Once Fitzroy had galloped off Arthur hurriedly assessed the position. He was committed to an attack now. If he failed to strike then the British reputation for invincibility in India would be shattered. Worse still, an emboldened enemy would make any retreat a desperate business with the army operating at some distance from its supply base at Ahmadnagar. Arthur would have to win this battle if his army, and the reputation of his country, were to survive. But to get at the enemy he would have to cross the river and charge up the steep bank on the far side, straight into the muzzles of Scindia’s muskets and cannon. The casualties in such an attack would be horrific and the English army might well be broken before it ever came into contact with the Mahrattas.
As he looked again at the enemy line and followed the course of the Kaitna to the east he saw two villages on opposite banks of the river, a mile beyond the enemy’s left flank. A track led across the river plain to the nearer village and then seemed to resume on the far bank before it headed towards Assaye. His hircarrah scouts had assured him that the only place where the Kaitna could be crossed was at Kodully, almost opposite the centre of the enemy camp. Yet it seemed there must be a ford between the two villages to the east. Why else would they be there? In which case, that was where the army must cross. Once on the far bank Arthur’s battalions could form up across the narrow strip of land between the Kaitna and the Juah. If they moved swiftly enough then they might attack Scindia’s flank before his cumbersome forces could be redeployed to face the new threat.
By the time Fitzroy returned, Maxwell’s cavalry had reached its position and spread out across the plain between Kodully and the two villages Arthur had spotted. Behind them the infantry columns and guns marched towards the Kaitna, kicking up choking clouds of dust as they came on. As Fitzroy reined his horse in Arthur gave his orders.
‘We’ll have to hit them where they are strongest - over there on the right. If we can break Scindia’s best troops, and destroy his artillery, the rest will flee of their own accord. But we can’t risk a frontal attack. So,’ he turned and indicated the settlements either side of the river, ‘we’ll cross the river between those villages.’
Fitzroy frowned. ‘The scouts didn’t mention a ford there, sir.’ ‘I know, but there has to be one. Trust me.’
‘But what if there isn’t, sir?’
‘There will be,’ Arthur replied calmly. ‘Now go and tell our battalion commanders to make for the ford, then join me there. And pass the word for my groom. I’ll need a fresh horse ready during the battle. Diomed, I think.’
Fitzroy saluted. ‘Yes, sir. Pray God that you are right about the ford.’
Arthur examined the battlefield one last time from his vantage point. Swarms of enemy horsemen had crossed the Kaitna and approached Maxwell’s cavalry screen. Every so often one of the English galloper guns would fire a charge of grapeshot at any Mahrattas who drew too close, and they would turn tail and trot back out of range. There was no sign that they were willing to take the English cavalry on, Arthur noted with satisfaction. Then he turned his bay horse away, galloped down the gentle slope towards Maxwell’s small reserve and ordered a squadron to escort him while he examined what he hoped would be the ford between the two villages.
As the small column reached the first houses on the near bank it was clear that the Mahratta horsemen had thoroughly pillaged the place. Some of the houses were burned down and several bodies still lay in the street. At the sound of horses the remaining inhabitants scuttled inside their hovels and closed the doors behind them. Arthur led the way round the fringe of the village until they came to the track leading down into the river. The current flowed past gently enough but the water was a muddy brown so that it was impossible to gauge its depth from the bank.
Arthur tapped his heels into the flanks of the bay and urged his mount into the water, taking care to stay in line with the entrance and exit of the ford. The water splashed about the bay’s legs as the mare waded further into the current, yet even by the middle of the crossing the water barely came up to her belly. With a growing sense of relief Arthur urged her on until he approached the far bank and the river grew shallow again. Then he wheeled the bay round and kicked his heels in, and the mare surged back to the southern bank where the dragoon escort stood waiting. He called an order to their officer.
‘Get across and form a picket line two hundred yards from the far bank. Report any sign of enemy movement towards the ford immediately.’
He rode back until he could see the infantry columns approaching down the track and turned his attention to the enemy camp once more. It was clear that they had abandoned their original battle line and were moving to counter Arthur’s move on their flank. He tapped his riding crop against his boot for a moment, until he was aware that he was betraying his nerves and quickly stopped it as Fitzroy came riding up, gesturing towards the enemy.
‘Sir, have you seen? They have almost formed a new line already.’
‘Let them,’ Arthur replied. ‘They will not be able to bring more than a fraction of their forces to bear on us.Then we’ll see their true quality.’
Just after he spoke there was a dull roar close overhead and then a cannon ball smashed through the second floor of a house at the heart of the village, showering the street with mud plaster and rubble.
‘That must have been a twelve-pounder, at least,’ Fitzroy muttered.
‘More likely an eighteen-pounder,’ Arthur replied as he gauged the distance to the enemy. ‘From the direction of Assaye, I think.’
‘God help us if they get the range of the crossing.’
‘They won’t,’ Arthur replied calmly.‘They can’t possibly see it. There’s a slight rise between us and them. They’re firing blind.’
Even so, more shots passed overhead and some crashed into the village, unnerving the soldiers as they marched quickly through the main thoroughfare and down to the river. The first of the battalions and a few cannon hurried across to the far bank and marched straight on towards the Juah to take up their position on the right flank of Arthur’s battle line. As the second battalion thrashed across the river one of the dragoons from the picket came galloping down the far bank into the river and approached his general. He drew up, glistening from the spray that his mount had kicked up, and saluted.
‘My officer sends his compliments, sir, and begs to inform you that the enemy have completed their change of facing.They have also fortified the village of Assaye with batteries and some rough earthworks.’
‘That was quick,’ said Fitzroy. ‘Their commander knows his stuff. He’s trained them well.’
‘Yes,’ Arthur conceded. ‘But they’ll be no match for our men when the fighting starts.’ He turned back to the dragoon. ‘Was there any sign of movement from their battle line?’
‘No, sir. They were holding their ground when I left the picket.’
‘Good.’ Arthur nodded. ‘Then we still hold the initiative.You can return to your squadron now. Well done.’
The dragoon smiled with pride and raised his hand to salute. Then there was a wet crack and Arthur’s face was sprayed with warm fluid and what felt like lumps of mud. He instinctively wiped the mess away with his gloved hand and saw a thick red smear on the beige leather.
‘Christ Almighty!’ Fitzroy exclaimed.
Arthur looked up and saw that the dragoon was still sitting bolt upright in his saddle. Only his head was gone, and jets of blood spurted up from the tattered flesh at the stump of his neck. An enemy cannon ball had smashed it off and sprayed blood, brains and bone across the jackets and faces of Arthur and his staff. The man’s last spasm had alarmed his horse and it pranced skittishly, until, at last, the body slumped to one side and toppled from the saddle. Arthur recovered from the shock first and glanced at the frozen expressions of those around him.