Inferno

Chapter 72

General Cathcart’s headquarters, Hellerup

The spacious farmstead was seething with activity and no one could spare the time to explain. A harassed aide eventually told them, ‘We’ve word from our scouts inland. The Danes have landed an army to the south. It’s to join another advancing from the north-west with the object of falling on our rear and raising the siege.’

‘An army? Where did this come from, for God’s sake?’

‘No time. Stand ready to be redeployed, anything. Good luck!’

Behind the closed doors all military commanders were in conclave.

First to emerge was Wellesley, cool and patrician. He strode out without a sideways glance, quickly followed by the two divisional commanders.

Maynard and Adams stood back respectfully as brigadiers and colonels followed.

‘The 52nd Regiment of Foot. All officers of the 52nd this way, if you please, gentlemen.’

The room was crowded but the major was brief to the point of curtness. ‘With immediate effect, four companies of the 52nd are detached and assigned to the Reserve Division. These are …’

He rattled them off from a list and Maynard heard his own included.

‘All others revert to their line assignments and may leave now.’

As the room began to empty of half its number, the major waited with heavy patience.

Maynard was confused. Reserve Division? What were they to do? Skulk in the background until called on to join the struggle? Then, with a stab of realisation, he understood. This division was the one set back from the others to act as a roving force against threats to the besiegers from inland. And therefore in the forefront of the first serious challenge to the invaders.

The major cleared his throat. ‘You probably know by now that there are two armies of unknown force on the march against us. You will also know that-’

‘Sir – where did they come from?’ Maynard found himself blurting. The appearance without warning of such a hostile force in their rear … He couldn’t believe that the navy had let them down to this extent.

‘Questions after, damn it, Ensign!’ he barked. ‘You will know that it will be the chief object of the divisional commander to prevent a conjunction of the two forces. Our intelligence is limited, our videttes even now under attack, and all I can tell you is that you will shortly be very busy indeed.

‘You will return to your men, have them in full marching order to step off at dawn, baggage to follow. You are to join with the Reserve Division at Vanlose, placing yourself under the orders of Brigadier Stewart of the 43rd Monmouths who will dispose of you as he sees fit. Understand?’

‘Sir, you were going to tell us why-’

‘No time! I’ve others to deal with. Any other questions? No? Good. On your way out, tell the 79th to come in, will you.’

The camp was in uproar but discipline took hold and the detachment was on the march as soon as it was light enough to move.

Only three miles. For light infantry swinging along through the gently rolling Danish countryside in the tentative morning light, it was far from onerous.

At Vanlose they halted and waited while Brigadier Stewart’s pleasure was known. This rear encampment was in a lively state, with the battalions of several regiments to be moulded into one fighting formation with their equipage. Elements of the famous 95th Rifles, Highlanders of the 92nd and their sister regiment, the 43rd, joined by dragoons of the King’s German Legion. A mixed body and none too sizeable but its character was plain: fast-moving, seasoned and professional. It had to be to face two armies in succession.

‘No artillery,’ Adams said moodily, surveying the drawn-up soldiery. ‘I suppose His Nibs knows what he’s doing.’

‘You mean Sir Arthur?’

‘In course, old boy. He’s personal command of the Reserve Division.’

The unmistakable figure of Wellesley emerged from Headquarters, another farmhouse. He strode briskly and a gaggle of staff officers hurried to follow. He spoke briefly to Brigadier Stewart, who saluted and marched away, then called to his aide-de-camp and disappeared back inside. Maynard watched with awe: with this fighting general they would be taking the field very soon.

To his surprise, they did not. The men were stood at ease, then rest on their arms. And still the interminable waiting.

At a little before eleven Wellesley again left his headquarters with a colonel Maynard didn’t recognise, who was arguing with the general.

‘Damn! I’m going to see what’s happening,’ Maynard muttered. He found a piece of paper to flourish, walked past them, then stopped to pore over it while he listened.

‘Sir! I must protest. It’s – it’s not to be countenanced! Common sense dictates we deal with one before they can conjoin. We must-’

‘Colonel, you will obey my orders or I shall have you cashiered, sir,’ Wellesley interrupted distantly, and continued on, leaving the colonel red-faced.

Maynard noticed a thin-faced staff captain nearby and sidled up to him. ‘I’d be much obliged, sir, to know what the devil is going on.’

The officer swung around in irritation, but answered, ‘As we’ve been waiting for the scouts to report. Now they have. Two forces – the north-west under one General Castenschiold, seven battalions, artillery. The other, Oxholm with four battalions, landed in Koge, the other side of the city.’

‘How did they get past the navy, do you think?’

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘They didn’t. These are militia, raised from the countryside and islands.’

‘Ah. Eleven battalions – we’re outnumbered, then.’

‘Is why our worthy colonel is choking on General Wellesley’s orders.’

‘Not to move on them now?’

‘His Nibs believes our soldierly qualities are superior and desires that the joining is allowed to take place, the better to defeat them as one whole.’

‘Then we’ll-’

‘Castenschiold is marching south to join Oxholm in Koge, which takes him across our front. We shall wheel around him by making a feint at Roskilde, but the devil is in the deployment – the King’s German Legion are even now sweeping about to take them in the rear, ready for when we bring ’em to battle. Easy, really.’

Only if the haughty and patrician Wellesley really did know his men, Maynard reflected. ‘And when …?’

‘Tomorrow morning, I should think.’