The Sabre's Edge

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