Highest Stakes (10 page)

  By the look of it, none deserved to wear the uniform, but the sorting of the wheat from the chaff would start today. Those few who made
his cut would be worthy of the Horse Guard; the rest were fre
e to join the expendable ranks of the infantry. It was time to test their mettle, and humbling this cocksure pair was the perfect start.

  "It would appear, gentlemen," the captain said to the column of troopers, "that with this expert horseman and this master swordsman among our ranks, we should all benefit from an exhibition of their skills. The day's training is about to begin."
B'God, he hadn't enjoyed
himself this much in a long time!

  Calling to his subaltern, the captain ordered his horse.

  "Soundness… sense… swiftness… stamina… and strength," he repeated when the corporal returned leading a glossy ebony stallion. Leading the impressive charger to a position opposite the skewbald, the captain remarked, "What of Hawke here? By comparison, he would be near antithesis of your ideal."

  Devington remembered this remarkable horse from his racing days. Although past his prime for the track, Hastings's Hawke was still a magnificent horse.

  "A matchless beast to be sure, Captain, but I stand by my appraisal of Ol' Jack."

  "Indeed, you say!" The captain laughed. "We shall soon test his mettle, as well as your own."

  Stepping out of earshot, Captain Drake spoke again to his subaltern, who departed briskly to carry out the captain's orders.

  "Well, gentlemen," the captain said to Devington and Prescott, "'twould appear the two of you just might make a whole. Furthermore, Devington, given the unparalleled claims you have made of the strength and speed of your
noble steed
, it shouldn't be out of the question to put him to the test against Hawke… while carrying you both." He paused while the company digested the outlandish challenge.

  "You can't really expect this, Captain?" Devington was incredulous.

  "Indeed, I do. This and more. 'Tis not an impossible feat to demand of a war horse, should one of your comrades be cut down or lose his own mount in the course of battle." The captain indicated the training field. "Do you see the effigies hanging in various positions around the field?"

  The troopers strained to see the long column of straw-stuffed effigies of the French cavalry.

  "Upon my signal to charge, you shall proceed against me and Hawke down the field. Your challenge is to be first to cut down each of the effigies. Thence you shall continue the circumference of the field at full gallop. Should you both remain horsed during this exercise, upon your return to this very spot, Trooper Prescott will engage my sword. You shall ride as one man and fight as one man. Do you comprehend?"

  "All while mounted on this nag?" Prescott snorted with ripe contempt.

  "Such dismay, Prescott? Trooper Devington has full faith in the beast," the captain replied with a smirk.

  Prescott's eyes flashed with fury as he clumsily pulled himself up behind Devington while the captain agilely mounted his snorting black.

  "This sorry nag had better sprout wings, Devington!
You'll
engage my sword if my career ends today because of you," Prescott hissed.

  "Just concentrate on your swordplay, Prescott, and leave the horse to me."

  "Are you ready, gentlemen?" The captain quirked a mocking brow. Both troopers nodded. In truth, the captain's plan was a simple exercise in humility, as the entire company would witness their unhorsing and humiliation upon the cannon fire he covertly ordered.

  However, as the earth shook in repercussion from the booming thunderclap of the cannon, the captain had underestimated both the resolve of Trooper Devington and the sensibility of his sturdy gelding.

  As ranks of troopers struggled to control their wide-eyed mounts, Devington's skewbald remained the least ruffled of the herd. Startling slightly, he recovered and responded readily to Devington's cue, and they galloped down the field toward their intended targets.

  The captain was astonished. Even Hawke had reared unexpectedly, nearly unhorsing him. He had regained control only to see the trio well on their way down the field. Wheeling Hawke into eager pursuit, the lean hot-blood hastily gained lengths on the smaller, stockier horse. The pair drove hard down the field, and Ol' Jack approached the first target. Within slashing distance, Robert cued his mount, and Prescott struck in concert, skillfully cutting down the first of the straw-stuffed soldiers of the
Gen d'Armes.

  The thunder of hoof beats was closer upon them, and Captain Drake and Hawke came up alongside. Robert, leaning forward in his saddle, coaxed Ol' Jack, and the gelding, straining under the heavy burden, nonetheless surged with a grunt of renewed effort, fighting to keep pace with the leggy Hawke.

  As the next target came into sight, Captain Drake pushed easily ahead, squeezed into position, and sliced through the rope. On release, the dummy swung back to strike the other pair of riders. Robert ducked, but Prescott was hit hard in the face, thrown off balance and onto the ground.

  Devington cursed, recalling his own success and his very fate were entwined with Prescott's. Pulling his horse into a hard halt on its haunches, they executed a half-pirouette, and without missing a beat, Robert swept down from his saddle to hoist his companion back up. He spurred the horse again, and Ol' Jack gave his all in response, but they had lost valuable time. The captain had nearly finished the course by the time the trio were headed back down the field.

  They had failed. He burned with the injustice yet vowed to endure to the bitter end.

  "Ah, Troopers Devington and Prescott, you join me at last! Better late than never, I suppose," Drake chided. "Prepare your weapon, Prescott," the captain commanded, maneuvering his horse to face them and drawing his saber.

  Facing the captain, Prescott blanched, now realizing the grave error in his boast. Although
somewhat
experienced with the art of parry, lunge, and thrust with a small sword, he had never actually "pinked" an opponent, but moreover, his practiced technique of lunge and thrust was not developed for mounted combat.

  Bile rose in his throat, and his saber suddenly felt heavy, awkward, and unwieldy in his sweating hand. He shivered with apprehension. This weapon, the slightly curved cavalry saber, was designed for slashing one's enemy to pieces. And to manage from the back of a galloping beast was another matter altogether.

  "We ride in hard and strike hard, Prescott, like a joust. We need to unhorse him, take him down rather than engage hand to hand. We can prevail only with speed and steadfastness. You'll never best him otherwise. He has the advantage," Devington counseled.

  "You just keep this nag moving, Devington, and I'll devise my own strategy," Prescott retorted hotly.

  "My patience has nigh worn thin, gentlemen." The captain spoke authoritatively and without his customary mocking humor. "Prepare to charge or be struck down where you stand."

  The gelding jigged under the tension of his riders. "Are you ready?" Robert asked tersely.

  "Control your bloody beast!" Prescott fumed.

  Ignoring the remark, Devington saluted the captain to signify their readiness, then spun and trotted off some distance to prepare for the charge.

  The subaltern signaled, and both men spurred their mounts into action, hurtling at a headlong gallop toward one another. The captain held his sword in tierce, blade horizontal, point to the fore as he charged forth. He immediately perceived by his opponent's position that Prescott would attempt a thrusting attack.

  While effective on foot, the technique was awkward at best on horseback, due to a mounted man's need to lean the upper body in order to extend his reach sufficiently to execute. Even when well done, this attack threw off one's balance, making it child's play to become unhorsed by an opponent. Drake considered making short work of Prescott in such a manner, but decided against it. What a pity 'twould be to end the lesson before it had truly begun!

  Trooper Devington struggled to maintain his equanimity as the captain fiercely and unblinkingly charged toward them. "Now, Prescott! Now!" Devington yelled when they came together in a flurry, but Prescott, disregarding Robert's counsel, maintained his blade for a thrust.

  As his sword point approached the captain's torso, Drake effortlessly dodged, and at the last second, like a cat with a mouse, parried. The opponents' blades clashed in the first pass, and Prescott fought to maintain his precarious balance on the horse, knowing if it were the captain's intent to harm rather than humiliate, he would have been disarmed, unhorsed, and damnably lucky to escape the encounter unscathed.

  Robert pulled hard and swift and spun Ol' Jack around in an attempt to disengage the combatants, but Drake pursued, and before Prescott could prepare his guard, the captain's blade sliced the air downward inches from Prescott's left ear. He followed swiftly with a backhand stroke, which Prescott successfully dodged, knowing that had the captain intended, he would be missing both ears.

  Prescott attempted to parry, but a third and forth diagonal slice of the captain's blade had Prescott gaping at his torso as if expecting his entrails to be exposed.

  Robert again valiantly attempted to extricate them from this merciless onslaught, pulling Ol' Jack into a second retreat then circling around for another pass.

  The captain reengaged with a final swift and fierce horizontal cut on the forehand, striking Prescott's blade from his hand, effortlessly unbalancing and disarming him. He and his weapon dashed to the ground.

  As Prescott lay stunned and violently retching, Devington unsheathed his own saber and sprung into action. Spurring his horse, he leaned from his saddle, and in one fluid motion, swept the ground and tossed his comrade's lost weapon to him, but before the stunned Prescott could even react, Captain Drake intercepted, catching it midair.

  "Very neat work! Neat work, indeed! Lesson's over." He paused. "Though my intent was an exercise in humility for two insolent new recruits, ironically, you have prevailed with your tenacity and quick wits. Dismount and cool your steed, Trooper Devington," the captain commanded. "By the by, as the new Corporal of the Horse, you are entitled to house him in my stables."

B
y early spring 1743, the newly created British regiments were dispatched to the Continent. Having spent months in idleness interrupted only by drills, Corporal of the Horse Robert Devington believed himself exceedingly ill-equipped when these orders finally came.

  With half of Europe now drawn into the conflict over the Hapsburg lands and the King's growing anxiety over his beloved homeland, His Majesty had called the Earl of Stair, an old veteran of war under Marlborough, out of a twenty-year retirement and appointed him Field Marshal.

  Although the allied forces were by treaty committed to Austria's defense, it was no secret to the British that they had been positioned only to prevent French aggrandizement into the King's own Hanover.

  As part of an advanced guard, Corporal Devington was to assist with the transport of one hundred newly procured remounts, which the guard would march halfway across the European continent to Pragmatic headquarters.

  The horses, handpicked by the Regiment's Riding Master, Major Lord Bainbridge, were from some of the country's finest stables, but as Devington walked the paddocks prior to transport, he marveled at the major's choice of so many young, untrained horses as cavalry chargers. His experience told him that Bainbridge's procurements, all sleek, snorting, prancing specimens, were not at all suitable for war. Had he not held such a subordinate position, he would have said as much. As it was, he held his tongue and attended to duties.

  They were to transport an entire herd in an enclosed vessel in unpredictable seas. Spring squalls were notorious for rising from nowhere. Many ships and many souls over the centuries had perished in those deceitful Channel waters.

  Although the crossing would take only a few days, the men would need to take every precaution to safely transport their live cargo. Preparation of the horses began with Major Winthrop's express instructions two days prior to departure: to provide each horse with half their normal ration of oats the first day, then only hay the second day, and nothing to eat or drink the morning of embarkation.