught fire and were now useless, though most of the barrels containing the precious water were saved. Only three had split their caulks.