- and if Combermere did indeed want to dismount the cavalry they might all be in red coats soon -but as a rule a dragoon might as well be astride a screw as a blood. They had been luckier this time for sure, with the dash for the Motee Jheel and the skirmishes with Durjan Sal's cavalry, but it had been momentary and, in the greater scheme of the siege, would be quickly forgotten. Only the brigadier's ruse de guerre offered them sport, the chance of fighting en masse from the saddle in the old way.
After stand-down, Hervey shaved in plentiful hot water and then breakfasted on eggs and bacon, and very good toast. The coffee, too, was quite excellent, hot and without bitterness. There were even newspapers. They were out of range of cannon fire and it was as if they were at camp for the winter manoeuvres. It was the sole advantage of the siege over a campaign of movement, he considered. The only vexing aspect of these otherwise most congenial arrangements was the presence of Cornet Green. Hervey could barely bring himself to speak civilly to him, if at all. Besides his constant maladroitness with the dragoons, and - present to Hervey's mind still
- the abominable affair of the night battle, the cornet's bearing in the mess was chafing him more and more. Green seemed unable to enter the marquee with any ease, usually bumping into something or stammering to a khitmagar. And his table manners . . . Once he had picked up his knife and fork he seemed unable to lay them down again until his plate was empty. It was perhaps of no great hazard to good order and military discipline (Green was hardly likely to be seated next to the Governor-General, ever), but for some reason this morning it gave Hervey increasing distress.
'Mr Green!' he said suddenly, making the unfortunate cornet cough up a part of his breakfast. 'I shall want you to do duty with the sar'nt-major today.'
'Yes, Hervey,' replied Green, his face the colour of a beetroot, though whether by way of the coughing or because of his troop-leader's attention was uncertain.
Strickland lowered his copy of the Calcutta Journal and looked Hervey in the eye. The transaction of any sort of business in the mess was distasteful, most certainly at the breakfast table. But that was not entirely the purpose of the gesture.
Hervey cleared his throat. 'Is there anything of interest in the Journal?' he asked, as matter-of-fact as he could manage.
Strickland took a sip of his coffee. 'The bishop has given a party to the ladies left behind.'
'That is very good of him,' said Hervey, in a mildly ironic tone.
'He writes very fine hymns, Hervey. Even I would concede that.'
Hervey merely frowned.
By now, Cornet Green had finished his breakfast - or rather, had finished his attempt at it and had quit the mess, leaving just the two of them.
'Something must be done about Green,' said Strickland, folding his paper and laying it down. 'I feel half sorry for him.'
'I'm afraid I find not a single redeeming feature,' said Hervey decidedly.
'Can he not be persuaded to exchange? He's not short of money, and he can hardly be happy.'
'I imagine the subalterns have tried. I can't think for the life of me why he chose to come here.'
'Perhaps that is his single redeeming feature, then?'
Hervey raised his eyebrows. 'Strickland, I'm sorry to say but I think he's gun-shy.' He related once more the night affair.
'So you want him shot over in the trenches with Armstrong?'
'That's the idea.'
'Then you had better have a care yourself. I gather the brigadier has something in mind for us.'
Hervey looked at him keenly, but he had no intention of quizzing him on where he had got his intelligence. It seemed next to impossible to keep secret even an idea.
When Hervey got to the tunnel workings, about eleven, he found Armstrong begrimed and resting, with an empty bottle of pale ale by his side. The lines that now permanently grooved his forehead seemed to have been conduits for the sweat which, even on so cold a day, had evidently run freely, so that from brow to the faintly receding line of his black hair was like veined marble - and the eyes, closed, like chips in the surface exposing the creamy unpolished stone beneath. His jaw looked squarer, even if the chin were a little fuller than in years past. His shoulders, broad yet compact like a bull terrier's, their strength outlined in the sodden shirt which clung to them as he lay, looked more powerful than ever. Once, the morning of Waterloo indeed, Hervey had told Armstrong that he believed him to be indestructible. And he half believed it still. He certainly prayed it was, for Armstrong's loss would be intolerable, and not only to Caithlin.
'He has not stopped for more than ten minutes since you left yesterday,' said the engineer major. 'Even my artificer turned in for a couple of hours. And he is famous for not sleeping until the job is done.'
The exchange was punctuated by three mighty explosions a hundred yards or so the other side of the clump of tamarisk trees, as the siege battery hurled a hundred pounds of iron at the long-necked bastion. Cornet Green flinched, but no more than would any man who had not expected it.
The major shook his head. 'They may as well throw pebbles at a shuttered window. There's scarcely a mark on those walls. We'll have to get them closer.'
'You don't think mining will breach them, then?'
'Oh yes, indeed. If we can get to the foundations we can have it down. I've no doubt that if there's enough air for a man to dig with there's enough for combustion. And once packed in we could always open a ventilator shaft by night when it was too late to do anything about it. It's just the time it will take, and if the Jhauts don't find us first.'
Armstrong opened his eyes. 'Sorry, sir, I didn't know you were come,' he said, getting to his feet and fastening the neck of his tunic.
'I'm sorry to disturb you, Sar'nt-Major. You've been working all night, I understand?'
'Ay, sir. I'll give it to these little brown beggars: they can dig.'
'How far have you got?'
'Just behind the battery. We opened the venting shaft just an hour ago.'
Hervey looked astonished. They had dug the drift down ten feet and driven a tunnel four feet high and as many wide for the better part of a hundred yards. 'May I see?'
'I wouldn't, if I were you, sir. You'd only get in the way. Leave it till we've driven a bit further and got the burlap in.'
Hervey was disappointed, but he was not going to ignore the advice. 'I'll go and have a look at the battery, then. How is Corporal Stray faring, by the way?'
'He's doing a good job, sir, him and 'Arkness.
They've made fifty yards of ducting, and they'll be quicker once they get the extra timber.'
'Good. I take it he's not expected to go into the tunnel with it?'
Armstrong returned the smile. ‘No, he's not. The idea's for the air to flow, not block it with Stray's great arse!'
The trench was full of men from the light company of the 14th (Buckinghamshire) Regiment, their green plumes bobbing as they shuffled forward at the crouch. An ensign explained they were going up to form a skirmishing line in front of the guns; it seemed the Jhaut sharpshooters had been getting bolder in their sorties.
Hervey turned to the covermen. 'Go fetch our carbines!'
Even in the few minutes it now took him to get to the battery parallel, a dozen roundshot from the bastion flew over with the characteristic buzz of the bigger-calibre guns. The ensign smiled. 'I am pleased to hear that at last, sir! All the Serjeants ever talk about is the queer noise of the shot at Waterloo. I never thought I might hear it for myself.'
Hervey resisted the temptation to look behind at what Cornet Green's face revealed. CI should very much like to know why it's flying so high. They surely have the range by now.'