Rules of War. Iain Gale

The pleasantries are finished. I intend to take it.’ He paused, then looked at Steel again: ‘You recognize me now, I’ll wager.’

      Steel blustered through his embarrassment. John Campbell, Duke of Argyll. Not only was the man a general. He was a general of Scottish troops and a close friend of Sir James Farquharson, his own colonel. In fact Steel had seen Argyll several times in the past campaign in conversation with Sir James. But on those occasions he had not been dressed in quite this manner. Now he looked to all the world like the meanest junior officer.

      Steel stiffened to attention: ‘I am most dreadfully sorry, My Lord. I really did not know you. Your … your appearance. Your dress. I …’

      Argyll laughed: ‘I am disappointed. But in truth I suspect that were I now to look in a glass I should not know myself. I imagine that I can hardly present a noble appearance. For the present however, such things are not important. What I am concerned with is prising the village of Ramillies away from the French. And I very much fear that we must go again.’ Steel saw a thought pass over his mind. ‘Steel, yes. Jack Steel, is it not? You are the officer, are you not, who saved Sir James’s colour at Blenheim?’

      For the second time in two hours Steel had to admit that the honour was indeed his.

      Argyll smiled broadly and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Then you are a brave man, Steel, and at this most pressing moment I need every brave man that I can find. Your command is where at present?’

      Steel gesticulated to the Grenadiers who stood twenty paces to his rear. ‘We are detached to a Dutch command, My Lord, and await our orders to attack.’ He added: ‘Should they ever come. For the present I am commanded to stand here.’

      ‘Well, Captain Steel, your waiting just came to an end.’

      A French cannonball, fired at an unseen target, flew past them. Steel watched as the younger Grenadiers flinched and those few remaining veterans pretended to ignore the ever-present danger. Slaughter stood leaning upon his halberd, keeping a careful watch over his charges.

      Steel spoke: ‘I have my orders, sir.’

      Campbell smiled at him. ‘I am your orders now, Steel. Come on, man. I’m not waiting here to die and I believe that you and I are cast in the same mould. The fight is over there, Captain Steel. You are a Scot, I perceive and Sir James Farquharson’s man, an officer of whom he speaks most highly. It’s men such as you and I that are fighting to build a new world. We are Britons, Steel, but do not forget that we are also Scots. We above all others protect the faith of our homeland. I take it, Steel, that like myself, you have never any greater wish than to see these French Papists and their Jacobite allies sent to hell?’

      Steel was surprised at the passion of Argyll’s impromptu political rant. Although he did not share his bigotry, he did certainly believe in the concept of Union. Uncertain quite how to respond, he settled on diplomacy and merely nodded.

      Argyll smiled: ‘I knew it. Now bring your men. We’ve a village to take.’

      As the duke loped off towards his brigade, Steel turned grim-faced to Slaughter. ‘Sarn’t, it seems that we’re to attack the village. Form the men up. Battle order.’

      ‘You had an order then, sir? I thought that Major Cutzem wanted us to stay put.’

      ‘Firstly, it is my place to think, Sarn’t, not yours. Secondly, I think that we can assume that Major van Cutzem’s order simply did not reach us. Wouldn’t you say?’

      Slaughter laughed: ‘Order, sir? I can’t mind any order from the major.’

      ‘You see. Let me do the thinking.’ Steel turned to the company: ‘Grenadiers. With me.’

      Hansam walked towards him: ‘Is this wise, Jack? To disobey an order so blatantly? It is a court-martial offence.’

      ‘I accept full responsibility. I am the senior officer, Henry. Do not worry. You are exonerated. We must take the village. We cannot rely upon our masters to notice every ebb and flow of the situation on the ground. It seems that the duke is engaged in a great cavalry battle to our left wing. It’s up to men like you and I, Henry. You know that at the crisis it is ever not the generals but the men and the officers in the field – the captains, lieutenants and ensigns and not least the common soldier – who change the course of a battle.’

      Hansam nodded: ‘Very well, Jack. But should we fail they will throw us to the dogs, for certain.’

      Steel laughed and grasped his friend by both shoulders: ‘But we shall not fail, Henry, you and I. Poor Tom – that he should miss this for naught but a scratch.’

      Slaughter had formed the company into the assault formation, doubling the ranks to extend the line and ensure that every man would be able to find a target when the moment came. ‘You heard the officer. Sling your fusils. Make ready your grenades.’

      Instantly, sixty pairs of hands draped the thick leather slings of their weapons over right shoulders and fumbled with the straps of the big black leather bags which hung at their right hips. Each of them contained four hollow three-inch-diameter iron balls weighing some two pounds filled with gunpowder, stopped with a wooden plug and topped with a fuse of hemp dipped in saltpetre: grenades. Slaughter barked another command and the company moved to the left with Steel and Hansam at their front.

      They had gone hardly twenty yards when from Steel’s left came a shout. ‘Hello! I say, wait there, Captain Steel. What are you doing? I have orders here to advance. Do not leave. You attack with us.’

      Steel raised his hand and Slaughter barked the command to halt.

      Major van Cutzem rode up to the head of the assault column. ‘Captain Steel. Where are you going? Have you new orders. From whom?’

      ‘I have, Major. Directly from Lord Argyll who commands a brigade in Dutch service. I am ordered to attack Ramillies.’

      ‘But Lord Argyll does not command you. I do. And I have orders to attack Ramillies – with you.’

      ‘I take my orders from Lord Argyll, Major.’

      Van Cutzem narrowed his eyes: ‘This is an outrage. I shall complain to the highest authority. I shall have you court-martialled.’

      ‘Perhaps so, major. But before that I shall have taken Ramillies. And then I really don’t think that it will matter. Do you?’

      The Major scowled at Steel. ‘You may assist your Lord Argyll to take the village, Captain Steel. But you will see that it will be a Dutchman to whom Ramillies falls. I shall take the village, sir. And without your assistance.’

      Without a further word, van Cutzem reined his horse around and galloped back to his regiment.

      As Sergeant Slaughter goaded the redcoats into action, Hansam looked at Steel and shook his head. ‘Really Jack. You go too far. He is Dutch, Jack. You know the Dutch. They do exactly what they say they will do. He will have you cashiered for this.’

      Steel laughed: ‘Not if we take Ramillies and all become heroes, Henry.’

      Emerging from the slight dip in the ground in which they had been sheltering, they saw before them the village of Ramillies. Around a high-spired church were clustered a few dozen houses of nondescript, vernacular design. It was clear that between these the French had constructed sturdy barriers from anything that had come to hand. If anything, thought Steel, they looked more impenetrable than those around Autre-Eglise. Argyll was right. The only way to take this place short of reducing it by bombardment, would be with a frontal assault led by Grenadiers.

      Behind the barricades the village appeared to be teeming with white-coated French infantry, among whom Steel thought he could discern flashes of light blue, which must mean they were reinforced by Bavarians.

      Hansam was at his side: ‘How many d’you think, Jack? Five battalions? Ten?’

      ‘Hard to say. God knows, they’re so packed in there. It seems that King Louis’ marshals haven’t learnt anything from Blenheim,