Tunny took a deep breath, and stood. The recruits snapped to ill-coordinated attention. Or three of them did. Yolk followed up a moment later. Tunny waved them down. ‘For pity’s sake don’t salute. I might be sick on you.’

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘I’m not sir, I’m Corporal Tunny.’

‘Sorry, Corporal Tunny.’

‘Now look. I don’t want you here and you don’t want to be here—’

‘I want to be here,’ said Lederlingen.

‘You do?’

‘Volunteered.’ A trace of pride in his voice.

‘Vol … un … teered?’ Tunny wrestled with the word as if it belonged to a foreign language. ‘So they do exist. Just make damn sure you don’t volunteer me for anything while you’re here. Anyway …’ He drew the lads into a conspiratorial huddle with a crooked finger. ‘You boys have landed right on your feet. I’ve done all kind of jobs in his Majesty’s army and this right here,’ and he pointed an affectionate finger at the standard of the First, rolled up safe under his hammock in its canvas cover, ‘this is a sweet detail. Now I may be in charge, that’s true. But I want you lads to think of me as, let’s say … your kindly uncle. Anything you need. Anything extra. Anything to make this army life of ours worth living.’ He leaned in closer and gave the suggestive eyebrows. ‘Anything. You can come to me.’ Lederlingen held up a hesitant finger. ‘Yes?’

‘We’re cavalrymen, aren’t we?’

‘Yes, trooper, we are.’

‘Shouldn’t we have horses?’

‘That’s an excellent question and a keen grasp of tactics. Due to an administrative error, our horses are currently with the Fifth, attached to Mitterick’s division, which, as a regiment of infantry, is not in a position to make best use of them. I’m told they’ll be catching up with us any day, though they’ve been telling me that a while. For the time being we are a regiment of … horseless horse.’

‘Foot?’ offered Yolk.

‘You might say that, except we still …’ and Tunny tapped his skull, ‘think like cavalry. Other than horses, which is a deficiency common to every man in the unit, is there anything else you need?’

Klige was next to lift his arm. ‘Well, sir, Corporal Tunny, that is … I’d really like something to eat.’

Tunny grinned. ‘Well, that’s definitely extra.’

‘Don’t we get food?’ asked Yolk, horrified.

‘Of course his Majesty provides his loyal soldiers with rations, Yolk, of course he does. But nothing anyone would actually want to eat. You get sick of eating things you don’t want to eat, well, you come to me.’

‘At a price, I suppose.’ Lederlingen, sour of face.

‘A reasonable price. Union coin, Northern coin, Styrian coin, Gurkish coin. Any kind of coin, in fact. But if you’re short of currency I’m prepared to consider all manner of things in trade. Arms salvaged from dead Northmen, for example, are popular at present. Or perhaps we can work on the basis of favours. Everyone has something to trade, and we can always come to some—’