Whose Business Is to Die Read Online Free PDF

man said. ‘We will follow, but not get too close for the moment.’
    Williams wondered whether for once the self-assured merchant and master of spies felt that he was not in control. He had no sword, in fact appeared to be wholly unarmed. The Welshman was surprised that Baynes had not left them and gone back to the marshal and his staff.
    ‘Walk march.’ The 13th Light Dragoons went forward.
    ‘Wait a little before we follow,’ Baynes said.
    ‘Have you ever ridden in a cavalry charge, Bills?’ Hanley whispered.
    ‘We are only watching, are we not?’ The irony was forced, and then he realised his friend was anxious. ‘No need to worry. Stay close to me and even closer to those fellows.’ He jerked his head towards the corporal and the three hussars. The King’s German Legion were widely held to be among the finest cavalrymen in the army and these men looked very capable. ‘Apart from that, just try to stay on.’
    They started to walk their horses forward.

3
    T he 13th Light Dragoons were formed in two ranks, with subalterns, some NCOs and other file closers dotted along behind the rear rank. They were in loose files, with some six inches between each rider rather than the close order where a man’s knees almost touched those of the riders on either side. With five troops present, two pairs were formed into squadrons with the fifth, orphaned troop on the right. Hanley tried to count in groups of five as Williams had taught him, and reckoned that there were around one hundred men in each rank, with perhaps thirty or so file closers. He could not see past them all that well, but thought that they must just about match the length of the main French line, if not their flanking supports.
    ‘I am not sure that you will find that suitable at the moment,’ Williams said to him in a low voice.
    Hanley realised that he was still holding the axe. Part of him wondered whether his friend was wrong. There was a primitive feel to the weapon, so much like the sort of thing one imagined a Red Indian wielding, and it seemed fitting for there was something very ancient, almost primal, about being so close to all these horses and men with swords. His own mount was stirring, wanting to run, and even if he could not tell whether it wanted to go forward or back, he could sense that it felt part of a herd. When infantry marched forward to mow each other down with musketry it did not feel like this.
    Williams looked calm. The man always did, and it was hard to know what he really felt. For all his piety and sober disposition, Williams was a sensitive, intelligent man with a lively imagination,so must be as plagued by fears as everyone else. Hanley remembered MacAndrews drumming it into them that as officers they must always appear fully confident of success and survival in any situation. Hanley was unsure how convincing he was in this act.
    The light dragoons were still walking, their heavy-bladed, curved sabres resting on their shoulders. Then they went into a trot. Hanley had not heard the order, so intent was he on the scene. He watched the men as they sat in their saddles, backs swaying with the motion.
    ‘Far enough for us, I think, gentlemen,’ Baynes said. Williams glanced at the corporal and there was doubt in both their faces.
    ‘It may be better to follow or go back a little,’ he said. Hanley was inclined to take his friend’s advice when it was a matter of the battlefield, but Baynes did not appear worried.
    ‘We will stop here, so that we can see. I dare say we can run away in plenty of time if it becomes necessary. Forgive me, Mr Williams,’ he continued, a fresh smile beaming, ‘I did not intend to imply anything by that. I speak merely as a fellow of too many summers and too many joints of beef to desire to make the acquaintance of any sword-wielding Frenchman. We need to be able to see in case one of those rogues is about.’
    Hanley was not really listening. The light dragoons had gone into a canter – again