The Sabre's Edge

Hervey would rather have received a less enthusiastic endorsement of the subject, which now commanded the attention of the whole table, and which the serving of soup did nothing to abate. 'It is not reducible to an absolute position. It depends on the nature of the engagement. And opinion would also vary depending whether we spoke of the old- or the new-pattern sabre.'

'But it is so, is it not,' continued Finucane, 'that but three or four inches of the point only is generally sufficient to despatch an adversary, whereas a cut will wound him only - albeit perhaps grievously.'

'True, but if you close with your adversary at speed - which is to what cavalry ought to aim -then it is not easy to draw back the blade after the thrust home. I have known of swords being struck from the hand, or breaking, with the hilt striking a man's breast after the blade had run through his body—'

Hervey did not see Cornet Green's face drain rapidly of its colour - only that he suddenly sprang up with hand clasped to mouth and rushed from the room.

There was much laughter.

Hervey now saw what was the game, and was in two minds about being used in the subalterns' rag. But he could not find it in him to show it. 'Something I said?' he asked, with an expression of forced solemnity.

Seton Canning shook his head in mock despair. Vanneck continued to look down, and the others stifled their sniggers as best they could.

The rest of dinner was a wearying affair, for the chaplain's conversation proved as uninteresting as it was wholesome. He seemed entirely in innocence of what had passed, so that there was little profit in Hervey's trying to explain it, and instead there followed a tedious dialogue on the state of the various missions to Hindoostan. Afterwards, when the port had circulated twice, Hervey led the party back to the ante-room, where a game of primero was got up. He himself stood aloof from it taking his brandy and soda - the married officer's 'nightcap', the sweetener of libatory breath.

Seton Canning came up. 'I fear you've had not so diverting an evening. Stephenson can be earnest, but he's a good man, and he can still thrash me at fives.'

Hervey smiled. 'He must have thought me very dull. I fear I had little by way of conversation. I confess my mind was otherwise engaged.'

'Agreeably, I hope.'

'As it happens, no.'

Harry Seton Canning had joined the Sixth just before Waterloo and had been cornet during the battle when Hervey found himself in command of a troop. Canning had, indeed, brought the troop out of the charge against the French lancers, to the acclaim of many an old hand. But until late he had been Hervey's subordinate, and the two had never become quite as close as officers might who had shared so much. Today, however, they were equals in rank just as they were equals in society. 'Disagreeably on account of Barrow, perhaps?'

Hervey looked surprised at the mention, though he knew it was unreasonable to be. 'As a matter of fact, yes. And other things.'

'What is your opinion?'

'I don't have one, for at present there are no facts as I discern.'

'But are you inclined to think it the smoke and the fire?'

Hervey frowned. 'Harry, I have said; I am not inclined to think anything without facts.'

'But what's to be done about Barrow? There can't be this talk for long. It's not good for any of us.'

'Joynson's to have it out with Nirmal Sen. I think there might have to be a board of officers.'

Seton Canning frowned. 'That would be tricky, in the circumstances.'

'What circumstances are these, exactly, Harry?'

'You know perfectly well. Barrow has never been popular. He's always kept himself to himself. And . . .'

'And what?'

'Well, with this other business . . . Rose, I mean.'

Hervey sighed. There was no doubting that the Rose business would divide opinion in the mess, and a divided mess was not a good place from which to assemble a board of officers. 'Then it would be better to have a board of officers from another regiment. An unhappy day that will be.' He put his empty glass on the khitmagar's tray, declining more. 'I beg you will excuse me, Harry. I want to see my mare before retiring. She's running a high fever. I had thought to see David Sledge at mess this evening, but . . .'

'Yes, of course,' said Seton Canning, taking another glass of port. 'I hope I shall not be long detained myself. Where do you suppose your new cornet is, by the way?' he added, with a wry smile.

David Sledge wore a long smock like a shepherd's, and he was looking grave. 'I'm sorry not to have dined, but Johnson sent word soon after evening stables. He feared she was about to have a seizure. I've been with her since. I thought it best not to trouble you until after mess. I'm afraid I see no alternative to opening up the tumour. She's deteriorated so quickly I wouldn't lay odds on her seeing the morning.'

Hervey simply nodded: there was evidently no alternative to the knife.

The trouble was that Sledge knew little more than Hervey in the matter. He had his manuals for reference, but he had seen nothing the like of these symptoms. 'I must warn you it's a desperate remedy. The blood's in so bad a state it renders it difficult to bring the wounds to a good digestion, and if this is not effected, there'll be a gangrene and mortification.'

Hervey understood. 'Where is Johnson, by the way?'

'I sent him for brandy. I find it has admirable cleansing properties, better than water for digesting dirt and blood. And it will preserve the flesh, too.'

Hervey smiled to himself. How alike seemed the methods of a good surgeon and a veterinarian.

Sledge opened his valise and laid out the tools of his trade on the manger — lancet, probe, scalpels, forceps, clamps, a cautery and two needles with gut already threaded. And a great quantity of lint, and a large bottle of green liquid.

Johnson returned soon afterwards with two flasks of arrack. Sledge took one of them, poured a good measure onto a handful of lint and began swabbing the mare's swollen breast. 'A bit more light, please,

Johnson. And then this, if you will.' He handed him the cautery.

Johnson shifted the oil lamps closer, then set about lighting the cautery stove.

Sledge crouched looking at the swelling for some time, touching occasionally to feel for a vein. Then he picked up the lancet. 'Very well, let's try to expunge the malignance.'

He made five incisions in all, using the scalpel to elongate the lancet's work. After each one he expressed a quantity of fluid and blood, wiping the wound gently with arrack before studying it closely with his magnifying glass.

Throughout, the mare remained perfectly still. Her resignation warmed Hervey to her the more. He leaned forward as far as he could to see at close hand the veterinarian's art. 'What do you think, David?'

'I'm tempted to make more incisions. From each there's come a good deal of corruption. But there's a greater risk of mortification each time. No, I think I'll cauterize now, and sew up the two longer incisions. Johnson—'

Johnson handed him the cautery. 'I thought there'd be more blood, sir.'

'Yes, I think I did too. It seems that bad blood was likely not the cause of the inflammation. It was as well we didn't bleed her this morning.'

Johnson's admiration for Sledge these days was as great as it had been for his predecessor, Selden. Selden had elevated the Sixth's veterinary method from farriers' lore to science, and Sledge had confirmed the regiment in that practice.

'I wish she would take a little feed, though. Nothing at all, you say, Johnson?'

'Not a thing since yesterday, sir.'

'And the purgative?'

'Not 'ad a lot of effect, sir.'

'Mm.'

When he had done with cautery and needle, and had dressed the wounds with the green digestive ointment, Sledge turned to Hervey. 'Colic is the immediate concern. I worry about her gut twisting if she's eating nothing. A watch on her all night, and call me at once at any sign of distress.'