Victory of Eagles

“What is he, clumsy as a cow?” the young man said sourly, and shouting gave orders for several tents to be moved, and an entire picket-line of horses. “I won’t answer for your neck if he eats the general’s favorite horse,” he added.

Laurence did not bother to answer these remarks, but went as quickly as he could back to the clearings, and halted: word had traveled at speed, and a handful of his crew had come to the camp, evidently having slipped away from their other assignments. “Sir,” Fellowes said, glancing up from his work, and Blythe beside him with a small forge. Gangly young Allen stood up flushing, two inches taller at a glance than he had been, and touched his hat, and with them Emily Roland.

“Gentlemen,” Laurence said, torn between gratitude and dismay, for they were working not on harness and armor but on Temeraire’s platinum breastplate, and Emily had brought Temeraire’s jeweled talon-sheaths.

These, having been given him in China, were remarkably beautiful, and remarkably gaudy, gold and silver engraved with elaborate Oriental designs and studded with small chips of gemstones. His breastplate, with its great pearl and sapphires, further advanced the service of vanity, with his old smaller string of gold and pearls suspended from its chain, not at all complementary. Besides this Temeraire had arranged to have himself scrubbed until he gleamed, and even, Laurence was sorry to see, his handful of scars painted over, with a pot of the sort of glossy black used upon doors and iron railings. It was most notable upon his chest, where a barbed French ball had taken him in the flesh, during an engagement at sea; the wound had been ugly, and though healed clean had left a puckered knot of scales.

When Laurence came in Temeraire was engaged in examining himself critically as best he could, in a large dressing-room mirror good enough only to show perhaps five feet of him at a time, and considering whether to add a spangled net of chains to be draped over his ruff.

“Iskierka offered me it,” he said, “and while of course ordinarily I would not borrow anyone else’s things, and pretend that they were mine, I am only thinking that, as we have not had time to make medals yet, it might stand in for them.”

“Pray let me advise you against it,” Laurence said, sadly, imagining the generals’ reaction. “Borrowed finery ca

“Oh,” Temeraire said, “that is very true; I suppose I had better not,” and he sighed wistfully. “Very well, Roland, take it off,” and he lowered his head reluctantly.

It did not much matter, however, in the end. Temeraire descended to a great spreading silence, even the horses’ frightened cries dying away to overwhelmed stillness. Rowley, still waiting outside, was pale beneath his dark narrow moustache, as Temeraire neatly fitted himself into what was indeed a very cramped space for him, having to coil up his tail as he landed.

“Well, is it here?” Wellesley said, coming out, and pausing looked up and up and up, and said nothing more. A few pieces of jewellery were perhaps not much to notice, Laurence realized, when one had never seen the whole dragon before; and as an Army officer, Wellesley had likely never been close to a beast over courier-weight; a seaman might at least have served on a transport.

“I am Colonel Temeraire, at your service,” Temeraire said, peering down interestedly.

“You are, are you?” Wellesley said after another moment, recovering his voice. “You’ll do to stop a few mouths, anyway. Rowley, go tell those fellows in there to come out, so we can meet with our new colonel.”

A man came hurriedly out of the tent: no military officer, but a gentleman in a neat sober suit of dark brown. “General, if you will forgive me—the Ministry feels there is some danger of a precedent—if I might have a word—” He had not properly, fully, noticed Temeraire yet: while he talked his eyes flicked a few times to the side and up, caught glimpses of black scales, the smooth horn of the talons, impressions which over the course of his sentence accumulated until at last he raised his head to look properly, and fell silent.

“No, you mightn’t,” Wellesley said with satisfaction, watching him choke, and pressed him unresistingly into a folding-chair. “Have a seat, Giles. Rowley, go on and tell the rest of them to come out here.”

“I beg your pardon,” Temeraire said to the poor man, who trembled violently as the dragon’s head lowered near, “but if you are part of the Ministry, I should like a word, myself. We would like to vote, please, and also to be paid.”

The professional soldiers were not quite so easily quelled, and Jane dispelled a great deal of the effect, by coming out and saying to Temeraire, “Did you deck yourself out for Christmas? This is a war, not a Vauxhall burlesque.”

“I have put on my nicest things, to be respectful,” Temeraire said, injured.

“To show away, you mean,” Jane said, and as this mode of conversation did not result in her being eaten, or squashed, the others grew more bold. More bold than Wellesley at least would have liked; he had very evidently hit on the notion of stifling dissent with his own proposals through an intimidation by proxy, more than he had any real interest in consulting Temeraire’s opinion.

What threat they faced was not any longer the subject of disagreement; scouts and word along the road had brought enough plain intelligence for that. The Fleur-de-Nuits would come, two formations’ worth of them, likely near the middle of the night, and would bombard them steadily until morning, when the massed French lines would fall upon them and try to drive them from their position.

This position was indeed an enviable one: the generals had retreated from the coast very particularly to reserve for themselves the luxury of choosing the next battlefield. That Napoleon would seek to occupy London, had never been in doubt. He had occupied Vie

So the British army had arranged itself on the southern bank between Woolwich and Oxleas Wood, overlooking the Great Dover Road to London, barricades having been established across what alternate roads might have served the French. If these impediments were not as advanced as one would have liked, Napoleon having moved too quickly, still they would have markedly delayed the progress of any great mass of men, and given the British time to fall upon them from behind, and they were well-placed if Napoleon tried to come at the city down the river. But Napoleon did not mean to scorn the gauntlet which had been thrown down: he was coming to them, along the main road.

In the present encampment, the British had the advantage of higher ground, with several stout farmhouses and a few old stone walls and fences, for barricades and fortifications, which should make them all the harder to dislodge. “We will hold here,” Sir Hew Dalrymple said: he had the command, an older officer with a stout neck and fair hair creeping back from his temples. “It would be folly to yield so advantageous a position—”

“And if we are forced to yield it?” Wellesley said, dryly; there was marshy ground on their western flank, sodden with snow; but no-one would discuss this difficulty.

“He has moved quicker than we had expected, but we must not let this throw us into disarray,” General Dalrymple continued. “That is how the Prussians ran into trouble—letting him cast them into confusion, changing their minds and their ground ten times a day.”