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Rio Seco will fail to recognise Lasalle.’ That battle was one of many Spanish defeats, followed by a brutal pursuit when the French horsemen ruthlessly slaughtered fleeing men.
    ‘Looks a fine, dashing gentleman,’ said Wickham, oblivious to the Spaniard’s tone and perhaps ignorant of the disastrous battle.
    ‘His family were aristocrats,’ said Velarde flatly.
    ‘Ah, you can always tell.’ Wickham spoke with the utter conviction of a man who dearly wished that his own blood was noble.
    The firing from the far left was even heavier now, audible over the sporadic shots of the skirmishers in this part of the field. Hanley saw few men fall as a result of this, but several riderless horses wandered between the lines, one of them dragging a rider whose foot was trapped in a stirrup, bumping across the ground. There were a few corpses – little bundles of brightly coloured clothes dumped untidily in the grass.
    ‘They’re going back again!’ said Wickham approvingly. A trumpet sounded, its brass call clear over the bickering of the skirmishers, and the leading squadron of French hussars wheeled about and went back, just as they had done so many times. ‘I must congratulate the duke, for I believe that we are about to witness a great victory.’
    Hanley felt that the pronouncement was a little premature, but even he sensed that momentum was with the Spanish. They really were winning, the miracle happening before their eyes.
    Ahead of them, the Spanish lancers trotted gently forward to occupy the ground abandoned by the enemy. A Spanish battery had just arrived, but the duke ordered his battalions to march without waiting for the guns to deploy. The gunners were told to wait until the line formed again, a little farther forward.
    Firing slackened, and they heard cheering from over on the left.
    The brown-and-blue hussars halted at another trumpet signal, and wheeled back towards the enemy. Then the trumpeter blew another command and the squadron did not halt, but sent theirhorses into a trot. Almost as one, the two ranks of sky blue and brown hussars drew their curved sabres.
    The Garrochistas seemed to ripple like a sheet in the wind. Some stopped, some clustered together, a few went forward, but more were turning their little horses to the rear.
    ‘The French are fools,’ said Wickham. ‘They’re outnumbered five to one!’
    The trumpet sounded again and the French spurred into a canter. Barely four or five strides later they went into a gallop, without waiting for the order. Sabres were held high, points arced forward ready to thrust.
    ‘
Vive l’Empereur!
’ The shout came from a hundred parched throats.
    The lancers scattered and fled, their horses plunging back into the supporting regiments behind them.
    ‘
Vive l’Empereur!
’ The shout was more distant, but powerful, as Lasalle led the remainder of the hussar regiment to join the charge.
    The miracle died as the Spanish cavalry collapsed and fled.

3
     
    W illiams was more than two miles away across the great plain and he knew before Hanley that the Army of Estremadura was beaten. For a long time the Spanish made good progress, and he almost began to doubt the instincts which told him that the real battle had scarcely begun. His past experience of the French assured him that they were never so easy to beat. Yet Baynes was a most genial companion, asking a stream of questions and listening with great enthusiasm to the explanations, professing an egregious ignorance of all things military.
    ‘Is that a usual deployment?’ the red-faced merchant had asked, as they rode behind a battalion of infantry. The French had given a good deal of ground, falling back to a gentle ridge, and it was taking time for the Spanish line to close with them again. They could see an enemy artillery battery deploying on the higher ground, with infantry forming to protect each flank. Green-coated dragoons were farther back, covering the whole position.
    ‘Not common,