Page 259 of The Armor of Light
It was too dark even to trot. They rode side by side, to benefit each from the other’s lantern. The rain got in Kit’s eyes and made his vision even worse. The country lane meandered through hilly territory deep in mud. Every valley bottom was flooded, and Kit feared that moving the Prussian guns along this road would be maddeningly difficult and very slow.
The monotony of riding allowed him to feel the wearying effect of sleep cut short. The earl took sips from a brandy flask, but Kit drank nothing, fearing that strong liquor would make him nod off in the saddle. I hope we get the answer we want, he kept thinking. I hope Blücher says that he still intends to join us this morning.
At last a feeble dawn light struggled through the clouds. As soon as they could see the road ahead they nudged the horses into a canter.
They still had a long way to go.
*
On her way back, Sal got lost.
She felt mud underfoot and turned towards where she imagined the road to be, but felt no cobblestones. She must have lost her concentration, she thought.
She tried going around in ever-increasing circles, figuring that she had to come across the road sooner or later; but being blind, she could never be sure she was really walking in a circle. Holding her hands out in front of her, she came up against a tree. Shortly afterwards she felt another. She had wandered into the woods, she realized. She turned through a half-circle and went, she hoped, backthe way she had come; but she came up against another tree.
She stopped, despairing. There was no point in moving when she had no idea where she was going. She wanted to cry, but stopped herself. So, my back hurts and I’m lost and exhausted and soaking wet, she thought; worse things will happen a few hours from now, when the battle begins.
She found a large tree trunk and sat with her back to it. The leaves gave her some protection from the rain. Her sack was wet but the potatoes inside were still hot, and she hugged the bundle to her chest to keep her warm.
She had suffered a nasty moment in the bakery. She had dreamed she was in bed with Jarge, and he was caressing her; and she woke up to find the baker kneeling beside her. He had unbuttoned her trousers and his hand was inside.
She was instantly transported back to the hard labour prison, where the women had to put up with this sort of thing or be flogged for disobedience. But she was not a prisoner now, and rage filled her in a flash. She knocked the man’s hand aside with a strong blow and jumped to her feet. He stepped back quickly. She drew the long knife from the sheath at her belt and stepped towards him, ready to plunge the blade into his fat belly; then reason returned.
The man was terrified.
She sheathed the knife and buttoned her trousers.
Without speaking she opened the oven door. Using the baker’s wooden hook, she pulled out the rack of potatoes. She could see immediately that they were cooked: the skins were darkened and slightly wrinkled. She quickly put them back into the sack, then tied the sack to her back.
She picked up a newly baked loaf and put it under her arm, staring hard at the baker, daring him to protest. He said nothing.
She left the bakery in silence. She ate the loaf as she walked along the road, and finished it in minutes.
Now, sitting under the tree, she felt her eyes closing. But she must not go to sleep here: she needed to get the potatoes back to the regiment. She stood up to keep herself awake.
Then, almost without her noticing, the sky lightened. It was dawn. Only a minute later she began to perceive the wood around her. Then she looked through the trees and saw, only a hundred yards away, the cobbled surface of the road. She had never been far from it.
She re-tied the sack, made her way to the road, and began to walk south.
It stopped raining, and she sent a silent prayer of thanks up to heaven.
The sun was edging up in the east, giving light but no warmth, when she arrived at Mont St-Jean. She picked her way through the camp. Most of the men were lying on the boggy ground, wrapped in sopping blankets. Wet horses disconsolately tried to graze the ruined wheat. She saw Kenelm Mackintosh, standing bareheaded, saying morning prayers with a few of the men. Among them she noticed Spade’s brother-in-law, Freddie Caines, a sergeant now.
Sal moved as quickly as she could, fearing that if anyone realized what she had in the sack she could be murdered for it.
She found Jarge’s makeshift tent and crawled gratefully inside. Jarge and several Kingsbridge men were lying on the wet ground, crowded together like fish in a box. ‘Wake up, you lucky soldiers,’ she said. She opened the sack, and the aroma of baked potatoes filled the small space.
Jarge sat upright and she handed him a potato. He bit into it. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ he said.
The others grabbed potatoes and ate. Jarge finished his and took another. ‘This is heaven,’ he said. ‘Sal Box, you are an angel.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’ve never been called that before.’
*
Now that it was daylight, Kit and the earl could go faster. However, no horse could gallop twelve miles. They alternately trotted and walked their horses, which Kit found frustratingly slow, but the earl said was the proven fastest way to cover a long distance without killing your horse. They began to see early-rising farmers, and the earl frequently spoke to them, checking – Kit gathered – that this was the road to Wavre. Kit felt tense and impatient: Wellington had ordered them to hurry.
He noticed that the earl was splattered with mud, not just his boots and trousers but all the way up to his face. He guessed that he himself must look just as bad.
