‘Shako!’
That too was inspected. Girdwood levered the brass plate that bore the badge of the chained eagle away from the black cloth stovepipe of the shako’s crown and saw, to his pleasure, that Briggs had polished the back as well as the front of the badge. He put it on his head, checking in the mirror to see that it was perfectly straight, then buckled the chin strap.
Lieutenant Colonel Girdwood held his head high. He had no choice. He favoured the stiff leather four-inch stock that dug into the skin of a man’s chin. The new recruits, forced into the collar, would be unable to turn their heads because of the rigid leather, and within hours their skin would have been rubbed sore, even bleeding. Girdwood knew that the fighting Battalions had abandoned the stock, and he understood the wisdom of that, for the lack of it allowed a man to aim a musket more efficiently, but for a fresh recruit there was nothing like a good, stiff, neck-abrading stock. It made them keep their heads up, it made them look like soldiers, and should the bastards dare to run away, then the two red weals under their chin were as good as any brand to identify them.
‘Cane!’
Briggs gave the Colonel his polished cane, its silver head brilliant, and Girdwood gave it an experimental cut and heard the satisfying swish as it split the air.
‘Door!’
Briggs opened the door smartly, holding it at a right angle to the wall, and outside, exactly on the stroke of half past eleven as he should be, stood Captain Smith, one of Girdwood’s officers.
The Captain’s right boot slammed next to his left, he saluted.
‘Come in, Smith.’
‘Sir!’ Smith, who would accompany the Colonel on his noon inspection, reported that Sergeant Havercamp had returned from his Midlands foray. ‘Very successful, sir! Very! Forty-four men!’
‘Good.’ Girdwood’s face did not betray his elation at the good news. Twelve recruits was reckoned a good number for a Sergeant to bring back, but Horatio Havercamp had always been his best man. ‘You’ve seen them?’
‘Indeed, sir.’ Smith still stood at a rigid attention as Lieutenant Colonel Girdwood demanded.
Girdwood tucked his cane under his left arm. He leaned forward from the waist, and into his dark, small eyes came a look of almost feverish intensity. ‘Any Irish, Smith?’
‘One, sir.’ Smith’s voice, a trifle apologetic, managed to convey that the news was not entirely bad. ‘Just the one, sir.’
Girdwood growled. It was an odd noise that was intended to convey a threat. ‘We shall give them,’ he said slowly, and with some relish, ‘to Sergeant Lynch.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘And I will inspect them in twenty-three minutes.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘Follow me.’
The sentries slammed to attention, saluted, and the sun glinted on the polished, gleaming moustache as Lieutenant Colonel Bartholomew Girdwood set out, with officers and clerks in attendance, on his noonday inspection.
‘You’ll say goodbye to me, lads.’ Sergeant Horatio Havercamp walked slowly down the line of his recruits. Each man was dressed in fatigues now; grey trousers, boots, and a short, thin, pale blue jacket. Havercamp brushed at his moustache. ‘But I shall be back, lads, come to see you when you’re soldiers.’ He stopped opposite Charlie Weller. ‘Keep the bleeding dog out the way, Charlie. The Colonel don’t like dogs.’
Weller, at whose side Buttons wagged his tail, looked worried. ‘Out the way, Sarge?’
‘Ill have a word with the kitchens, lad. Can he rat?’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
Havercamp walked on down the line, stopping at Giles Marriott. ‘You, lad. Keep your bleeding mouth shut.’ He said it in a kindly enough way. He disliked Marriott with the irrational dislike that some people engendered simply by their looks and manner, but, now that Havercamp was leaving the squad, he gave the lovesick clerk the same advice that Sharpe had given him. ‘Just keep your bloody nose clean.’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
; Havercamp punched Harper lightly in the belly. ‘You didn’t give me no trouble at all, did you?’
“Course not, Sarge.’
‘Good luck, Paddy. Luck to you all, lads!’
And oddly it was sad to see him walk away, going for more recruits, leaving them in this strange place where everyone, except themselves, seemed to understand what happened and what was expected of them.