A Soldier’s Heart(58)
At six sharp, Matt was on horseback. The staff had gathered around Wellington for a final briefing. Even though he issued specific orders, he liked to give his men an overall picture so they could act for him, if necessary.
He sat his charger, Copenhagen, with every sign of ease and confidence, resplendent in white buckskin, with tasseled top boots, short spurs, a white stock, blue coat over a knotted gold sash, and a Spanish field marshal blue cape. The staff had warned him too many times that he made an excellent target than to do so again.
Matt remembered from the Peninsula the duke didn’t like to get wet. Even though the sky had cleared, he was taking no chances. He wore a cocked hat similar to Napoleon’s, Matt thought eccentrically, although he wore it fore and aft instead of broadside. Stuck in the hat were the four colored cockades signifying Britain, Spain, Portugal, and the Netherlands.
The staff had swollen to forty, regulars and those specially requested like Longford, and hangers-on. Where was Longford, anyway? Matt wanted to know about Kendall.
The duke took up a position under a lone tree at the crossroads staring across the rain-soaked ground, now a quagmire of watery puddles and mud to the thousands of French who faced them.
Suddenly Matt heard the faint ringing of church bells off in the distance. It was Sunday. In Brussels and in all the surrounding villages, people would be attending church, praying for victory this day.
Would Serena be among them, or would she stay at Kendall’s side, offering him the gift of her strength which he so sorely needed?
A light breeze played across Matt’s hair, and in the oddest way he was comforted as if he felt some of her strength himself. In every battle of his life he’d fought alone, secure in his sense of honor and duty. Now he felt something different. Although there was still so much left unsaid between them, Matt carried, at last, a true image of Serena and the rest of his world which gave him an inner peace and resolve. England, its policies and governments, might not be perfect, but it was the best he knew. He remembered his Shakespeare and found himself repeating snatches throughout the day: “This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, this earth of majesty … this happy breed of men … this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.” It would endure long past this day of battle, and so would he.
Sometime before twelve, fever took possession of Kendall’s pain-racked body. Serena held him down, keeping his shoulders from thrashing much as she had held Matt during the nightmares, while Buckle tried to force liquid through his dry, cracked lips. Cecily constantly bathed him with a cool cloth, whispering words of love and encouragement unwittingly. They fought valiantly, seeking to stem the tide of devastation through his already weakened body.
Seeing the ever-cheerful Kendall so weak, helpless under their hands, somehow made the battle more real to her. Serena wouldn’t let Kendall die! Longford had promised Matt, and she was determined to do everything in her power to keep that promise. She would fight for his life as surely as Matt and all those men who had marched with such confidence from Brussels were fighting for theirs.
At eleven-thirty the French opened fire on the farmhouse at Hougoumont. Within minutes great clouds of white smoke hung over the field, lit here and there by a column of fire. The French advanced steadily, through the orchard up to the courtyard walls. Wellington peered through his telescope, watching as the doors were forced and Macdonnell’s men fought hand to hand. With a great roar, reinforcements stormed the house and pushed the French back. With an imperious wave, Wellington beckoned Matt forward. Swiftly he rode with orders to Bull’s howitzers to fire over the infantry to enable it to move forward and recapture the orchard.
Such a cloud of gray smoke hovered over the field now, it was difficult to see anything clearly. The pounding of the cannons rang in Matt’s ears, shutting out everything else as he rode back toward Wellington. He urged the men on as he rode among them, shouting encouragement and directions. This battle was neither noble nor glorious, but necessary, he told himself over and over. Longford had once called him a leader of men; now he wasn’t sure what that meant. The infantry advanced; Matt wheeled his horse in the direction of his commander.
Chills shook Kendall’s slender body. He moaned continuously. Serena watched Cecily carefully, waiting for her to break down. But she remained constant. When Kendall’s clutching fingers closed over her hand, she held on to him firmly, speaking soothing words of comfort. Serena built up the fire and layered covers over his shivering body. Buckle attempted to drip warm gruel down his unresponsive throat. Thoughts of the last time Serena had fought to save a life tightened the bands of fear about her heart.