Sir Edward’s face remained impassive. ‘Very well. Then the sooner we begin, the better.’
‘Just so, Sir Edward, just so. Shall you be ready two days hence?’
‘I trust I shall, Colonel. If I am given the requisite mules.’
Edmonds addressed the proviso. ‘A shipload arrived this morning from Algiers. I believe we may have a hundred of them.’
‘You shall have fifty in that case, Sir Edward. Enough to carry your hard feed, but it shall have to be green fodder unless I get more.’
‘That should not be too great a problem at this time of year, Colonel, although cutting it will take up a part of the day better spent.’
Lord George Irvine looked pleased nevertheless. He knew full well what the difficulties would be, but they were not such as to jeopardize the mission, and in that case there was no profit in parading them. Sir Edward Lankester understood this, evidently: an officer in command of a regiment had worries enough without those of a squadron being added to them. Yet he had known many a captain who could not feel his ease until he had acquainted his superior with every hazard and contingency in consequence of an order. Sir Edward’s was a prudent habit, too, for when he did express a concern, he could be certain that he, Lord George, would hear him the better. ‘You are well found, Sir Edward. I think your officers will enjoy the sport.’
‘I am certain of it, Colonel.’
Lord George nodded, then looked at Edmonds again – and with the suggestion of pain. ‘What are we to do with Fourth Squadron?’
‘With respect, Colonel, were I you, I should be inclined to order H Troop to march under your command, and close-by at that. Warde would understand. Joynson might then manage his own troop well enough without the worry of a full squadron – if you keep him rear.’
Lord George smiled. ‘So you may keep an eye on them, Edmonds?’
‘That would be one of the advantages of such a course.’
‘Very well. What say you, Sir Edward?’
A Troop captain lowered his glass. ‘I have known Edwin Warde these dozen years and more, Colonel. Given time he will come to a right method.’
Lord George inclined his head.
‘If you press me to say more, Colonel, I would only add what I imagine is known to you already, that Daly and Quilley are a disgrace to the service no less than to the regiment.’
Lord George’s eyebrows rose. ‘It is insupportable that we should have to speak of such men. Two more reprobate officers it would be difficult to contemplate. They’ve not the slightest conception of duty – and nor, I might add, do I see any prospect of driving them to it. I shall order them in arrest at the next flagrant offence and take measures to cashier them.’
Even Edmonds was taken aback by the resolution. He was minded to rehearse some redeeming virtue, some mitigating circumstance (they were but cornets, after all); but in truth there was none – certainly not charm. ‘A turn-up before the off may be no bad thing. There’s none that dare swerve too much after such a warning.’
Sir Edward took another sip of his Madeira, as if disdaining mention of two men he would not have passed the time of day with had they not been gazetted to his regiment. ‘I hope we may reward the active sorts, Colonel, as well as punish the villains. I am of the opinion that more should have been made of the exemplars of their rank when we returned from Corunna. We had not a single merit promotion given us.’
Lord George nodded. ‘You’re right, of course, Sir Edward. And it must pain doubly when the mess sees so ill an outcome of influence as Mr Quilley. I’ll press the matter on Sir Stapleton Cotton when I see him next.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I have no doubt that you are thinking of laurels ahead for A Troop?’
Sir Edward kept his countenance, for he was in perfect earnest. ‘I am, Colonel.’
On the morning two days following, First Squadron paraded as usual, but Sir Edward Lankester had confided to only three men, the evening before, to what purpose other than routine was the muster. He was obliged, naturally, to inform B Troop’s captain, Jesmond, what was afoot, and he had told his own lieutenant, Martyn, and Quartermaster Watten. Jesmond he had also authorized to inform his lieutenant and quartermaster. He had no great expectation of the intention remaining in confidence to those five, however, for even if not a word was spoken of it the mere amendment to routine would signify something. And so when First Squadron paraded, in marching order, no one supposed it was for inspection only, especially since the quartermasters had given orders for the baggage to be assembled under guard in one of the courtyards.
Sir Edward had received his orders in writing the afternoon previous. They bore the lieutenant-colonel’s signature, but he knew the words had been crafted in Sir Arthur Wellesley’s headquarters, and in that case very probably by the commander-in-chief himself. He did not know Sir Arthur except by reputation, but he read in those three succinct sentences what he imagined was the essence of the man – and everything of his intention:
Belem
30th April 1809To the Officer Commanding No. 1 SquadronYou are to march in advance of the Army via Caldas da Reinha, Leiria, Coimbra and Aveiro to Oporto, to form a junction with the Portuguese forces there operating against Marshal Soult and to ascertain the dispositions, strength and intentions of the enemy, especially in their extent south of the Douro river. You are to take whatever opportunity is presented that will serve for the destruction of the enemy by the main force that follows, or, failing that, and in concert as necessary with General Beresford to the east, to drive the enemy northwards into Galicia in order that General La Romana’s Spaniards may effect that destruction. On no account are you to follow in Spain without express approval of the Commander-in-Chief, with whom you are to remain in communication through the QMG Department’s couriers until the remainder of the Regiment closes on the Douro, whence you will revert to communicate to me.Signed
Irvine
Lieut Col 6th Light Dragoons
Sir Edward understood that he might at best have a week’s march on the rest of Sir Arthur Wellesley’s force, and a day or so only on the rest of Cotton’s brigade. The distance to the Douro was a hundred and fifty miles, over indifferent roads and with horses not yet fully up to service. He could risk no more than thirty miles in the day if he was to have a squadron even half capable at the end of it. But he could at least pick his best men and horses and take them in advance of the rest of the squadron to make the initial junction, for the Portuguese would already know a deal of what he was required to discover, and he could then simply direct his efforts towards confirming their information rather than discovering it anew. He therefore placed B Troop’s captain in command of the squadron, leaving Martyn in charge of A Troop, and left Belem as soon as muster was over with the remaining officers, a servant apiece, a serjeant, a dozen corporals and dragoons, and a farrier.
Hervey could scarcely contain his zeal as the chosen band set out. Jessye was in hale condition. The other officers may have scorned her to begin with, and they continued with the tease occasionally now, but in those weeks on the Sussex Downs, when Joseph Edmonds had had the officers out for ‘saddle-talk’, they had come to recognize a handy charger and march-horse combined. He had not the slightest doubt that he would win his wager: Fin would be cast before Jessye, and the first fine sabre would be the prize.
His second charger, Loyalist, was of an altogether different stamp, a starling gelding, a racer who had run head-up once too often. But he had got him for a good price and had re-bitted him. Laming had watched his early attempts with disbelief: ‘Hervey, there are three kinds of fool. There’s the fool, there’s the damned fool, and there’s him as hunts in a snaffle!’