Lennox was still getting used to the idea of soldiers reporting to him with a salute and the position of attention. His own military experience was as a sergeant in a borderer cavalry company, where things were, if not exactly free-and-easy, at least relatively informal. Watching young Billy come to attention gave him an odd feeling, even after all these months.
“At ease, Lieutenant.” That was another thing. When did young officers start looking like children? This one was most famous around town for playing that foolish game, and who would credit that? Mister Mackay, now, he was perhaps on the young side to be a captain, but had the cardinal virtue of being able to listen to his sergeants.
That was never going to be a problem for Captain Lennox, USMC, who carried his own Inner Sergeant wherever he went. Young Master Trumble here looked too young to be any kind of officer except an ensign, although the papers that said he was twenty were reliable. Twenty! And that was too old for a proper ensign. Again, the Americans had different ideas, and as they were paying the bills for the Marine Corps Cavalry, they got to write the rules.
Several people had thought the idea of Marine Cavalry was hilarious, and Lennox could see their point. Transporting horses by sea was a chancy business at the best of times, and expecting them to be in condition to fight after any more than the shortest sea passage was ludicrous. King Charles had a Marine Regiment of Foot to send aboard his ships, and that made a certain amount of sense.
The United States had some traditions, though, and one of them was that the troops attached to the President, and the troops who guarded embassies, were Marines. The trouble was that the job of guarding ambassadors in this day and age wasn’t an infantry job. Dragoon cavalry were needed, if only so as to be able to keep up with the ambassador’s coach, and also to rank properly in precedence with the ambassador himself. Infantry were socially a long way below cavalrymen. Even such salt-of-the-earth sorts as himself.
So the United States Marine Corps had a couple of companies of cavalry, over-officered so they could be sent in penny packets to embassies everywhere under an officer of appropriate rank. The lessons of the earlier diplomatic missions had been well learned.
Not that they’d get Captain Lennox and his horse aboard a ship without dire need. He’d puked every mile across the North Sea to Flanders, and only the prospect of never sailing from Scotland again would get him back to sea.
Lieutenant Trumble was looking at him expectantly. As well he might. Two weeks an officer, and knew nothing yet. May as well start to teach him a thing or two.
“Richt, laddie. D’ye speak Italian?”
“Sir, no sir,” said Trumble.
Lennox grinned. “Weel, that’s right enough. They’ll not be seducing you to Romish ways, then, and ye can’t be charming the lassies if ye haven’t the language.”
“Am I being posted to Italy, sir?”
“The Venetian embassy, laddie. Where I’ll be tae keep an eye on ye, and ye’re to report to Lieutenant Taggart. For instruction in ye’re officerly duties and sich, d’ye see?”
“Sir, yes sir.”
“Dismissed, lad, dismissed.”
“Thank you, sir.” Trumble saluted again, and left.
Taggart would see to the preparations; they had already picked a solid crew of lads for the embassy guard. It only remained to see if he could spend all those months alongside that sot of a papist Heinzerling without breaking his head for him again.