Page 265 of The Armor of Light

In front of him Joe Hornbeam’s horse fell, and Joe hit the ground. An Imperial Guardsman stood over him with sword raised, and for a helpless second Joe looked up at his killer. Then Jarge stepped forward and lunged with his bayonet. The Guard pivoted and brought his upraised sword down on Jarge, a mighty blow that chopped deep into Jarge’s neck at the same time that Jarge’s bayonet sliced through the man’s uniform, entered deep into his belly, and disembowelled him. Both men fell. Jarge’s neck pumped bright red blood, and the Guard’s guts spilled on the ground.

Joe jumped up. ‘Dear God, that was close,’ he said to Kit. Glancing down, he said: ‘Jarge saved my life.’ Then he picked up his sword and returned to the fray.

The Imperial Guard began to fall apart. Men at the rear no longer pushed forward, but turned and ran back. Seeing their numbers diminish, the men at the front retreated; and the retreat turned into a rout. The allies chased them, yelling triumphantly.

Looking over the battlefield, Kit saw that all along the line the French were demoralized. Some retreated; others saw that and did the same; some began to run, and others copied them; and in seconds panic took hold. Then the allies chased the defeated French downhill and up the other side.

Kit immediately thought of Roger.

Leaving his comrades to complete the rout, he turned and ran back up the slope, jumping over the twisted dead and the crying wounded, to the artillery on the ridge. Some of the gunners had abandoned their cannons and were joining in the final slaughter, but he felt sure Roger would not be among them.

He hurried along the line, staring hard at the gunners sitting or lying down by the guns, some exhausted, some dead. He searched for Roger’s face, praying to spot it among the living. He was more afraid now than he had been all day. The worst outcome would be him alive and Roger dead: he would rather they were both dead.

When at last he caught sight of Roger he was slumped on the ground with his back against a cannon wheel, and his eyes were closed. Was he breathing? Kit feared the worst. He knelt beside him and touched his shoulder.

Roger opened his eyes and smiled.

‘Oh, thank God,’ said Kit, and he kissed him.

*

Sal had seen Kit, heading up the slope, walking upright and evidently unhurt, and she had felt a moment of pure relief; then she began to look for Jarge.

The 107th Foot were running across the valley, chasing the retreating French. She hoped Jarge was among them, but she checked those left on the battlefield, lying in the ruined wheat. Among them, the corpses were the lucky ones, she thought: for them, pain wasover. The others cried for water, or a surgeon, or their mothers. She hardened her heart and ignored them all.

When her eyes at last lit on Jarge she did not at first recognize him, and her gaze moved on; then something made her glance back, and she gasped with horror. He lay on his back, his neck cut half through, and his blind eyes were directed up at the darkening sky.

Sal was possessed by grief. She wept so much that she could hardly see. She knelt by the body and put her hand on his chest, as if she might feel a heartbeat, though she knew that was impossible. She touched his cheek, still warm. She smoothed his hair.

She had to bury him.

She stood up and wiped her eyes and looked around. The farmstead of Hougoumont was a couple of hundred yards away, and something was on fire in the compound. But one of the buildings looked like a small church or chapel.

Two men who looked familiar, and were probably part of the 107th, were returning across the valley, one limping slightly, the other carrying a sack that undoubtedly contained loot. She asked them to help her by hoisting Jarge’s body onto her shoulder, and they did.

Jarge was heavy, but she was strong, and she thought she could manage. She thanked the two looters and set off, crying as she went.

She picked her way across the battlefield, skirting the bodies, and passed through the gate into the compound. The château was burning but the chapel was intact. By the south wall of the little building was a small clear patch of grass. It might or might not be consecrated ground, but it looked to her like the right place to bury her man.

She put the body down as gently as she could. She straightened his legs and folded his arms across his chest. Then, tenderly, she put her hands to both sides of his head and moved it so that the neck wound closed and he looked more normal.

She stood up again and looked around the compound. There were bodies everywhere, hundreds of them. But this was a farm, so therehad to be a spade somewhere. She went into a barn. The debris of battle was everywhere: ammunition boxes, broken swords, empty bottles, random body parts – an arm, a booted foot, half a hand.

Hanging on a wall, suspended from wooden pegs, were a few peacetime tools. She seized a spade and returned to Jarge.

She began to dig. It was hard work. The earth was sodden with rain, which made it hard to lift. She wondered why her back hurt so much, then remembered that she had spent last night – was it only last night? – carrying fifty pounds of taters three miles to Waterloo and three miles back.

When she had dug down about four feet she felt as if she would die of exhaustion if she carried on, so she decided it would have to be enough.

She grabbed Jarge under his shoulders and dragged him slowly into the grave. When she had him in position she again arranged his body: legs straight, arms folded, head set properly on his neck.

She stood by the grave, looking at him, as the evening faded into night. She said the Lord’s Prayer. Then she looked up to heaven and said: ‘Go easy on him, Lord. There was—’

She choked up, and waited until she could speak again, and then she said: ‘There was more good in him than bad.’

She picked up the spade and began replacing the earth in the hole. She had done this once before, when she buried Harry twenty-three years ago. Then she had hesitated to drop earth on the man she loved, and it was the same now; but now as then she forced herself, for it was part of acknowledging that he had gone, and what remained was a shell. Earth to earth, she thought.

The worst part was when his body was covered but she could still see his face. Again she hesitated, and again she forced herself to do it.