Page 260 of The Armor of Light

They were stopped at a cavalry outpost manned by men in Prussian uniforms. The guards confirmed that they were near Wavre and told them that Blücher had made his headquarters at the large inn on the town square.

A church clock struck five as they rode into the town. The road was a dirt track, puddled and marshy after the rain. As they neared the centre the streets became narrow and winding, the mud a foot or more deep. ‘Wellington said the Prussians are camped east of the town,’ the earl said anxiously. ‘It’s going to take hours to move Blücher’s army through this warren.’

The main road took them directly to the town centre, and they entered the largest tavern on the square. A Prussian soldier stopped them in the lobby, eyeing their filthy uniforms. The earl spoke to him in halting French and he made negative noises.

The problem was that they did not look authoritative. Simple-minded people sometimes thought that foreigners who spoke their language badly must be stupid. Kit shouted at the man: ‘Achtung! Der Graf sucht Blücher! Geh holen!’ The count is looking for Blücher – go and get him!

It worked. The soldier made an apologetic noise and disappeared through a door.

The earl murmured: ‘Well done, Clitheroe.’

When the soldier reappeared he told Kit that the field marshal would emerge very soon. Kit found this maddening. Why did the man not come out immediately, even if he was in his nightshirt? Where was his sense of urgency? Earl Henry looked frustrated but did not complain.

Kit ordered the soldier to fetch coffee and bread for the count of Shiring, and the man hurried off obediently and returned a few minutes later with breakfast.

Blücher appeared, freshly shaved, in uniform, and smoking a pipe. His bloodshot eyes suggested heavy drinking the night before, perhaps for many nights before, but he was energetic and decisive. The earl bowed and immediately handed over Wellington’s letter, which was written in French. While Blücher was reading it, the Prussian soldier poured him a cup of coffee, and the field marshal emptied the cup without taking his eyes off the page.

The subsequent conversation was in French, but Blücher kept using the wordoui, which Kit knew meant yes. That seemed a good sign.

While the two men were talking in a language foreign to both of them, senior Prussian officers began to appear. The conversation ended with the earl and Blücher both nodding, then Blücher gave orders to the aides.

The earl clarified the situation for Kit. A part of Bonaparte’s army had chased the Prussians here, and Blücher had to leave a section of his force behind to hold them. However, he was ready and willing to lead the larger part to Mont St-Jean this morning, and in fact the vanguard had already crossed the river.

Kit said: ‘When will they get there?’

‘Too soon to say. I’ll ride back now and tell Wellington they’re on their way. You’ll stay with the Prussians, as Wellington ordered, until you can make a reliable estimate of their arrival time. Your job hasnow become crucial. Wellington will be desperate to know when he’s going to get reinforcements that will double the size of his army.’

Kit was thrilled to be trusted with such an important task and, at the same time, he felt the weight of a heavy responsibility.

‘Stay with them at least until they’ve cleared the town,’ the earl said. ‘Then use your judgement.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The earl bowed to Blücher and took his leave.

I’m on my own now, Kit thought.

The town of Wavre lay on the west bank of the river Dyle. Kit retrieved his horse and rode the short distance from the market square to the bridge. Blücher’s men were already marching across. It struck him immediately that it would take hours to move thousands of men over this narrow span. The river was in flood after the recent heavy rain, and clearly could not be forded. On the far side he scouted upstream and downstream and found two more bridges, one at the south end of town and one a mile north of here, both narrow.

When he returned to the main bridge the marching soldiers were interspersed with guns in batteries of eight, and a tailback had developed. A growing crowd of soldiers waited to cross. Soldiers were used to waiting, and they cheerfully sat on the ground and rested. Kit asked a captain how many guns they were taking to Mont St-Jean. ‘Einhundertvierundvierzig,’ was the reply. After some thought Kit worked out that that meant a hundred and forty-four.

Kit followed the army’s route into the town. Here it was not so calm. The marching boots churned up the mud underfoot, turning it into a slurry that was almost liquid. He soon found the cause of the hold-up: one of the heavier cannons had a broken axle and was blocking the road. It had to be dragged out of the way but the street was narrow. A red-faced officer was flogging the horses and cursing furiously while a dozen soldiers, straining for a footing in the swampy street, heaved at the carriage, desperately trying to get it to move.

He forced his way through and went to the far side of the town, where he made sure that the troops who had made it through were taking the country road that led to Mont St-Jean.

Back at the bridge, there were now several thousand men immobilized on the far bank. Kit was beginning to fear that it would take all day to get them across.

The line started to move again – the broken-down gun carriage must have been removed at last. The soldiers had to stand aside while the heavy horse-drawn cannons crossed one by one then entered the town. At eight o’clock they still had not moved all their guns through the town.

Then fire broke out.

Kit smelled it before he saw it: the odour of burning thatch. It should have been too wet to burn. Many of the buildings were of wood, and the smoke rising from the centre of the town grew from a column to a cloud and then to a fog that filled the streets, causing the soldiers to cough and their eyes to water.

The army came to a complete halt. Some of the men abandoned cannons and horses and retreated to get away from the flames. Those near ammunition wagons panicked and fled for fear of a huge explosion. Officers ordered those remaining to march back the way they had come. In the narrow streets, trying to turn the entire procession around – including the gun carriages with their six-horse teams – caused a great deal more cursing and confusion.

Kit returned to the bridge, intending to suggest to the Prussians that they make use of other bridges, but the officers were ahead of him, and were already sending battalions on the more roundabout routes.

Kit crossed the nearer, southerly bridge and skirted the outskirts to come to the west of the town. He found the road to Mont St-Jean and confirmed that the Prussians were taking that route.