The Sabre's Edge

Ghulam returned with a khitmagar bearing lime-water. Another followed with tea a few minutes later. Somervile waited for them to leave before resuming, and in a voice deliberately lowered.

'I'd wager any amount that what lies behind this is Bhurtpore. There's an unholy tussle for yonder throne coming. The old rajah's not long for this world by all accounts.'

Hervey looked unenlightened. 'And this is the Company's business?'

'It may well become so. You have to be especially careful with sleeping dogs in India. And Ochterlony's backed the rightful heir, the son - invested him with a khelat, or some such. Doubtless the old fox wants to parade the escort as a promise of troops from Calcutta if things go against the claim. And you know why Bhurtpore would have the doocots aflutter here, don't you?'

'We are speaking of the same Bhurtpore, the fortress that Lord Lake failed to take?'

Somervile smiled, but pained. 'The same. Our only defeat in two centuries. When first I came out from England there was still the taunt, 'Go take Bhurtpore!' And the truth may well be that we could no more do so now than we could then.'

CHAPTER NINE

A GREAT TAMASHA

Two weeks later

Mr Lincoln further added to regimental lore when the major asked if he would like to be wed as a quartermaster rather than as serjeant-major. He had replied, with absolute decorum went the story, that he would prefer to take the biggest fence first.

The wedding day had been postponed a fortnight on account of Barrow's death. A fortnight's mourning in India was a long time by all but the most fastidious standards, for death was so commonplace and sudden that it was neither especially appropriate nor practical to observe the passing of one man, or woman, many days after the committal of their mortal remains. The bereaved or the orphaned went home to England, or else the former began life anew, and as often as not remarried in a short time with someone in their own circumstances. Alternatively a widow might accept a proposal from one of the many all-too-eager bachelor-writers, while a widower might make one to 'a new-arrived angel' from England - a member of what later wags would know as 'the fishing fleet'.

The arrangements for the RSM's wedding were overseen by Mr Lincoln himself. There were to be upwards of four hundred guests - all the officers and non-commissioned officers of the regiment, together with a good number of the latter from the other regiments of the garrison, and a surprising number of civilians. And the commander-in-chief, for such was Lincoln's reputation in Calcutta.

The marriage service would take place in the garrison church, which, with its double galleries, had just enough space for all of the guests and the regimental band. Its decoration was the only arrangement that Lincoln left entirely in others' hands, for the future Mrs Lincoln was a staunch member of the congregation. On the day itself, she and other members of her Dorcas circle came early, before watering parade, with great boughs of greenery and bunches of vivid orchids in the regiment's colours.

Meanwhile, the regimental quartermaster-serjeant and his working parties were labouring in the garrison gymnasium to work a similar, if secular, transformation - to prepare for what the future Mrs Lincoln delicately referred to as the wedding breakfast, but which all in the Sixth called the tamasha. The RSM came at midday to inspect the work, said not a word as he walked the 'assembly room', as it had become, then astonished the quartermaster-serjeant by saying simply,

'Thank you, Harold^’ - the first time he had ever addressed him by his Christian name (indeed, the quartermaster-serjeant was astonished to discover that Lincoln even knew it).

At four o'clock, the worst of the heat being past, the first arrivals at the church heard the band strike up its programme of music. The RSM confessed to having an untutored ear, but he had nevertheless scrutinized the programme, striking out the overture to The Marriage of Figaro (being uncertain of its propriety) and 'Blow, blow, thou winter wind^’ (being certain of its ambiguity), and approving more Haydn and Piccini instead.

At twenty past the hour exactly, Mr Lincoln marched up the aisle, eyes front, spurs ringing, as if on parade. He wore review order, shako under his right arm, sword scabbard grasped in his left, leather and metal shining as no one had quite seen either element shine before. Beside him (in truth, half a pace to the rear, for the man could not bring himself to draw level even on such an occasion), was his supporter, Deedes, the senior troop serjeant- major and next RSM. On his left, the same half-pace behind, was his long-serving orderly, who now took from him his shako and gloves and handed him the service sheet. Lincoln made a sharp bow of the head to Sir Edward Paget, the commander-in-chief, and to Joynson sitting in the row behind, and took his place at the end of the front pew. The band then struck up 'Treue Husar^’. Herr Hamper had not included it in his submission, for Lincoln would never have approved, but it was a favourite of the Sixth's, and the best part of the congregation believed it exactly apt. The murmur of approval at the end caused the bandmaster to repeat it.

At two minutes to half-past the hour, Herr Hamper and the band embarked on the final 'overture' - Alceste, which seemed to compose the congregation perfectly, as indeed the RSM had intended when he chose the piece 'for its dignity and bearing'. The bandmaster particularly approved of the choice because it could be repeated without an obvious break in case of the customary delay in the arrival of the bride.

The future Mrs Lincoln was, however, a soldier's daughter and a soldier's widow, and she had no intention of being, as she put it, 'late on parade'. At exactly the half-hour, Herr Hamper was startled by the signal to curtail the Handel and launch at once into 'Sweet lass of Richmond Hill', to which the bride would process to the chancel. It had been an express choice, for the future Mrs Lincoln hailed from Putney, where her father had been a waterman before enlisting in the artillery train, but Putney was close enough to Richmond to make the choice of music fitting. And in any case, though few knew it, her mother had kept the cows in Richmond Park - together, indeed, with Beau Brummell’s mother, as she was proud to relate. She walked up the aisle on the arm of the light infantry's commanding officer, in a blue dress trimmed with yellow and white, which at once won the approval of all in the bridegroom's camp.

'Dearly beloved,' began the chaplain, managing somehow to overcome the inappropriateness of the salutation, and commanding a respectful silence. 'We are gathered together in the sight of Almighty God . . .'

And so the old, familiar words began to come, like a warm breeze bringing the scent of happy memories. Hervey let them drift over him, savouring a phrase here and there, and with no regrets.

When it came to the homily, seeing the commander-in-chief sitting attentively not more than a few feet before him, the chaplain's nerve almost failed him. But in glancing at the RSM he was suddenly more afraid of his opinion than the general's, and he managed somehow to fill his lungs with sufficient air. In truth, he need have had no worry, for he had composed what all would agree was a very proper address, by no means too long, at once respectful yet sound in its teaching, combining as it did appropriate adulation for the RSM and all his works, the recognition that in Mrs Lincoln the regiment had gained, in his words (or rather those borrowed from Scripture), 'a pearl of rare price', and last but by no means least God's rightful due in this blessed state of affairs. None of the parties, on earth or in heaven, could have been in the least disappointed.

There followed more singing - Toplady served the mood of temporary exile extraordinarily well

- and the signing of the register, on only the second page.

And then, as it were, came the command stand at ease (if not quite stand easy) as Mr and Mrs Lincoln began their march down the aisle to the band's lusty rendition of 'Young May moon', the regimental quick march. Here and there a brave Serjeant clapped a hand on Lincoln's shoulder, wishing him well and 'God bless, sir!'

The troop serjeant-majors had already slipped out of the church to form the guard of honour, sabres in salute at the carry, smiles broad and eyes twinkling. Mr Lincoln took it all in - not least the shine on the leather and the buttons, judging with special satisfaction that Armstrong was better turned out even than Hairsine. Lincoln had never shown a moment's emotion in living memory, and he was not about to do so now, but he could never have imagined such a day, his last as RSM, and he would miss not a detail of it.

Bride and groom left for the gymnasium in a caleche which one of the nabobs had put at their disposal, a gesture that said as much for the RSM's personal standing in Calcutta as the regiment's, and which those from