Warrior

'He's got his work cut out has Blackie Patch, sir.'

'Evidently so. A new entry?'

'Ay, sir. Bought from Eerste River not long after you went back. Not what I would have fetched, but . . .'

'Mm. Sarn't-major, can we walk? There is something I would tell you.'

'Of course, sir. The mission in Zulu-land?'

Evidently the sar'nt-major was more comfortable with the notion than was Brereton, but that was neither here nor there. 'That, yes, and . . .'

They walked via the huttings towards the parade ground.

'By the way, sir, we saw the notice in The Times. We're all very glad for you and Mrs Hervey.' He said it in a tone at once respectful and brotherly.

Hervey had to swallow hard. 'Thank you, Sar'nt-Major. It is most thoughtful.'

'And did you see my bonny lass at Hounslow, sir?'

He could hardly speak the words. 'I did.'

'Ay, well, just another few months . . .'

Hervey stopped, and turned to him. 'Geordie, there's . . .'

'Sir?'

He took a breath as though he would dive deep in a pool. 'Caithlin . . . Caithlin is dead.'

Armstrong started like a man struck by a ball.

Hervey steadied him with a hand to the shoulder. 'Come, I'll tell you all.'

'Them bairns . . . them poor bairns.'

'Don't distress yourself on that count, Geordie. Quartermaster and Mrs Lincoln have them fine.'

'Ay, sir, but . . .'

Hervey knew the 'but' well enough.

They sat on a bench at the edge of the parade ground, and Hervey told him all that he knew. Caithlin had fallen – the merest thing, but a poisoning of the blood had resulted. There had been the seemliest of funerals – with all the proper Catholic rites, and a bishop, no less, and the whole regiment willingly on parade. And the children wanted for nothing – well, nothing that could be provided for them; some of the dragoons had even been fashioning toys and the like.

But instead of reassurance, with each word Armstrong appeared diminished, like a doll whose stuffing was picked from it bit by bit. In twenty years (for it was two decades since the greenhorn cornet had first encountered this pocket Atlas from the Tyne), Hervey had never seen Armstrong thus.

'Them bairns,' he repeated, shaking his head. 'An' my lass.'

Hervey stole a glance: a tear dropped from Armstrong's right eye, and then another began running down his left cheek. The serjeantmajor was a man defeated; and Hervey felt suddenly as helpless.

They sat in silence a good while.

At length Armstrong made to rise. 'I'd better gan a yon stables,' he said, with a resignation that sounded neither convinced nor convincing, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. 'Feed off, an' all.'

'There's no need of that,' said Hervey, putting a hand to Armstrong's forearm to stay him. He cleared his throat for the next part, which he knew would be every bit as painful to his comrade as it might be welcome. 'Geordie, there's a ship leaving for Falmouth tomorrow, and I've arranged passage for you. Indefinite leave of absence.'

There was only silence.

Hervey tried again in a minute or so. 'The troop'll be returning to Hounslow in the new year. Just routine. Even Battle could arrange things.'

Armstrong continued to gaze into the distance. 'And what about this affair with the Zulu?'

Hervey took another deep breath. 'Geordie, I've brought Jack Collins back with me.'

The informality – familiarity, indeed – of the absence of rank would have surprised many (dismayed them, perhaps); but these were circumstances wholly without the ordinary. For the circumstances were a suspension of natural justice. A man who placed his life at the service of the nation might well make a widow, but for a much younger wife to die of a fall, and five children to be made half-orphans (and to Armstrong's mind, orphaned of the better half) – that was not how it ought to be.

'Jack Collins taking my troop. . .' He sighed, shaking his head.

'Only until we return to Hounslow. I would not have done it were there not this expedition to the Zulu.'

Armstrong rose, slowly but resolutely. 'Well, I suppose I'd better go and tell 'im what's what.'

Hervey rose, too, and replaced his forage cap. 'I'd like you to come and stay at the castle tonight. Easier for the ship tomorrow.'

Armstrong thought for a moment, and then shook his head. 'No, sir; that's not the way. I'll have my work cut out handing things over to Collins. And I'll take my leave prop'ly – at muster tomorrow.'

The lump in Hervey's throat grew so large that his reply was inaudible.

VIII