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was a student in London. Dancing and drinking and having a merry old time, I can tell you.’ He clicked his tongue at a sudden memory. ‘And the Winchester Geese, sir. By God, they were the prettiest things you ever did see, I swear it.’ He shrugged shyly. ‘That was why I enlisted, truth told, for I’d soon squandered Papa’s money.’
    ‘Your father funded such a life?’ Stryker asked in bafflement.
    ‘In a way,’ Forrester muttered, attention returning to the river.
    Stryker felt the corner of his mouth twitch. ‘He did not know, did he?’
    Forrester’s head shook slightly. ‘Thought I was studying hard, sir. And I was, of course.’ His ruddy cheeks seemed to glow, despite the dark. ‘Studying wine and theatre and women. When the money dried up I could not face Papa, so I took ship. Fortunately Colonel Skaithlocke was in need of educated men for his commissioned positions. I dread to think what might have become of me if I’d found myself in the ranks.’
    ‘Eaten alive,’ Stryker said, and they both laughed.
    ‘I rather think you’re right, sir. Might I ask . . .?’
    ‘I was in London too,’ Stryker replied. ‘Lifting purses.’
    ‘Good God,’ Forrester exclaimed. ‘A thief?’
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘But you have your letters, sir, do you not?’
    Stryker nodded. ‘I am from Hampshire. The Downs. Father was a wool merchant. Respectable roots, Ensign, if humble enough, and yes I was taught my letters.’
    ‘Yet you fight like a . . . I don’t know . . . a cornered badger, sir.’
    Stryker laughed again. ‘Thank you, Forrester, I think.’
    ‘I am serious, sir. I have seen you at drill with Corporal Sykes. It is not as easy for him to best you as he makes out. Besides, you showed your colours today. You did not lose your head when so many others might have. Bringing up the pikes saved our skins. I know I would not have done so well.’
    ‘You underestimate yourself,’ Stryker chided. He thought back to the bloody fight and those moments after the musket volley had allowed the Husaria a clear chance to strike. ‘I have a confession, Ensign.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘I was safe with the wagon when the hussars hit home. Ordered there by Loveless.’
    ‘Why did you come back?’
    ‘Because I saw you,’ Stryker said, and the honesty did not negate the guilt, as he had hoped it might. ‘To my shame, I saw you fighting. I was jealous, Ensign. Envious of your courage.’
    Forrester simply smiled. ‘Thank you, sir.’
    ‘You thank me?’
    ‘You are a good leader, Lieutenant Stryker. I shall take it as a compliment. After all, we are to die in the morning.’ He squinted at the shapes on the far bank. ‘Winged Hussars. Never thought I’d get to see them up close.’
    ‘Was today close enough for you?’ Stryker scoffed.
    ‘Aye, sir,’ Forrester chuckled ruefully. ‘Quite close enough.’ His face dropped suddenly, losing its almost perpetual joviality. ‘Is it wrong of me to wish – in some small part – that you had done what Herr Buchwald asked?’
    Stryker blew out his cheeks. ‘Not wrong, lad, but hardly worthwhile, for there is no alternative. He wishes me to retreat, but Antczak will never let us leave with our skins intact.’
    ‘You misunderstand me, sir. Not what he asks now, for I see you have no choice. But before we parlayed with the Pole, when Buchwald told you to give up Matthias.’
    It had all been so chaotic in those blurry, blood-soaked moments after the fight. Left in charge of a broken and disoriented mob, Stryker had not the time to consider things properly. Buchwald had pleaded with him before Stryker had stridden out to meet Antczak. ‘He did ask me to give up Matthias, didn’t he?’
    ‘Aye, sir.’
    Stryker scratched at a dried patch of skin on his cheek, realising as it peeled away that it was a globule of another wretched man’s blood. Something tugged at his mind, something he could not shake. ‘Come with me.’
     
    They found Buchwald slumped against the foot