Dragoons who now seemed happy to let the Riflemen slip away. “They’re not very eager today,” the Lieutenant grumbled.

“They’re dreaming of home,” Murray said wistfully. “Of chicken and garlic in a pot, good red wine, and a plump girl in bed. Who wants to die in a miserable place like this if that’s waiting for you?”

“We’ll retire by column of half companies!” Dunnett, convinced that the enemy would not risk closing the gap, planned to turn his back on them and simply march away. “Captain Murray? Your men first, if you please.”

But before Murray could give an order, the new Lieutenant’s voice called in urgent warning,“

“Ware cavalry behind!”

“They’re ours, you fool!” Dunnett’s distaste for the Quartermaster could not be disguised.

“Oh, Christ!” Murray had turned to look up the road along which the four companies must retreat. “Rear rank! About turn! Major Dunnett! They’re crapauds!”

God alone knew how, but a new enemy had appeared behind. There was no time to wonder where they had come from, only to turn and face the three fresh squadrons of Dragoons. The French cavalry rode with open cloaks which revealed their pink-faced green coats. They carried drawn swords. They were led, curiously, by a chasseur; an officer in the red coat, scarlet pelisse and black fur hat of the Emperor’s Imperial Guard. Alongside him, mounted on a big roan, was an equally strange figure; a man dressed in a black riding coat and boots that were gleaming white.

Dunnett gaped at the new enemy. Riflemen frantically reloaded empty weapons. The Quartermaster knelt, braced his rifle by looping its sling about his left elbow, and fired at the chasseur.