On His Majesty's Service

Later

General Diebitsch had not returned from Madara when they reached Yeni Bazar. Hervey related what had happened to the chief of staff.

General Toll listened without a word, and then turned to one of the interpreters. ‘Bir schei yok? ’

‘“It was as it was”,’ came the reply, in Russian.

‘Es war wie es war,’ repeated the general helpfully.

Hervey was disappointed – and puzzled. ‘It seemed more portentous. I can’t think what it meant. Except that the Vizier may have doubted what the horseman said, and he in turn insisted it was so – that the Turks could make no impression on the walls, perhaps?’

‘Well, there’s no profit in speculating, Colonel. You are sure it was the Vizier, and that he broke camp?’

‘No, General, I can’t be certain it was the Vizier, only that it was a man of highest rank. But he broke camp – no doubt of it – and he was in angry spirits.’

Toll – Karl Wilhelm von Toll – had been a colonel on Kutusov’s staff at Borodino when Hervey was but a cornet. As the character of the Baltic Germans tended, he was not to be hastened to any decision. He thought for what seemed an age, and then nodded determinedly. ‘Very well, it will be dark in three hours; I shall give the order to be ready to move by stand-to-arms. By then we ought to have heard from the Cossacks, and Roth. You saw nothing at all of him?’

‘Not a sign. There again, we followed a path in the forest for a good deal of the way.’

But it was the news he needed to hear, that the Vizier was making his move back to Shumla. Now they could bring him to a battle of manoeuvre. Toll looked grateful at last. ‘Very well. And thank you, Colonel Hervey. You may indeed have gained us time.’

Hervey gathered up his leather and took his leave.

He made straight for his quarters where he found Fairbrother studying a map, and Johnson making a stew of bacon and lentils.

Johnson greeted him cheerily. He put the makeshift lid on the camp kettle and wiped his hands on his overalls. ‘There’s some coffee in that degsy, sir,’ he said, nodding to the stove.

‘Thank you, yes. It was rank stuff they had at the headquarters.’

Johnson poured the thick black brew into a china cup.

‘Cap’n Fairbrother says tha were in a bit of a tamash, sir.’

Hervey nodded. It amused him sometimes to contemplate confounding the code-breaker’s art by combining Johnson’s enunciation and his Hindoostani and rendering it into Greek script. ‘We lived to tell the tale, as you see. Is Mr Agar returned?’

‘’E’s just off-saddling now, sir.’

‘My damned sabre broke. And my pistol misfired.’

Johnson looked anxious suddenly.

‘I carried that sabre all the time we were in India.’

‘I’m sure I can find thee another, sir. Them Cossacks ’re very obliging.’

Hervey had his Mameluke still, but he’d never thought to use it. It was lighter than the service sabre, and the curve was shallower, so it handled differently. It was a thing of court dress, no more. ‘I’d be very obliged if they were obliging. By all means see if they’ll spare me one. Thank you.’ He sipped his coffee. It was very bitter. He screwed up his face. ‘Have we sugar, or honey?’

‘I’ll ask t’Cossacks for some an’ all.’

Hervey smiled; Johnson’s simple cheer could be restorative. It was quite like old times. ‘Where is Mr Agar?’

As if answering the summons, Agar came. He looked decidedly happy.

Hervey nodded in acknowledgement of the salute. ‘A report, if you please, Agar.’

‘Well, sir, I believe I may say with certainty that the carvings are not of Thracian antiquity. The—’

‘Mr Agar, in the circumstances – our being on active operations in the proximity of an enemy – I consider the military details to have priority over the antiquarian, absorbing though the latter doubtless are.’

Agar looked rather abashed. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I … That is,’ (he braced himself) ‘we saw no sign of Turk activity on the way to or returning from Madara – only, about a league east of that place, a good number of bodies, Turk, on which a pack of wild dogs was scavenging. We dispersed these, but I fear that they will return. At Madara, General Pahlen has erected gabions and mounted several guns to command the principal road, which is wide enough to admit the passing of waggons side by side, and has dug many rifle pits. There is very little opportunity to outflank the position, and not in any strength, save debouching either north or south of the entire ridge, a considerable diversion which would in turn expose a flank to the general’s cavalry and, in the north, too, to troops in Yeni Bazar.’

‘Thank you. Admirably clear. Quite exemplary. And the carving?’

Agar’s expression turned to delight. ‘Ah, it is most intriguingly done, though much of what must once have been carving in high relief is eroded. It is nearer to Kaspichan than Madara in point of fact, some hundred feet above the level of the river, which is also called Madara, in a vertical cliff standing about three hundred feet. The horseman, a prince, I would hazard, is thrusting a spear into a lion which is lying at his horse’s feet, and an eagle flies in front and a dog runs after him.’

‘Why was it carved?’

‘Scenes such as this elsewhere are symbolical of a military triumph.’

‘But not Thracian.’

‘No, I am sure not.’

Hervey listened, almost spellbound, as Agar then expounded at length on the crucial dissimilarities with extant Thracian symbols, and on how the inscriptions, though indecipherable, indicated a much later date, perhaps even medieval. What good fortune was his: Fairbrother, Agar, Johnson – such capable and diverting company. It fell to few men, he supposed, to know three fellows of such infinite jest and excellent fancy.

But time was pressing and he adjourned the discourse.

Corporal Acton now appeared, his jaw set.

‘Sir, may I speak, sir, please?’ he asked, holding the salute.

‘By all means, Corporal Acton. Stand easy.’

Acton cleared his throat. ‘Confidentially, sir.’

Fairbrother rose to leave.

Hervey stayed him. ‘I will come outside.’

Acton took a step back, turned about smartly and marched a dozen paces, until they were out of earshot.

‘What is the trouble, Corporal Acton?’

‘Sir, you was in a scrape with Turks, and your sabre broke and pistol misfired.’

‘It was nothing. Captain Fairbrother put a ball in the man before I knew it.’

‘That’s not the point sir, with respect. It’s my job to put balls in Turks. What would’ve ’appened ’ad the captain’s pistol misfired too?’

Hervey frowned. It seemed futile, pedantic even, to point out that it was the business of none of them to put balls in Turks. ‘Captain Fairbrother is an officer of too great experience to …’ As he said the words he realized the retort they invited. ‘What I mean is that it would be highly improbable that my and Captain Fairbrother’s pistols would both misfire.’

‘Sir, with respect again, Captain Fairbrother isn’t regiment – more’s the pity, if I may say so – and I am your coverman.’

‘With respect’ was not a locution to be ignored. Acton was right. ‘Very well, I concede the matter entirely,’ said Hervey, with a sigh.

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Your attachment to duty is most commendable.’

Acton smiled, just a shade wryly (the Sixth took its duty seriously, but not piously). ‘Thing is, sir, my