The Sabre's Edge mh-5 Page 12

  Joynson nodded. 'You're right. It may come to nothing. Let's hope so. But I've had word - it doesn't matter where from; it's not the regiment - that he's on the take with his remount fund.'

  Hervey smiled. 'I saw some of his remounts this morning. How he's managed to find that quality and take a backhand glass I can't imagine!'

  'I thought that too only yesterday when his troop paraded for escort. However, the accusation comes from one of the dealers, it seems.'

  'What are you going to do?'

  CI don't know. I was only apprised of it yesterday. The next board of officers isn't for another six months. I can't very well roist his accounts about meanwhile without good cause. We can't jump to every bazaar-wallah who complains of backshee. I'm inclined to have the dealer arrested if he won't make a proper deposition.'

  'What do you want me to do?'

  Joynson looked uncertain. 'Could you think it of Barrow?'

  'Why should I think it any more or any less of Barrow than of the others?'

  'You know very well why.'

  'So Barrow's coming from the ranks puts him more in the way of temptation?'

  'Don't sport with me, Hervey. If it were Hugh Rose we'd never hear the charge out.'

  Hervey frowned. 'I think that if we are making private means the touchstone then we would be obliged to enquire whether Rose's fortune had disappeared.'

  'You are not being of much assistance.'

  The bearer brought their coffee. Hervey took his and began stirring the strong black liquid. 'I'll keep an ear cocked,' he said when the man had gone.

  'Thank you.' The major took his coffee and heaped sugar into the cup.

  Hervey thought he would try to end the line of questioning. 'How is Frances? I haven't seen her in months.' He meant it not unkindly. No regimental officer could be an island when it came to domestic troubles, and it was as well to know if there were any vexations in that respect.

  Joynson sighed, heavily. 'I have been on the point of speaking to the colonel of the Thirteenth, and several of the Company's, many times these past six months. I feel they have as much responsibility in allowing her to expose herself in so frequent a way. I am very happy that she has such diversions as these levees and balls, but . . .'

  Hervey nodded.

  'She sorely misses a mother. She always has.'

  Hervey felt the footsteps over his grave.

  'Are you quite well, Hervey?' asked Joynson, narrowing his eyes.

  'Of course, sir. Perfectly well. Very well indeed.'

  Poor Joynson. His nickname had been 'Daddy' for the short time he had had a troop in the Peninsula. He had his weaknesses, and he knew them, but in intention he had served his country as well as anyone, and he had a true attachment to his regiment. Hervey thought it most unjust that his standing should be risked by a silly daughter.

  'I think it would be ill to deny her any society properly ordered. Perhaps she might attach herself to some matron here?' It was as well as he could manage, for he had little enough experience to draw on.

  They sat awhile, talking of how things were going in the east, and of what the regiment might do in the autumn by way of field days. At length Hervey rose to take his leave so as to catch his troop at morning stables.

  'Very well, Hervey,' said Joynson, a little brighter. It's good to have you back again. Come and dine with us soon.'

  'I should like that, sir. Thank you.' He put on his forage cap, saluted, then left the regimental headquarters pondering the peculiar trust that Joynson had shown. He liked the intimacy of the personal confidences, even if they had momentarily reminded him of his own situation. And in respect of the succession of serjeant-majors, it was good to be assured periodically of one's own stake in the regiment.

  E Troop's stables stood at the end of the single line of back-to-back standing stalls that stretched for three hundred yards beyond the regimental maidan. They were brick-built and whitewashed, with a good thatch and khus-khus tatties that extended from the joists to about the chest height of a dragoon. In the summer, therefore, the troop-horses stood in shade, and the doused tatties and punkahs provided some relief in the otherwise still, oven-hot air, while in the monsoon season and the winter the animals were protected from rain and wind, be it hot or cold. At the end of each troop block was the stabling for the officers' chargers, six loose boxes in line with a separate store for saddlery and tackling.

  At nine o'clock of a morning at this time of year, early October, the lines were all activity. The rains were receding, and the regiment had begun its cool-weather routine. Horses had been fed two hours before and the dragoons had breakfasted. It was a hearty meal, a dragoon's breakfast, just right for a morning's work: half a pound of bread, the same of beef, and plenty of coffee. Hervey wondered if he would be able to keep such a meal down ever again. But a dragoon needed his beef for such a morning - the fetching and carrying, the brushing and strapping, for there was only so much the native grass-cutters were allowed to do. The men clattered about the brick-laid floor in their clogs and stable dress like workers in a cotton mill, but ten times as lively. At nine-thirty the trumpeter would sound 'boot and saddle', and the Serjeants would check every last buckle and strap. And many a hapless dragoon who had thought the shine on his leather more than adequate as he polished by lamplight would find that the Indian sun was a merciless revealer of insufficiency. And then he might think for a moment, but only a moment, that he might prefer other employment.

  For the time being, however, they were still at work with brush and curry-comb. It was just that bit easier while horses had their summer coats, but there was sweat on every dragoon's brow nevertheless. It was not a time for shouted commands, rather of careful observance of standing orders and the accumulated experience of the corporals. Above all it was not a time for officers. It was the serjeant-major's hour. It was he, and his trusted NCOs, who turned out the troop to perfection -both horses and men. Then the officers led them in the practice of war, real or imagined. And the serjeant-major did not expect supervision.

  Hervey's appearance in the lines this morning was therefore doubly unusual. He had not even sent word to Myles Vanneck, his lieutenant, that he was reporting himself fit for duty, and there was at once a buzz as the news passed from stall to stall. The dragoons nearest the end stood to attention as others gawped or tried to steal a look. Hervey felt as if he were some ghost. 'Carry on, Harkness,' he said, nodding and smiling as he began walking the line of stalls.

  Private Harkness, the broadest of shoulders making his trooper look short-backed, returned the smile confidently.

  Another dragoon came to attention as Hervey reached his stall.

  'Carry on, Hicks. How is your leg now?'

  Private Hicks turned red. His leg had been mended for all of three years, but still his nickname in the troop was Giles, 'the cripple'. 'Very good, sir, thank you, sir.'

  The next man had neither brush nor comb in his hand, and he therefore saluted.

  Hervey smiled again. Beneath the watering cap were thick black curls, unmistakable. 'Good morning, French. What is the news from Wales?'

  'Agreeable, I think, sir. My father has taken another living, and my brother is to be ordained too.' The voice was not perhaps so differently cast from the other recruits' as first it had seemed on joining; but it was still the voice of a man of some education.

  The ringing of spurs made Hervey turn.

  ‘Good morning, sor!'

  Hervey smiled the more - an indulgent sort of smile. 'Corporal McCarthy!'

  'It's good to see you on your feet again, sor. And back in time for all the drill, too.'

  'Indeed, indeed.' Yes, he had timed his return well - as if he had had any say in it.

  'Go and fetch the sar'nt-major, Rudd,' said McCarthy, addressing the next stall.

  Hervey looked across keenly; he had not noticed Private Rudd, and he watched with satisfaction as he doubled away, for he had saved the boy from a cloying mother and the dubious occupation of mi
lliner. Rudd ought to be corporal soon: if only there were more places.

  He carried on down the line, Corporal McCarthy by his side. 'How is your section then, on the whole?'

  'Well, sor; very well. Not a horse lame nor a man sick.'

  Hervey nodded appreciatively. It was as well at the beginning of what they called here the unhealthy season.

  Next he stopped by Private Needham's stall. Needham's hair almost covered the stub of his right ear, but the old wound was vivid enough. Hervey recalled the bloody sight when the Burman tulwar had sliced the flesh away. Needham stood to attention now with brush and comb clasped in each hand by his side, as fit as the day Hervey had enlisted him on Warminster Common, but he did not smile.

  'Good morning, Needham. How is your mare?’

  Hervey chose well. Needham and his mare were ever closer by the day. 'She's doing a treat, sir. She won best turnout last week.’

  'A credit to you,’ said Hervey, nodding approval. And he would say no more for the time being, for they had buried Needham’s best friend, Private Spreadbury, barely a week ago, and there were now but two of the original 'Warminster pals’ left.

  How well the pals had served him, thought Hervey. That day, five years ago, when he had defied all his instincts and gone to Warminster Common to look for recruits - it had repaid his efforts no end. Indeed, would he be alive this day had he not done so? For Wainwright was first of the pals. He smiled at the thought of what the King's shilling could buy - and what the King's uniform could do for a man in return. He hoped he would live long enough to see four chevrons on Wainwright's sleeve.

  'Good morning, Captain Hervey sir!'

  The voice filled the stables. There was no need for Hervey to turn to see whose it was. 'Good morning, Sar'nt-Major!' he replied, as cheerily as he had been hailed.

  'Not a horse off the road, sir, nor a man neither.'

  Troop Serjeant-Major Armstrong, collier-turned-cavalryman - the only horse he had seen before enlisting was pulling a coal tub; but what a source of strength, always, was that voice of the Tyne. Hervey's thoughts were at once of Sahagun, Corunna, Albuhera, and a dozen other places where Armstrong's voice had done its work: cursing, checking, cajoling. To his mind, Armstrong was the Sixth, as much as was Lincoln (and, God rest his soul, as Strange had been). Without him the regiment could surely never be the same - or as good?

  'Corporal McCarthy tells me so. Very good husbandry, Sar'nt-Major.' It was, perhaps, fortunate that Hervey was enquiring this day and not a week before. That the last man sick, poor Spreadbury, had died was not something to be reflected in the day's parade state. In their five or so years in Calcutta E Troop had lost eighteen men to the agues and fevers that plagued the cantonments every season. And before he had left for Rangoon the sick rate had been three men in ten. The other troops had fared no better, but that was little consolation to mess mates -nor to Hervey and Armstrong whose concern it was to maintain a decent muster. But no men sick this morning - not a bad way to begin command again.

  'The vet'in'ry's round the other side, sir, if you want me to tell him you're here. Just doing his rounds, that is. No problems.'

  'Just say not to leave before I'm able to have a word.'

  Armstrong nodded to Rudd, who cut away smartly.

  They advanced another stall. 'A new face, I perceive.'

  The dragoon stood at attention, as Needham before him, with brush and curry-comb in either hand. But his look was a touch anxious rather than melancholy.

  'Private Toyne, sir,' said Armstrong. 'Joined last month.'

  Hervey looked him up and down - a well-made youth, fresh-faced and clean. 'Where are you from, Toyne?'

  'Appleby, sir,' in a voice not unlike the serjeant-major's.

  But Hervey was none the wiser.

  'Westmorland, sir,' explained Armstrong. Long years had taught him that officers spoke of counties, not places.

  Hervey knew there were hills in Westmorland, but that was about all. 'What brought you to the Sixth then?'

  'My cousin is in the Fifty-fifth, sir, and 'e took me to enlist. But I said I wanted to work with 'orses, and so the Fifty-fifth let me change.'

  'Did they, indeed? That was very generous of them.' And most unusual, too. No doubt the recruiting serjeant had sworn blind that the Fifty-fifth were mounted on the best bloods and more besides if it would secure another man.

  'Well, sir, I had to pay a bit of money.’ 'A recruit buying into the cavalry. Now there's a thing!'

  Toyne would not understand the humour just yet, but Armstrong smiled pityingly. 'There's not much for company but sheep up there, sir. He's made a good start, though. Sits well.'

  Hervey nodded to show his appreciation. 'You worked with horses in Appleby then?'

  'Yes sir. I used to help with the fair, sir.'

  'Fair?'

  'Yes sir. There's an 'orse fair twice a year. People comes from all over to buy.'

  Hervey nodded again. 'Well, I'm pleased to have you in my troop. Carry on.'

  Toyne turned as red as Hicks had done.

  'A good 'un,' said Armstrong, voice lowered, as they stepped off. 'A real liking for horses. He'll make a good groom in his turn.'

  Hervey took note. It was difficult not to when a man had parted with money in order to be with horses.

  At the other stalls it was reunion rather than introduction - and sometimes banter. Hervey, his spirits already lifted, was content, for here were a confident troop, who thought themselves a cut above the others since the affair at the river three years before. None of the other troops had so much as chased a dacoit, let alone bloodied a sabre, and a man who had not cut or thrust - or even fired carbine or pistol in anger - could hardly think himself a proper dragoon. For sure, it was the veterans of Waterloo who were honoured above all others in the wet canteen. Not with exaggerated reverence, but with the nodding respect that they had seen something never to be seen again, and were therefore possessed of certain insights and certain rights. And sometimes an E Troop man who had overreached himself in the canteen on the business of fighting would be brought up sharply by a Waterloo hand and reminded that the affair at the river, sharp though it had been, could never compare with that day in June. But an E Troop man stood in the veterans' respect nevertheless.

  It was no longer true perhaps that the army divided into two parts - those who had been at Waterloo and those who had not - but the army was just as divided in its opinion of the future. It was true, certainly, that no officer believed in his heart there would be a battle the like of Waterloo again; never so many men in the field at once, never so great a number of guns. And - worst of all for those of Hervey's calling - never again so many cavalry manoeuvring to decisive effect. No, not even in India. What, therefore, would be their fate? Was it to be as mere spectators, from afar even, as in Burma - a pretty corps of escorts, in uniforms more and more elaborate and less and less serviceable? Or would they just become a corps of skirmishers, little better than Pandours and Croats?

  Hervey had his opinions. They were formed in the Peninsula, confirmed at Waterloo and proven often enough these past three years. Perhaps he would write of them - write a book - as Peto had suggested. Many would sneer at his doing so of course, but he didn't care; not any longer.

  'Good morning, Captain Hervey,' said the veterinary surgeon.

  'Ah, David - good morning.'

  David Sledge was the only officer habitually called by his Christian name, from colonel to cornet. The veterinary surgeon stood in a curious position regarding rank and seniority, and the Sixth had come to an admirable working arrangement.

  'You wanted to see me?'

  'No, not especially. Only to say that I am returned to duty. I gather I have a fit troop?'

  Armstrong took his leave. There were things he would attend to with Serjeant Collins: 'Them gram-grinders, sir. Still not sized off.'

  Hervey nodded, then turned to Sledge again. 'It says a good deal for Armstrong, that parade state.'

 
'Yes, very satisfactory,' said Sledge, checking his pocketbook. 'Not a cough nor a warm leg in the stables these past six weeks. And I take my hat off to Brennan too.'

  Hervey had long been convinced that E Troop had the best farrier. And so much steadier was

  Brennan these days with a fellow countryman in McCarthy to share tobacco and grog with (and a fellow with stripes to boot). 'I shall tell him. But he's had light work in respect of numbers, I see -a good dozen short. Do you know what are the remount arrangements?'

  The purchase of remounts was not the business of the veterinary surgeon, but he had an obvious interest. 'Nothing's coming from the Company studs this year, apparently, so it's all down to dealers. When you're ready to look I'll come with you if you'd like. We've kept the lines free of infection all year and I shouldn't want anything brought in on approval.'

  Hervey smiled. 'David, I should value your opinion on more than just the animal's health. But not for a day or so, I think - unless you say others will be looking too. I'll ask the RM as well.'

  Sledge looked pained. 'Broad's not been in best sorts of late. Ledley's had to dose him a good deal.'

  'Fever?'

  Sledge still looked pained. 'N-o-o.'

  'Well, I hope whatever is the cause he will not be indisposed long. I've seen no better man with remounts.'

  'I shall be seeing him later. I will pass on your regard.'

  Hervey scowled. 'Come, David; you are not telling me all.'

  Sledge looked relieved. To be explicit, it's a case for mercury and nitrate.'

  'Oh God,' groaned Hervey. 'But what of Annie Broad? Has she gone home or something?'

  Sledge raised his eyebrows. 'I should ask Rose.'

  'What?'

  'Been drawing his yard there, it seems. Better not speak of it here.'

  Hervey shook his head slowly. 'Is it much talked about?'

  'What - the mercury or Rose?' 'Both.'

  'Neither generally, but the mercury's out in the ranks, I think. The Rose business Broad himself told me. But not here, Hervey. Can you come to my dispense later?'