“I will go back with your Excellency into the city,” said Gerard, and he gave orders that a company of tirailleurs should escort him.
Thus, then, an hour later they set out: Gerard riding ahead with the Basha upon his right, the notables behind, and behind them again the company of tirailleurs advancing in column of platoons with one Captain Laguessière at their head. When they reached the first of the rising ground, Gerard reined in his horse and stared about him.
The Basha, a portly man with a black beard, smiled with a flash of white teeth and the air of one expecting compliments. He did not get them, however. Gerard’s face wore, indeed, a quite unfriendly look. He turned round in his saddle.
“Captain Laguessière.”
Laguessière, who had halted his company, rode up to Gerard’s side.
“Do you see?”
“Yes, my Commandant. I have been wondering for the last few minutes whether it was possible. If these fellows had put up a fight we might have lost a lot of men.”
“Yes,” said Gerard, shortly.
To the right and left of the track which led up to the gate of the town, very well placed, just on the first rise of the ground, were fire trenches. Not roughly scooped shallow depressions, but real trenches scientifically constructed. Deep and recessed and with traverses at short intervals. The inside walls were revetted; arm rests had been cut for the riflemen, the earth dug from the trenches had been used for parapets and these had been turfed over for concealment; there were loopholes, artfully hidden by bunches of grass or little bundles of branches and leaves. Communication trenches ran back and—nothing so struck Gerard de Montignac with surprise as this—the extra earth had been built into parapets for dummy trenches, so that the fire of the attacking force might be diverted from those which were manned.
The surprise of the two officers caused the Moors the greatest satisfaction. The three notables were wreathed in smiles. The Basha laughed outright.