Jasper Kent - Twelve

I belonged to the middle group, and I had been a long time between battles. But I knew that I could make little difference as a soldier on my own, and so I walked on, trying to pass the battle, to meet up with Vadim, rejoin the Oprichniki and direct them to do some real damage.

To the north of Borodino, the Moskva flowed east to Moscow, but here it turned a little to the south, forcing me closer to the battlefield than my head – though not my heart – would have liked. I skirted the village of Loginovo, close enough to see that it was swarming with Bavarian cavalry, but not close enough for them to see me. My next problem was to cross the Kolocha. It wasn't a huge river, just a tributary of the Moskva, but I knew I would have to head south, towards the battle, to find a suitable point to ford it. Eventually, I found a shallow. Thinking of Maks, and musing as to whether I would simply be able to walk across the water, I stepped out into the river.

Almost as my foot touched it, the surface began to shake and ripple. It was already broken by rainfall, but this disturbance had a different pattern – one with which I was familiar. The air was still filled with the sound of cannon fire, but as I listened more carefully, I heard what I had been expecting: the sound of hooves.

Before I could turn to look, I was surrounded by horsemen; Cossacks – from the Astrakhan voisko , by the look of them. But they were in full retreat, almost a stampede. They crossed the river without troubling to pause, ignoring me and galloping by on either side. Amongst them were several horses that had thrown or lost their riders. They had been initially caught up in the frenzy of their stablemates, but now they were beginning to slow. I grabbed the harness of one of them and hauled myself on to it, spurring it on to catch up with the rest of the group. I glanced behind me and caught a glimpse of what they were fleeing from – a squad of Bavarian cavalry pursuing them at full gallop. I didn't pause to wait for them. Once across the river, it was easy for me to get ahead of the disorganized rabble and then turn my horse to face them.

'Pull yourselves together,' I shouted, but I suspect it was more the need to avoid collision with me than any order I gave which ultimately caused them to halt. Once a dozen or so had pulled up and gathered around me, some degree of order was returned, and most of the remainder turned to join us. A few galloped off into the distance, but I had no time to concern myself with them. There were almost fifty who stayed with me. I drew my sabre, and charged back towards the Bavarians with an incoherent roar.

For a moment, I did not know if the Cossacks would follow, but I soon found myself riding with horsemen at my side, behind me, and even a few stretching out in front. Within seconds, we were upon the Bavarians. Our two squadrons clashed and then intermingled without resistance, like two droplets of water forming into one. But within that new, single droplet a battle raged. I fought with my sabre, as did many of the Cossacks, but others fired pistols at close range. The enemy was similarly armed, and whilst the two sides might have been on a level in their use of pistols, a pistol can only be fired once. After that, the Cossacks showed far greater skill – and savagery – with the use of the blade.

Even in the heat of battle, I made a comparison with the Oprichniki, or rather how I had imagined our working with the Oprichniki would be; that they would require leadership, but once given that they would fight beside their Russian leaders like heroes. But that was not how it had turned out. The Oprichniki shunned us, and when they did fight, they fought like cowards, both in their ambush at the farmhouse and later when they infiltrated the French camp. It was, in contrast, an honour to fight alongside these Cossacks, even though their customs were as strange to me as were those of the Wallachians.

I didn't hear the Bavarians' call to retreat, but in an instant the two droplets had separated again and the enemy was in flight. I charged after them, elated by the heat of the battle.

'Come back and fight, God damn you!' I heard a voice shout, and realized it was my own. At the same time, I knew that pursuit was foolish. We were heading back towards Loginovo, where I had seen so many more Bavarians; more than we could ever defeat. I turned my horse around and the Cossacks followed. Once we had crossed the Kolocha for the third time in but a few minutes, we slowed down to a canter, and I asked the sergeant to lead us back to their camp.

He pointed us to the south-east, and then spoke to me.

'That was very impressive, sir. After we lost our lieutenant, I thought we were done for.'

'Thank you.' I was too out of breath to say much more. There were a few moments' silence before he spoke again.

'Just one thing, sir.'

'Yes?'

'Why all the swearing, sir? Fighting's a sacred business. Swearing in battle, well, it's like swearing in church.'

I looked at him in amazement, and yet I already knew that Cossacks took their fighting extremely seriously.

'I'll try to keep that in mind,' I said.

'God will punish you, sir,' he continued, not in the blood-and-guts tone of a priest, but just as if he were reminding me that it was a good idea to keep the lock of my musket clean. His reasoning was equally straightforward. 'You'll get killed… and so will we.'

I laughed, throwing my head back, more out of the euphoria of the battle than anything else, but I admired the practicality of his piety.

Once back behind our own lines, we were passed from officer to officer until I finally faced the Cossacks' commander, General Platov. The sergeant explained what had happened. Platov stroked his thin moustache and eyed me up and down.

'And who the devil are you?' he asked.

'Captain Danilov, sir; Hussar Life Guard Regiment.'

'And where's your uniform?'

'I've been on special duties, sir.'

Platov knew that if this was true, then he would get little response to any further questions. On the other hand, it was an easy enough claim for anyone to make. I was about to show him my papers, but before I could he spoke briefly to an adjutant, who then rode off.

'We'll soon see about that,' he said.

He didn't speak to me any further, but rode a little way away and began viewing the terrain through his spyglass. A few minutes later, his adjutant returned, accompanied by a figure that even from a distance I could recognize by his mop of thick, dark curly hair. It was Lieutenant-General Fyedor Pyetrovich Uvarov, officially my commanding officer. On seeing his arrival, Platov rode back over to join the two of us. He arrived just as Uvarov greeted me.

'Come back to join us, Aleksei Ivanovich?' asked Uvarov, with half a smile. He had not been resentful when Vadim had asked him if I might be temporarily borrowed from his regiment, but he had been sorry to see me go.

'Just passing through, sir,' I replied.

'You can vouch for this man then?' asked Platov.

'As much as anyone can,' said Uvarov.

'You want him back?' Platov spoke in the same tone as he would have discussed a lost dog.

Uvarov raised a questioning eyebrow at me.

'I think I'm happy where I am, sir,' I said.

'Very good,' said Platov, still scarcely bothering to look at me. He looked at his pocket watch. 'Make yourself ready, we advance in ten minutes.'

And so, a quarter of an hour later, I had led my Cossacks across the Kolocha once more, accompanied by many others. All of Platov's Cossacks, Bashkirs and Tatars took part in the attack, along with Uvarov's more regular cavalry, amongst whom I might in a different life have found myself. This time, we outflanked the Bavarians, but almost as soon as we had crossed the river, we encountered both cavalry and light infantry, which Uvarov's forces engaged, allowing the rest of us to further outflank the enemy and get behind their lines.