He saw Ashton every spare moment. Any hope of the colonel’s recovering from his wound faded a few days after Arthur’s arrival. The army’s chief surgeon had done all that he could to save Ashton’s life, but the wound became inflamed and a foul-smelling pus had begun to exude from the puckered flesh where the ball had penetrated his side. Ashton’s agonies increased steadily and Arthur sat helplessly by as his friend’s pallid skin turned waxen and his breathing became more and more laboured.Two days before Christmas Arthur saw him at first light, before the day’s duties began. Ashton was no longer even able to raise his head and his eyes rolled towards Arthur when he entered the tent and pulled up a stool beside the bed. The sickening stench from the wound filled the air and Arthur had to fight off the nausea it induced in his stomach.

He made himself smile. ‘How are you today, Henry?’

‘Dying, as usual.’ Ashton’s lips flickered into a grin for an instant. ‘Arthur, it’s too bad. There was still so much I wanted to do . . . so much.’ His hand slithered across the sheet and reached for Arthur’s. ‘Don’t waste your life, Arthur.’

‘I’ll try not to.’

‘Good. I have one last favour I would ask of you.’

‘Anything.’

‘My horse, Diomed, she’s a fine Arab. Best mount in the whole of India. Take care of her for me. She deserves only the finest of riders. I’d hate to think of her being sold to some fat, rich Company official after I’m gone.’

‘I’ll look after Diomed.’

A bugle sounded morning parade and Arthur glanced to the sliver of light piercing the tent flap. ‘I have to go. I’ll see you this evening.’>

‘Yes . . . I’ll look forward to it.’

Arthur stood up and replaced the stool at the end of the bed before making for the entrance to the tent.

‘Arthur!’

He paused and turned back.With a great effort Ashton raised a hand and pointed a trembling finger at his friend. ‘Remember, whatever else you do, I beg of you, don’t waste your life.’