The Generals

Chapter 68

Assaye, 23 September 1803

‘Good God . . .’ Fitzroy muttered as he gazed at the host stretched out along the far side of the Kaitna river. His mount shuffled as he and his general surveyed the enemy camp from a small hill half a mile from the river. The strongest position was to the east, where Scindia’s regular battalions were forming up on raised ground covering the far bank of the river. Interspersed amongst the enemy infantry were scores of artillery pieces.‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

Arthur smiled. ‘Nor have I. They must outnumber us fifteen or twenty to one. But now we have them. Scindia can’t escape a battle without having to abandon his guns.’

‘With those odds I doubt that escape is on his mind, sir. Any frontal attack across the river would be suicidal.’

‘Well, don’t be too troubled by those horsemen at least. They’re nothing but rabble.’

Fitzroy stared across the river.To the west tens of thousands of mounted Mahrattas were slowly saddling up and massing in their war bands.To the north of the village of Assaye, on the far side of another river, the Juah, another host of mounted men was gathering. Fitzroy cleared his throat.‘Even so, sir, if we meet them in the open, those horsemen will surround us in an instant.’

‘Perhaps,’ Arthur mused. ‘One thing is for certain, they know we are close. They’re already breaking camp and taking up positions for battle. So there goes the element of surprise. Get back to the column and bring the army up.Tell Maxwell to have his cavalry deploy on this side of the river. He’s to screen the movement of our infantry and guns.Tell them all to hurry.We’ve no time to lose.’

Once Fitzroy had galloped off Arthur hurriedly assessed the position. He was committed to an attack now. If he failed to strike then the British reputation for invincibility in India would be shattered. Worse still, an emboldened enemy would make any retreat a desperate business with the army operating at some distance from its supply base at Ahmadnagar. Arthur would have to win this battle if his army, and the reputation of his country, were to survive. But to get at the enemy he would have to cross the river and charge up the steep bank on the far side, straight into the muzzles of Scindia’s muskets and cannon. The casualties in such an attack would be horrific and the English army might well be broken before it ever came into contact with the Mahrattas.

As he looked again at the enemy line and followed the course of the Kaitna to the east he saw two villages on opposite banks of the river, a mile beyond the enemy’s left flank. A track led across the river plain to the nearer village and then seemed to resume on the far bank before it headed towards Assaye. His hircarrah scouts had assured him that the only place where the Kaitna could be crossed was at Kodully, almost opposite the centre of the enemy camp. Yet it seemed there must be a ford between the two villages to the east. Why else would they be there? In which case, that was where the army must cross. Once on the far bank Arthur’s battalions could form up across the narrow strip of land between the Kaitna and the Juah. If they moved swiftly enough then they might attack Scindia’s flank before his cumbersome forces could be redeployed to face the new threat.

By the time Fitzroy returned, Maxwell’s cavalry had reached its position and spread out across the plain between Kodully and the two villages Arthur had spotted. Behind them the infantry columns and guns marched towards the Kaitna, kicking up choking clouds of dust as they came on. As Fitzroy reined his horse in Arthur gave his orders.

‘We’ll have to hit them where they are strongest - over there on the right. If we can break Scindia’s best troops, and destroy his artillery, the rest will flee of their own accord. But we can’t risk a frontal attack. So,’ he turned and indicated the settlements either side of the river, ‘we’ll cross the river between those villages.’

Fitzroy frowned. ‘The scouts didn’t mention a ford there, sir.’ ‘I know, but there has to be one. Trust me.’

‘But what if there isn’t, sir?’

‘There will be,’ Arthur replied calmly. ‘Now go and tell our battalion commanders to make for the ford, then join me there. And pass the word for my groom. I’ll need a fresh horse ready during the battle. Diomed, I think.’

Fitzroy saluted. ‘Yes, sir. Pray God that you are right about the ford.’

Arthur examined the battlefield one last time from his vantage point. Swarms of enemy horsemen had crossed the Kaitna and approached Maxwell’s cavalry screen. Every so often one of the English galloper guns would fire a charge of grapeshot at any Mahrattas who drew too close, and they would turn tail and trot back out of range. There was no sign that they were willing to take the English cavalry on, Arthur noted with satisfaction. Then he turned his bay horse away, galloped down the gentle slope towards Maxwell’s small reserve and ordered a squadron to escort him while he examined what he hoped would be the ford between the two villages.

As the small column reached the first houses on the near bank it was clear that the Mahratta horsemen had thoroughly pillaged the place. Some of the houses were burned down and several bodies still lay in the street. At the sound of horses the remaining inhabitants scuttled inside their hovels and closed the doors behind them. Arthur led the way round the fringe of the village until they came to the track leading down into the river. The current flowed past gently enough but the water was a muddy brown so that it was impossible to gauge its depth from the bank.

Arthur tapped his heels into the flanks of the bay and urged his mount into the water, taking care to stay in line with the entrance and exit of the ford. The water splashed about the bay’s legs as the mare waded further into the current, yet even by the middle of the crossing the water barely came up to her belly. With a growing sense of relief Arthur urged her on until he approached the far bank and the river grew shallow again. Then he wheeled the bay round and kicked his heels in, and the mare surged back to the southern bank where the dragoon escort stood waiting. He called an order to their officer.

‘Get across and form a picket line two hundred yards from the far bank. Report any sign of enemy movement towards the ford immediately.’

He rode back until he could see the infantry columns approaching down the track and turned his attention to the enemy camp once more. It was clear that they had abandoned their original battle line and were moving to counter Arthur’s move on their flank. He tapped his riding crop against his boot for a moment, until he was aware that he was betraying his nerves and quickly stopped it as Fitzroy came riding up, gesturing towards the enemy.

‘Sir, have you seen? They have almost formed a new line already.’

‘Let them,’ Arthur replied. ‘They will not be able to bring more than a fraction of their forces to bear on us.Then we’ll see their true quality.’

Just after he spoke there was a dull roar close overhead and then a cannon ball smashed through the second floor of a house at the heart of the village, showering the street with mud plaster and rubble.

‘That must have been a twelve-pounder, at least,’ Fitzroy muttered.

‘More likely an eighteen-pounder,’ Arthur replied as he gauged the distance to the enemy. ‘From the direction of Assaye, I think.’

‘God help us if they get the range of the crossing.’

‘They won’t,’ Arthur replied calmly.‘They can’t possibly see it. There’s a slight rise between us and them. They’re firing blind.’

Even so, more shots passed overhead and some crashed into the village, unnerving the soldiers as they marched quickly through the main thoroughfare and down to the river. The first of the battalions and a few cannon hurried across to the far bank and marched straight on towards the Juah to take up their position on the right flank of Arthur’s battle line. As the second battalion thrashed across the river one of the dragoons from the picket came galloping down the far bank into the river and approached his general. He drew up, glistening from the spray that his mount had kicked up, and saluted.

‘My officer sends his compliments, sir, and begs to inform you that the enemy have completed their change of facing.They have also fortified the village of Assaye with batteries and some rough earthworks.’

‘That was quick,’ said Fitzroy. ‘Their commander knows his stuff. He’s trained them well.’

‘Yes,’ Arthur conceded. ‘But they’ll be no match for our men when the fighting starts.’ He turned back to the dragoon. ‘Was there any sign of movement from their battle line?’

‘No, sir. They were holding their ground when I left the picket.’

‘Good.’ Arthur nodded. ‘Then we still hold the initiative.You can return to your squadron now. Well done.’

The dragoon smiled with pride and raised his hand to salute. Then there was a wet crack and Arthur’s face was sprayed with warm fluid and what felt like lumps of mud. He instinctively wiped the mess away with his gloved hand and saw a thick red smear on the beige leather.

‘Christ Almighty!’ Fitzroy exclaimed.

Arthur looked up and saw that the dragoon was still sitting bolt upright in his saddle. Only his head was gone, and jets of blood spurted up from the tattered flesh at the stump of his neck. An enemy cannon ball had smashed it off and sprayed blood, brains and bone across the jackets and faces of Arthur and his staff. The man’s last spasm had alarmed his horse and it pranced skittishly, until, at last, the body slumped to one side and toppled from the saddle. Arthur recovered from the shock first and glanced at the frozen expressions of those around him.

‘Anyone else hurt?’

His staff officers hurriedly checked themselves, but they were uninjured and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. ‘A freak shot, gentlemen. Nothing more. We must continue with our duties as calmly as possible, please. Do not unnerve our men.They already have enough to concern them.’

As soon as the infantry and artillery were across, Arthur ordered two companies of sepoys to defend the village on the north bank of the Kaitna and sent a message to Maxwell to bring his cavalry across the river to join the rest of the army. The Mysore cavalry was to be left to counter the Mahratta horsemen on the southern side of the river, in case they made any attempt to attack the rear of the British army. Then Arthur rode forward to make sure that his infantry line was ready to advance. The regular battalions were positioned on the flanks with the Company soldiers formed up in the middle, with cannon filling the gaps between the battalions, which now stood in two lines. Before he gave the order to advance Arthur rode forward with Fitzroy on to the slight rise in the ground that stood between the two armies. From there Arthur could see that the neck of land between the Kaitna and the Juah became wider as the two rivers diverged. Which was just as well, he reflected, as he looked towards Assaye and saw that it was ringed with cannon, and its crude walls were packed with enemy soldiers.Any English troops who ventured within range of Assaye were bound to be mauled and Arthur determined to make it clear to his unit commanders that they were to stay well clear of Assaye in the coming attack. The enemy line had finished its manoeuvre and now stood ready to receive the British attack.

‘It seems that I have underestimated Scindia’s professional soldiers,’ Arthur commented wryly. ‘This is going to be a bloody action.We’ll keep our left flank close to the Kaitna as we advance. That will leave only the right flank to cover. Maxwell can manage that.’

A distant rumble and rattle drew their attention to a dozen British guns being hauled into position opposite the enemy line.

‘About time,’ said Fitzroy. ‘Now they can have a taste of their own medicine.’

But even as the artillery crews urged their draught bullocks forward the Mahratta gunners were shifting their aim from the ford and a moment later the first rounds landed around the limbered British guns and their crews, chewing up the soil in small explosions of earth and grass.

‘They’re using grapeshot,’ Fitzroy observed.

An instant later the enemy gunners hit their first target as the leading pair of a team of bullocks shuddered under the impact of the heavy lead balls and collapsed dead in their traces, bringing the rest to an abrupt halt. Two more guns were knocked out before the British could reply and it was clear to Arthur that any intention he had of destroying the enemy artillery before his infantry advanced was doomed to failure. The Mahratta artillery crews knew their business well and were firing almost as fast as the remaining British guns. It was clearly a desperately unequal exchange and as chain shot shattered the wheels of yet another of his guns, Arthur realised that the time had come for his infantry to advance into the teeth of the enemy fire.

‘Give the order for the artillery to withdraw.’

As Fitzroy spurred his mount over to the guns Arthur turned the bay back to his waiting infantry and rode down the line giving his orders to each battalion commander in turn to make certain they knew exactly what was expected of them. The officer commanding the pickets on the right flank, Colonel Orrock, was a florid-faced Company veteran. As Arthur explained about the danger of approaching too close to Assaye he was certain he smelled spirits on the man’s breath. But there was no time to upbraid the man and once Orrock confirmed that he understood his orders Arthur rode on to the other battalions, finally taking up position behind the kilted Scotsmen of the 78th on the left flank. He nodded to Colonel Harness and the latter bellowed the order to advance, and the rest of the line followed suit, tramping up the slight rise in echelon.

As the line reached the crest the British regiments had their first sight of the dense mass of the enemy line waiting for them five hundred yards away. The Mahratta guns stood a short distance in front of the infantry, spread across the ground from the Kaitna to Assaye. The survivors of the first guns Arthur had sent forward had lost most of their horses and bullocks and could not join the advance. Arthur knew that meant that all he had available to him now was a handful of the guns assigned directly to the regular battalions.

The fire of the enemy guns slackened for a moment as they saw the approaching line of redcoats, and then flame-stabbed smoke rippled along the line again. Some shot went high, ripping through the air close overhead; some fell short and ripped up the ground ahead of the British infantry. But those that were on target cut bloody paths through the British line, which were hurriedly closed up as the battalions continued forward at the same measured pace.The air was filled with the booming roar of cannon and the whirr of iron shot passing close by, and still Arthur’s men did not flinch, but advanced with stolid determination towards the enemy guns. Then, at sixty paces, Colonel Harness ordered his men to halt and make ready to fire. Just ahead of them the Mahrattas, with equal courage and discipline, still worked their guns, firing into the British line at point-blank range.

Primed and cocked, the British muskets rose up, aiming at the gun crews.

‘Fire!’ Harness shouted.

There was a deafening crash and a blanket of greasy smoke blossomed in front of the 78th and at once the muskets were lowered as the Scotsmen drew another cartridge from their pouches, bit off the ball and tipped the powder into their muzzles, together with the waxed paper, spat the ball in after and packed the lot down firmly with their ramrods. Pans primed, they raised their muskets again and Harness cried out the order to unleash another volley.

Even as the sound of the last shot died away, Harness called for his men to fix bayonets and advance. Arthur rode forward with them, through the swirling smoke, emerging to see that the guns directly in front of the 78th had almost all been silenced. Miraculously, two full crews still remained, and still stood by their weapons, loading another round of grapeshot. As soon as he saw them, Harness increased the pace and the redcoats with their feathered bonnets and flapping kilts charged home. The Mahrattas snatched up their ramrods, handspikes and any other weapons that were to hand and threw themselves at the British. Despite their courage, the fight was over in a moment and the gunners lay where they had fallen around and under their cannon.

‘The 78th will re-form and reload!’ Harness yelled, and his men quickly closed up to face the block of enemy infantry behind the guns, barely more than a hundred yards away.The din of their shouted war cries and beaten drums contrasted sharply with the cool silence of the British ranks.

To his right, Arthur saw the battalion of sepoys halt to fire a volley at the gun crews in front of them and then they too charged home with the bayonet. Meanwhile, as the 78th began to advance again, the enemy infantry raised their muskets and fired a volley. The range was long and most shots missed, but some found their mark and men spun round and collapsed under the impact, before tumbling on to the trampled grass. Arthur felt the bay lurch beneath him and begin to topple to one side. Instantly he dropped the reins, kicked his feet free of the stirrups and threw himself clear just before the horse hit the ground and rolled over.The impact drove the breath from his lungs and for a moment he crouched on hands and knees, gasping for air.

‘Sir!’ A hand lifted him under the arm and pulled him up.‘Are you hurt?’

Arthur waved his hand as he struggled to breathe. ‘Fine . . . Just winded.’

He glanced round and saw that it was the young grenadier officer who had carried the bastion at Ahmadnagar, Lieutenant Campbell. ‘Thank you, Campbell. Now, my hat, if you please.’

The officer plucked it from the ground and handed it to Arthur. ‘I need to re-join my men, sir.’

‘By all means.’

Campbell trotted forward a few paces to catch up with his men just as Harness halted the 78th fifty paces from the enemy and calmly called out the order to fire another volley, as if it was just another parade ground exercise.

‘Fire!’

The volley thundered out and a withering storm of lead slashed through the Mahratta troops so that most of the men in the front line went down. This time there was no second volley and Harness immediately followed up with the order to charge with the bayonet. The enemy, having already witnessed the slaughter of the artillery crews, shuffled back several paces, and then the first of them turned to run, and in moments the panic was contagious and they broke and ran. With a roar of triumph the 78th ran after them, bayoneting the few who were brave enough to stand their ground.

As he caught his breath Arthur looked to the right and saw the sepoy battalion next in line charge home, and the panic from those men who had fled from the 78th communicated itself along the line so that those opposite the sepoys also broke and fled before the redcoats. Arthur felt a moment’s satisfaction at the sight of his plan bearing fruit. No native unit in India could have withstood the large, fierce men of the 78th, and once they broke Scindia’s line the other units had collapsed, just as Arthur had hoped they would. He turned to look for the groom who had been told to follow his general at a discreet distance with a remount. The man had already seen the bay fall and was trotting forward, leading Diomed by the reins. Retrieving his pistols, sabre and telescope from the dead bay, Arthur climbed into the saddle and ordered the groom to return to Maxwell’s reserve regiment of native cavalry.

From the vantage point of the saddle Arthur could see that Harness had managed to recall his men and the 78th was once again forming up as it waited for further orders. The Company officers were having less luck with their men who, having broken the Mahratta line, were excitedly running down and killing their enemies. For nearly a thousand yards the enemy line was destroyed and the ground between the two rivers was covered with figures streaming away from the British regulars and sepoys. To Arthur’s delight he estimated that thirty or forty guns had been captured. Without artillery, Scindia’s power would be broken and the best he could hope for was a war of brigandage against his British opponents.

Beyond the fleeing enemy Arthur noticed several large groups of Mahratta cavalry riding forward, heedlessly knocking aside their fleeing compatriots on the ground. He looked round and saw that the two four-pounders allocated to the 78th were trundling up a short way behind the regiment.Turning Diomed, he rode over to the officer in charge of the guns.

‘See those horsemen approaching? I want you to unlimber just ahead of the 78th and fire grape into any body of horsemen who venture within range, understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The Company officer saluted and turned to urge his contractors to goad the bullocks forward at a faster pace as the guns bumped across the uneven ground behind the limber. Once they were in position the crews quickly unhitched the trails, manhandled the guns round towards the advancing enemy horsemen and loaded with grapeshot. The first gun fired with a loud crack and the ground close to the nearest body of Mahratta horsemen was torn up. At once they stopped, wheeled their mounts round and galloped away until they were well out of range.

But even as Arthur began to feel that victory was firmly in his grasp the air reverberated with a sudden furious barrage of cannon fire from the direction of Assaye. His stomach clenched in anxiety. His orders had been clear enough: the place was to be avoided, yet there was no mistaking the direction of the cannonade. He spurred Diomed forward and rode to the sound of the guns.To his left the officers of the Company battalions had finally reined in their men and were forming them up to wait for new orders. In front and to the right of Arthur the ground was strewn with the bodies of Scindia’s men, together with a sprinkling of redcoats, a clear sign that Arthur’s confidence in the training, discipline and courage of his troops was not misplaced. He smiled as he took a moment’s pride in what had been achieved. Then his expression hardened as he reached the right flank of the British line and came across scores of redcoats sprawled across the bloodied ground; torn to pieces by grape and chain shot from the guns around Assaye.

It was clear what had happened. Some fool had blundered towards the village instead of closing on the main body of Scindia’s troops. With a sinking sensation he recalled Orrock’s appearance a little earlier on, when he had given the man his orders. It was too late to berate the man now; the damage was done. Looking around Arthur realised that hundreds of men had been cut down before the village. The survivors of Orrock’s pickets, and the 74th, which had been following him, had formed a square to protect them from the Mahratta cavalry that had charged from the enemy positions around Assaye, emboldened by the carnage their gunners had wrought on the British formations. The redcoats had held their own, firing volleys into the horsemen that swirled around them, all the time adding to the bodies of men and horses heaped about them. But already the Mahratta commanders were trying to gather their men in, ready to advance against the British flank from the direction of Assaye. Arthur saw the danger at once.

Five hundred yards behind the 74th’s square Maxwell’s cavalry stood formed and ready to charge. Arthur saw that Maxwell and his staff were advanced a hundred yards ahead of their men.There was not a moment to lose. Arthur snatched his hat from his head and waved it frantically from side to side to attract Maxwell’s attention. Then one of the staff officers edged his mount alongside Maxwell and pointed in Arthur’s direction. Arthur waited a moment until he was certain that his cavalry commander had seen him, and then drew his sabre and thrust it in the direction of the enemy forming up around Assaye. For a moment he was not sure that Maxwell had understood, and then the shrill notes of a trumpet carried across the battlefield and the dragoons and native cavalry eased forward into a trot, slowly gathering pace as they swept across the ground, bypassing the cheering men of the 74th, and then charged the horsemen and guns around Assaye. All along the line glinting steel glittered in the late afternoon sun as they drew their sabres and spurred their mounts into a full gallop to close the final gap between them and the Mahrattas. They were bigger men and far better mounted than their enemy, and the impetus of the charge shattered the Mahratta forces around Assaye. The men of Maxwell’s three regiments slashed about them as they carved a path through the enemy formations, striking down gunners, horsemen and the infantry at the other end of Scindia’s battle line.

It was an impressive enough sight, Arthur reflected, but he knew all too well that the same spirit that made men choose to join the cavalry made them live for precisely this moment: the mad gallop at the enemy, the shattering of his formations and then the thrill of the pursuit afterwards. Even as he watched, the British cavalry swept on through the flank of Scindia’s army, scattering their enemies who turned to flee across the Juah river. Maxwell and his men were carried away by their success and charged on after them, across the river, leaving the battlefield.

Arthur’s relief at the impact of their charge abruptly turned to frustration and anger. The army was small enough as it was without a significant part of it losing their heads and charging off when they were most needed by their general. As he rode up to the 74th his anger was interrupted by a distant cannon shot from the rear of the British position. He reined in and turned to look. Some of the enemy cannon had been recaptured by Mahratta gunners and they were now firing at the 74th.

‘How the hell . . .’ Arthur began before he realised they must have been feigning death when the British line swept over them. Some Mahratta horsemen had also managed to work their way round the right flank, no longer covered by Maxwell’s cavalry, and were helping to serve Scindia’s guns. As Arthur looked, another gun fired, and this time the shot was true and cut down two men at the corner of the square as it tore through their chests and flung the bloody remnants at the feet of their comrades.

There were only two formations ready for action, Arthur realised. The 78th and the 7th Native cavalry in the reserve. He turned Diomed about and galloped back across the field of bodies to Colonel Harness.

‘We have enemy to the rear!’Arthur gestured back towards the guns.

‘I wondered what the noise was.’ Harness frowned. ‘But those guns were taken, sir.’

‘Evidently not. We’ll have to do the job again. Get your men back there as quickly as possible.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Arthur left the colonel to bellow his new orders and galloped back across the rear of his re-forming infantry battalions to the cavalry reserve, still behind the rise that the rest of the army had crossed just over an hour earlier. Explaining the situation to the regiment’s colonel, Arthur took over the command and ordered the regiment to form a line. As the manoeuvre was complete he ordered the men forward. They crested the rise and Arthur saw the 78th marching towards them. In between the two British forces Scindia’s men were firing their guns with the same dedicated efficiency as they had before, bombarding the remains of the 74th as that regiment fell back towards Assaye.

Drawing his sabre, Arthur indicated the guns and gave the order to increase pace to a trot as they flowed down the gentle slope towards the Mahrattas. They were spotted at once and the horsemen abandoned their guns and ran for their mounts, leaving the gunners to snatch up whatever weapons they could as the British converged on them. Once they had closed to within the last three hundred yards of the line of guns, Arthur shouted the order to charge. Diomed’s hooves drummed on the baked ground beneath him and her mane flickered in the wind and Arthur felt his heart pounding like a hammer as the cavalry thundered towards the enemy.

They smashed through the loose mass of Scindia’s horsemen, hacking and slashing with their sabres. The crude tulwars of the Mahratta horsemen were no match for the well-forged steel of the English blades, often shattering under the impact. Arthur saw a man to his side and made a cut to the head with all his strength. The edge of the blade struck the man on his turban, cutting through some layers of cloth and knocking him cold. He grunted and slipped from his saddle, while Arthur recovered his sword and rested it against his shoulder as he slowed Diomed and looked round. The enemy horsemen were already routed, riding their small beasts away from the melee as swiftly as they could as they raced for the safety of the Juah river.

‘Keep moving!’ Arthur called out. ‘Go for the guns!’

He urged Diomed forward and the native cavalry followed, charging in amongst Scindia’s artillery crews, who had finally ceased firing and were preparing to make their final stand. Arthur’s eye fixed on a richly dressed officer and with a twitch of the reins he steered Diomed towards the man, extending the tip of his sabre as he spurred the mare into a canter. The Maharatta officer saw him coming, and snatched up a handspike from the nearest gun and held it ready, as if it was a spear. At the last moment, Arthur swerved slightly and made a cut with his sabre. But the officer was too swift and dodged aside and at the same time rammed the handspike into Diomed’s chest with all his might.

A shrill whinny of agony and terror burst from the mare’s muzzle and she reared up so abruptly that Arthur was nearly unseated. He clamped his thighs round Diomed’s girth and threw his weight forward. The horse dropped to four feet again, the shaft of the handspike protruding from the bloody wound. The Mahratta officer had drawn his tulwar and darted forward to attack the British general. Arthur parried the blow, flicked his sword and cut at an angle into the man’s neck, severing muscles and arteries before the blade cut into the bone. The enemy officer had a startled expression on his face as the blood gushed from his wound in thick jets, then, as Arthur yanked the blade free, he toppled to the ground. Diomed was staggering dangerously, and Arthur sheathed his blade and slipped down from the saddle.

‘Easy, girl,’ he said softly as he worked his way forward to her head. ‘Easy.’

The handspike was lodged solidly in her chest and flecks of blood sprayed from her muzzle as her nostrils flared. She had been piked through a lung, Arthur realised.There was nothing he could do for her now. Such a wound was usually fatal, in which case the merciful thing to do was end the animal’s agony. Arthur drew a pistol from the saddle and his lips pressed into a thin line as he eased the muzzle to the side of the horse’s head and pulled the trigger. Diomed bucked to one side, legs tensing briefly before she died.

Arthur stared at Diomed for a moment before he took one of the few mounts that had been made available by the loss of its rider during the skirmish. From the saddle he saw the last of the gunners being shot down by Harness as they tried to flee towards the bank of the Kaitna. Arthur’s third mount of the day was a poor replacement for his previous horses and was badly blown by the long marches it had endured over the course of the day and the previous night.

By the time Arthur reached the infantry line every battalion had formed up in a line that ran across the spit of land. Ahead of them the remains of Scindia’s army formed their third line of defence for the day, with their backs to the Juah river. Most of Maxwell’s cavalry had drifted back across the river and was re-forming to the east of the British line, just outside Assaye.

Arthur steered his new mount towards Maxwell and his tired, but elated, troopers.

‘One last task for you today.’ Arthur forced himself to smile, aware that their initial exchange would be overheard by the nearest men.

‘Name it, sir.’ Maxwell was grinning, clearly having the time of his life. ‘Did you see my boys charge, sir? We tore them to pieces, by God! Would have chased them all the way to the Himalayas if the lads had had their way.’

‘Then I’m thankful that they didn’t. I need you here and I need you now. When the final attack goes forward, you must charge their flank and break them. Once the flank goes their whole line will collapse. I’m sure of it.’

‘You can count on us, sir.’ Maxwell saluted.

‘I am counting on you.’ Arthur lowered his voice. ‘And this time I’d be obliged if you retained greater control over your men. There are tens of thousands of enemy horsemen still in the field and I need every damn trooper I can lay my hands on if this battle is to end well for us. Do I make myself clear, Maxwell?’

‘Yes, sir. Amply.’

‘Then you have your orders. Carry them out.’

Once again, Arthur took a position beside the 78th and a peculiar stillness hung over the plain. The sun was sinking towards the horizon and a golden slanted light threw long shadows across the flattened and bloodstained grass of the battlefield. He drew a deep breath and raised his hat in the air.

‘The line will advance!’

Harness bellowed the order to his men, and then it was repeated across each battalion as the redcoats marched towards the enemy, in echelon as before. On the far right of the line the shrill cry of cavalry trumpets sounded as Maxwell, at the head of his men, charged towards the men closest to Assaye, now held by the survivors of the 74th. In his excited state Maxwell had led his men at an oblique angle to the enemy line and before he could correct the direction his men instinctively edged away so that the whole force charged along the front of Scindia’s remaining battalions, under fire, before they reached open ground some distance beyond.

Arthur cursed the man, but at least the cavalry had inadvertently covered the advance of the infantry and they emerged from the clouds of dust kicked up by the horses close enough to halt and deliver a crashing volley before the enemy could react. The shock was too much for Scindia’s men and before the British battalions could decide the final stage of the battle with the bayonet, the enemy turned and fled in a single mass, surging into the waters of the Juah. The redcoats pursued them to the water’s edge and halted, too tired to go any further and with their bloodlust finally sated after the day’s awful slaughter. Instead, they set down their weapons and drank greedily from the water, before refilling their canteens for the first time since the previous day.

Arthur watched the fleeing enemy for a while longer as they disappeared into the twilight. Then he turned to survey the battlefield, strewn with bodies and abandoned guns. In the distance there was still an occasional explosion from the enemy’s ammunition tumbrils where some slow fuses had set fire to the gunpowder-laden vehicles abandoned by the enemy. Scindia’s army had lost every artillery piece. The trained battalions of regulars he had set so much store by had all been shattered and driven from the field.The victory was as complete as it could be, Arthur reflected. His men had proved their superiority over the enemy beyond any doubt, and word of this battle would soon reach every corner of India, and beyond. It took a moment for his exhausted mind to register that more than a battle had been won. Britain was now the undisputed master of the subcontinent.

There was still much to do to cement the victory, to settle scores with the remnants of the Mahratta warlords still opposed to Britain, but the end was inevitable. As Arthur turned away from the river to give orders for the men to camp in the open near Assaye a leaden weariness settled on him. At last, long after night had fallen, he stumbled through long lines of slumbering and snoring men towards the small farmhouse he had chosen for his headquarters. The men’s sleep was far from peaceful and several times he heard voices cry out suddenly as men woke with a start, troubled by nightmare visions of the battle.

By then Arthur had been given a provisional butcher’s bill. Over a quarter of his army had been killed or wounded, including Maxwell who had been shot from his saddle as he led his men in their final, poorly executed charge. Seldom had a victory been won with such a high proportion of losses, he reflected sadly as he finally settled down on some straw in a corner of the barn with the other senior officers. But then seldom had a new empire been created for the loss of so few men. For it was true. Between them, he and Richard had forged an empire from this vast expanse of land.When they had arrived, British possessions had been but small inroads on the map of the subcontinent. Now British influence, British trade, British law and British armies would cross India at will and bring peace and order on a scale to equal all the lands and peoples of Europe.

It was a heady vision. Almost too great a success for Arthur to comprehend, and at length his weary mind slipped into a deep sleep even as he sat, leaning against the rough mud plaster wall. There Fitzroy found him a short while later, once he had completed the battle report in his notebook. Fitzroy gazed down at the tired face, and realised for the first time the great strain that the campaign had placed on his friend. He smiled as he took off his jacket and laid it gently over his commander.

‘Rest, my general,’ he said softly. ‘You have earned it.’