“You drove them in, my lord,” I said. “And most of the men have come back. So, that is a victory.”
“Is it?”
I put on my sincere face. “I believe it is, my lord.”
“I know not. I hope that is so, but I know not.”
He rode up the slope toward the guns. They had all been placed, and the limbers and wagons withdrawn. Lipton and his men had taken off their boots, had opened barrels of powder, and were pouring the powder out onto tarpaulins.
“Captain!” said I in surprise. “What is this?”
Lipton looked up from his work, then came toward us in his bare feet, holding out his hands. “Keep back, your honors,” he said. “You don’t want your horseshoes striking sparks near that powder.”
I hastily drew my horse back. “What are you doing with the gunpowder?”
“The powder has separated, sure,” said Lipton. “Days of rattling up and down these mountains has shaken the serpentine powder in its barrels, and the nitre has come adrift from the sulphur and charcoal.” He made heaping gestures with his hands. “We must remix the powder by hand and return it to the barrels before we can use it.” He looked up at the sky. “Gods be thanked, it is not raining.”
“Gods be thanked,” I repeated. “You will finish this task before the battle begins?”
“Fear not, your honors,” said Lipton. “Once the powder is remixed, you can count on each gun firing every four or five minutes, sure.”
That seemed not such a good pace. “Is that the best you can manage?” asked I. “When I was on a privateer, the powder was in premade linen bags that were stuffed down the muzzle. Can you not use such cartridges, instead of ladling the powder into your weapons?”
Lipton put on a dignified expression. “It is part of our art to know exactly how much powder to ladle into the gun, so that the ball may land exactly where intended.”
“Yet if you could more than double your rate of fire, would that not compensate for a certain amount of inaccuracy?”
“Yet the powder would still separate, whether it was in linen bags or no,” said Lipton. “Can you imagine us opening hundreds of those bags, remixing the powder, and then stuffing it into the bags again and sewing them up?”
“The privateer needed not to do this.”
Lipton looked over his shoulder at the powder, and then shook his head.
“A privately owned ship may buy good corned powder,” Lipton said. “Corned powder does not separate. But that is not permitted to us.”
I looked at him in surprise. “Why may you not have corned powder?”
“The royal army is required to purchase its powder from the Royal Powder Mill outside Selford, and the Royal Powder Mill does not make corned powder—has no reason to, you see, because they are guaranteed to sell to the army and navy whether their powder is good or no. So, they make this inferior serpentine powder, and we gunners must suffer.”
Lord Utterback showed no surprise at this revelation. “Well,” said he. “You may return to your mixing.”
“Very well, your lordship.”
When Lipton returned to his task, Lord Utterback remained unmoving, sitting very straight on his horse with his sword still in his hand.
“My lord,” I said. “You can put your sword away.”
He looked at the sword in his fist as if seeing it for the first time, and then drove it into the scabbard.
“My lord,” I said. “You can see the enemy from here.” I pointed down the slope, to where the road curved away to the right.
I had bought a cheap cardboard telescope in Selford, and I drew it from its scabbard and put it to my eye. The rebels had resumed their advance down the road, and the lead elements of horse were already filtering up onto the scales, and were in sight of our force. I could see light winking from the enemy telescopes as they viewed our line, all drawn up behind the hedge with their flags flying above.
Farther down the road was nothing but long dark lines of men marching beneath a waving succession of banners. Occasionally the sun winked off a spear-point or a piece of armor, but of particulars I could make out nothing.
“Perhaps, my lord,” I said, “you can see more than I can.”
Lord Utterback brought out his own telescope, a far more useful device than my cardboard toy, and tried to use it, but then realized his face-cage was in the way. He raised the cage, then applied the glass to his eye. His face remained expressionless as he viewed the marching enemy, and then I could see his lips move as he counted regimental flags. Then he stopped counting, and leaned forward.
“Lipton!” he said. “Bring us your glass!”
The gunner hastened to us, drawing his brass-mounted telescope from its case as he came. Utterback made an impatient gesture.
“Give it to Quillifer!”
I tucked my own glass under my arm, took Lipton’s instrument, and put it to my eye. The enemy force appeared in much greater clarity than previously—and my heart sank as I realized their numbers were greater than I had imagined.
“Look about a third of the way back,” Utterback said. “See you that white banner?”
“Ay.”
“It is carried on a cart, is it not? Drawn by white oxen?”
“Ay.”
“Can you see what badge it bears?”
I looked, but with the distance and the banner’s rippling in the wind, I could see little. “I believe it carries a shield.”
“The Pilgrim save us,” Utterback breathed. He lowered his glass. “I believe it is the Carrociro.”
My heart sank. “The royal standard,” I said.
“It is flown only in the presence of the monarch,” said Lord Utterback. “Or in this case the Regent, who is Clayborne. And Clayborne would not be here were this not his main force.”
At once I understood the situation. The Knight Marshal had intended to descend from the mountains and strike at Clayborne’s left, while Clayborne planned to march over Exton Pass to strike at the left of the Queen’s Army. If both succeeded, they would swing round each other like couples at a dance, each ending in the other’s rear. But if Clayborne broke through us while his improvised entrenchments at Peckside held off the Marshal, then he would be in the Marshal’s rear and in perfect position to destroy him.
I turned to Utterback. “My lord,” I said, “you must send to the Marshal for aid.”
He blinked at me, then nodded. “I will write him a message. You stay here and count the enemy and see how many regiments are coming at us, then report to me.”
“I will, my lord.”
Lord Utterback galloped away, clods of mud flying from his horse’s hooves, and I returned Lipton’s glass to my eye. It was difficult to count the enemy, to distinguish regimental flags from guidons carried by individual companies, the ensigns used to mark administrative units, or from the personal banners of knights and lords and other persons of quality.
Lipton’s voice came near my elbow. “It is a pity that the Captain General threw away the cavalry too soon.”
I clenched my teeth. “The charge delayed the enemy. We must hope for more delay.”
“Oh, ay.” Lipton’s voice was meditative. “But you will scarce get two charges out of cavalry in a day. Even if the troopers prove willing, sure the horses may not.”
I was all too familiar with the wayward perversity of horses. I looked down at him. “You are full of cheer this day.”
He grinned up at me. “Fear not, youngster. You have a fine horse, and may run away at need. Those other cavalry, their horses are tired and they will all be cut down before you.”
Cut down because Utterback, at my urging, had thrown away the one charge our horse could be counted on to make.