But as he sipped his tea, the perennially unwelcome thought came to him: how much longer would he – could he reasonably – be able to count Corporal Johnson his man? Twenty-five years it had been, as good as. Perhaps it had been that morning on the ridge at Mont St Jean that sealed the bond, when with the rain still beating down the then Private Johnson had brought him a canteen of tea – hot, piping hot, and he, Hervey, a cornet, when not even his captain’s groom had managed more than brandy. Were you too at Waterloo? / ’Tis no matter what you do, if you were at Waterloo …

But the hour before dawn wasn’t the time for philosophy, or for addressing the future. Sufficient unto the day … There was pig to be hunted – and, no doubt, the reason for the invitation to be revealed. For nothing here could be taken as merely incidental.

Sutty came a few minutes later with a bowl of hot water, and a new-boiled egg, and then in an hour, as the sun rose, he joined Fairbrother and Serjeant Acton in the courtyard – just the three of them, for he’d thought better of asking Georgiana, wanting no distraction. For then too St Alban would have had to come and play the escort, and there was work for him elsewhere. Nor would he take the baboo, for he reckoned his Hindoostanee ought to be up to chasing pig.

Minnie looked as fresh as the day they’d left Madras. He’d thought he might instead ride Granite – he’d schooled the gelding for the chase, after all – but Georgiana had taken to him, and he to her. Now, though, he was having second thoughts. Minnie had a big stride and plenty of speed, but Granite was perfection, a clean-bred little horse, quick to turn and light to the rein, and fast over a quarter of a mile, with a bold eye and courage beyond praise … There again, they weren’t competing for the Coromandel Cup. Whatever was the rissaldar’s game this morning, he was sure that Minnie wouldn’t be outrun by native cavalry.

They were in the saddle when the rissaldar’s party arrived, so the introductions were brief, no handshakes. Acton, in his red, with carbine and sabre, looked them over with his usual suspicion. Three officers (the rissaldar and two jemadars) with three orderlies, none with long guns, but holsters on the saddles and the orderlies with swordbelts – quite a fight if it came to it, two spears against three, and he against the sowars. He reckoned he’d take two with the sabre before they knew what was happening, and the third would then bolt, likely as not. Their pistols probably weren’t capped either, so he’d have the advantage if it came to that too. He’d just have to trust that the colonel and Captain Fairbrother could hold off the three officers with their spears, or else their Derringers, till he could bear down on them in turn …