‘Man for man, our forces are more than a match for any army on this continent. As long as we hold the column together we have little to fear. Besides, with such a victory under his belt, Dhoondiah Waugh might become reckless enough to face us in battle. And if he does, then he is doomed, Fitzroy. Hold to that thought.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Fitroy replied uncertainly.

Arthur turned his mount back towards the head of the column and with a click of his dry tongue he gently urged Diomed forward.

They continued to reduce the enemy’s strongholds until, at the end of July, they stormed the final fortress of Dummul late in the afternoon. As dusk settled over the surrounding hills Arthur’s men went through the fort with firebrands, systematically torching everything that could burn. Brilliant sheets of red and orange flame crackled up against the rouge glow of the sunset. A thick plume of smoke gathered over the blaze, billowing gently into the gloom as it rose steadily higher. Even though they had burned several of Dhoondiah Waugh’s strongholds in the previous weeks the soldiers still regarded the spectacle with fascinated awe for a while before returning to their camp and preparing their evening meal.

‘That’s it, then, sir,’ Fitzroy announced. ‘The last of them. There’s nowhere for Dhoondiah Waugh to run now.’

‘True enough,’ Arthur agreed.

‘What will he do now, sir?’

‘There’s not much he can do, apart from keep on the move. We’ve destroyed his supplies, so there will be little food to sustain a large force. He’ll have to divide his army. Very soon, the prospect of continually being on the march without rest and further spoils will cause his men to melt away. At which point, Dhoondiah Waugh will be little more than a common criminal on the run. The days of the King of Two Worlds are numbered. It has come to the final act.’

Chapter 58

As Arthur had anticipated, Dhoondiah Waugh divided his army into three smaller forces, each one to fend for itself while trying to evade the British pursuit. But with the hircarrah scouts scouring the landscape looking for signs of the brigands it was only a matter of time before they were discovered.The first of the forces was surprised as it camped for the night and was annihilated by a column led by Colonel Stevenson. Arthur posted a thirty thousand rupee reward for information leading to the death or capture of Dhoondiah Waugh and within days a report on the precise location of the enemy was received. The rebel chief was leading the larger of his surviving columns away from Stevenson. On his present line of march he would be passing across the open ground at Conaghull - a mere ten miles from the main British column.

It was shortly after noon, and Arthur’s mind raced as he grasped the opportunity that lay before him. As well as the bulk of the infantry and artillery he still had two regiments of King’s cavalry and two native mounted regiments, nearly fourteen hundred horsemen in all.‘Fitzroy, I want the cavalry ready to ride at once. They are to leave their kit behind. All they will need is one day’s rations and their weapons.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Hurry, man! We must move quickly.’

Within half an hour, the cavalry column had left the main body and was riding hard across the landscape in the direction of Conaghull. Just over two hours after he had first received the report, Arthur spotted a dense cloud of dust a few miles distant and he felt relief wash through his heart. At last, they had pinned Dhoondiah Waugh down. He indicated the haze to Fitzroy and called out, ‘We’ll attack as soon as we reach them.’

‘Yes, sir. If you think that’s wise.’

They rode on, until they were no more than a mile from the enemy force, now visible through gaps in the clumps of trees that dotted the plain. As the enemy drew into sight, Arthur halted his men and with Fitzroy rode over to a small hummock for a better sighting of the ground ahead.

From the crest they had a fine view across the plain. Fitzroy’s expression steadily became more concerned as his eyes took in the mass of men and horses moving across the landscape. ‘Sir, there must be nearly . . . five thousand men over there.’

Arthur nodded as he squinted through his field telescope. ‘At least. But no more than half are mounted.’

‘They still outnumber us, sir.’

‘Yes. But, as ever, this is is a test of quality over quantity, and the superiority of our men has not failed us yet.’

‘There’s always a first time, sir,’ Fitzroy responded quietly.

Arthur lowered his telescope and turned to his aide with a smile. ‘And that time is not now.’ He turned back towards the enemy army and pointed to an open stretch of ground. ‘That’s where we’ll take them. We’ll form a single line parallel to the enemy and charge.’

‘A single line? No reserves, sir?’

‘No. We need to strike with maximum impact. If we don’t succeed with the first charge there will be no need for a reserve. It’s all or nothing, Fitzroy.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then let’s go!’ He wheeled Diomed round and galloped back down the slope to the long column of mounted men waiting impatiently in the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. They moved off at a tangent to the enemy and had closed to within half a mile by the time they reached the position Arthur had indicated. As they caught sight of their pursuers, Dhoondiah Waugh’s warriors halted and prepared to fight for their lives. Arthur drew his men up in one long line.The two King’s regiments were in the centre while the native cavalry formed up on the flanks.

It was a brave sight, Arthur reflected as he glanced either side at his cavalrymen. He loosened the straps on his saddle holster, checked his stirrups were secure, and then drew his sword and bellowed the order, ‘Draw sabres!’

The order was relayed down the line and the air was thick with the rasp of blades scraping from their scabbards. When the noise had died away, Arthur raised his blade high and then swept it forward towards the enemy to signal the advance.

He nudged his heels in and Diomed paced forward. On either side the line rippled into motion as the horses began to cross the open ground, half a mile from the waiting enemy.The officers and their sergeants kept shouting orders to keep the line dressed, and Arthur noted with professional satisfaction that the men were maintaining their positions almost as well as if they had been on an exercise at Horseguards.

Ahead he could see the enemy infantry raising their muskets, no more than four hundred yards away.

‘At the trot!’

The line lurched forward, slightly more uneven now as the pace increased. Ahead, the first of the enemy opened fire, flashes and puffs of smoke pricking out along the face of the mass of men awaiting the British cavalry. At that range Arthur knew the chances of any ball hitting a target were remote, but he felt his pulse quicken none the less, and as soon as they had closed to within three hundred yards he raised his sword again.

‘Gallop!’

Beneath him the ground shook as the iron-shod hooves thundered over the baked soil. The air was alive with flashes of sunlight glinting off blades and buttons and buckles. Before them the enemy line disappeared behind a curtain of gunfire and out of the corner of his eye Arthur saw a horse pitch forward as blood burst from a wound in its skull. Then it was gone, and Arthur guessed that they must be within a hundred paces of the enemy.

‘Charge!’

As soon as he gave the order, the trumpeter at his shoulder blasted out the notes and the signal was echoed down the line as the men let out a roar and spurred their horses on.The stench of gunpowder filled Arthur’s nostrils, and the world was swallowed by a thick swirl of pallid smoke, before a figure on horseback leaped into view almost in front of him. Arthur’s sword had been poised, point forward, and he just had time to flex his arm and swing a cut as Diomed ploughed into the enemy’s mount with a panicked whinny, knocking the smaller horse aside. The blade swished through the air, the tip slicing across the bridge of the man’s nose, severing the bottom section. As he recovered and lifted the blade for the next cut, Arthur jerked the reins to the left, swerving Diomed towards half a dozen foot soldiers who scattered. Arthur swung at the nearest, who threw up a round shield just in time to deflect the blow into the arm of one of his comrades. The sabre cut through bare flesh and bone. The man with the shield thrust out his sword, aiming the blow at Arthur’s side, and he just had time to throw himself back in his saddle so the blade stabbed past his stomach, tearing through the leather cuff of the glove that held the reins. Arthur swept his blade up in a desperate unorthodox blow that smashed into his foe’s elbow, and the sword clattered to one side.