Page 263 of The Armor of Light

Responding to further bugle calls, they formed an east–west line a mile long, then walked their horses forwards, up the slope, still out of sight of the enemy. They broke into a trot, breasted the ridge, and then, with shouts and cries, charged downhill into the melee.

The allied infantry scampered out of the way. The French tried to flee back to their lines but they could not outrun the horses, and the cavalry chopped and sliced them mercilessly with their sabres, amputating arms and legs and heads. Running men tripped and fell and were trampled by the mighty horses. The cavalry rode on and the slaughter was terrible.

Earl Henry was cock-a-hoop. ‘Bonaparte’s assault has been turned back!’ he crowed. ‘God bless the cavalry!’

When the horses came within range of the French front line Uxbridge commanded the trumpeters to sound the order to turn back. Kit heard it clearly but, to his astonishment, the cavalry seemed deaf. They ignored the repeated signal and rode on, cheering and waving their swords. Beside Kit, Earl Henry gave a disgusted grunt. The riders were consumed with blood lust and all discipline had broken down. Their lack of battle experience was showing.

Their elation was suicidal. As they charged the French line they began to be mown down by cannon and musket fire. Their momentum slowed as the ground beneath them turned uphill and the horses tired.

The cavalry went from triumph to annihilation in minutes. Suddenly they were the ones being slaughtered. As they split into small groups the French surrounded them and methodically dispatched them. Kit gazed in despair as the cream of the British army were wiped out. A few lucky survivors flogged their horses into an exhausted gallop back towards the allied line.

Bonaparte’s assault had indeed been turned back – but at what a cost.

The French had more men, and could launch another infantry attack; but the British could not mount another such cavalry charge.

Kit was overwhelmed by despair.

There was a lull. The battle did not pause, but went on at a lower level. The French artillery fired intermittently across the valley, occasionally killing an officer on horseback or smashing a cannon; and the skirmishing around Hougoumont and La Haye Sainte continued, sharpshooters on both sides sniping and sometimes hitting a target.

A messenger spoke to Wellington, who summoned Earl Henry and said: ‘There is a report that some Prussians have appeared. Go to the eastern end of our line and check it out. If it’s true, tell their commander that I want them to reinforce my left flank. Go!’

The instruction made sense to Kit. Wellington’s left wing had been the focus of Bonaparte’s artillery and infantry attacks, whereas the right flank – where Sal and Jarge were – had hardly been involved so far. It was the left that needed the Prussians.

They set off at a gallop.

A mile or two beyond the easternmost end of the allied front line were two small patches of woodland, Ohain Wood to the north andParis Wood to the south, and as they rode Kit thought he saw activity in both areas. Coming closer, he saw, emerging from Ohain Wood, hundreds of troops in dark-blue uniforms.

It was true. The Prussians were arriving at last.

Kit and Earl Henry reached Ohain Wood unhurt. Two or three thousand Prussians had now arrived, and more at the southerly wood. A few thousand would make little difference, but when the rest arrived the allies would have an overwhelming advantage.

But was there time to wait for that?

The troops at Ohain belonged to I Corps, commanded by the much-decorated von Zieten, a balding forty-five-year-old who was about to fight his third battle in four days. Blücher himself had not yet arrived, so Earl Henry and Kit delivered Wellington’s message to Zieten in the usual mixture of languages.

Zieten said only that he would pass Wellington’s request to Blücher as soon as possible. Kit got the impression that the Prussians would make up their own minds about where best to join the battle.

Zieten would not estimate how soon the rest of the Prussians would arrive.

Earl Henry and Kit rode back to Wellington and reported.

Kit looked at his watch – another prize stolen from a corpse – and was astonished to see that it was five o’clock in the afternoon. It seemed like only minutes since the first French infantry attack.

Throughout the intense fighting of the last three days, Bonaparte’s aim had been to prevent the Prussians joining up with the Anglo-Dutch. In the next few hours it would at last happen.

Bonaparte had undoubtedly seen the Prussians, and must have realized that time had suddenly become crucial. His only hope now was to destroy the allied army before the Prussians could join the fighting in sufficient numbers to turn the tide.

Kit saw intense activity behind the French lines. For several minutes he could not figure out what was going on, until the earlsaid: ‘The cuirassiers are assembling. There’s going to be a cavalry assault.’

The British and Dutch gunners were bringing forward reserve cannons to replace those damaged. Kit looked for Roger but could not spot him.

The French artillery were still firing intermittently while their cavalry assembled, and at that moment a shell landed twenty yards from Kit, striking a replacement cannon that was being manoeuvred into place. There was a bang and a flash, shouts from the men and the horrible scream of a wounded horse, then a second, bigger explosion as the gunpowder reserve behind the cannon exploded, smashing the cannon to bits. Kit was thrown to the ground and deafened, but a second later he knew he had not been burned or hit by flying debris. Feeling dazed, he struggled to his feet. All the cannon crew were dead or wounded and the gun itself was a ruin of twisted metal and burned wood. Kit’s gaze fell on Earl Henry, lying on the ground, not moving. There was blood around his head. The wound had probably been caused by a piece of the destroyed gun flying through the air. Kit knelt beside him and saw that he was still breathing.

He saw a group of infantry staring at the smashed gun. He pointed at two of them and said: ‘You and you! This is the earl of Shiring. Pick him up and carry him to the surgeon. Double quick!’

They obeyed.

Kit wondered whether the earl would survive. There was nothing much surgeons could do for head wounds except bandage them. Everything depended on how much damage had been done to the brain.