‘I shall not permit it to be before the garrison, though. Askew’s previous service was satisfactory; he’s earned the privilege of meeting his maker with just his fellow dragoons as witness.’

Armstrong nodded. He’d already begun making plans for the parade; this was a welcome simplification. ‘Colonel.’

‘I still can’t comprehend it, though. What could have possessed him?’

It had certainly not been drink, not that excess of it was any plea in mitigation. Provocation, yes – but there were daily provocations in the life of a dragoon, and far worse than being called the son of a whore. Hervey deplored the abuse – more appropriate for a roughrider chastising an idle recruit than an officer addressing a dragoon – and in a public place too. In a regiment of foot no officer would ever speak directly to a private man, but in the cavalry, with its fellowship of the stable, the rule was not so rigid. He’d not had a high regard for Lieutenant Waterman since his arriving from the Tenth, but once condone the striking of an officer, no matter what the provocation, and you made every dragoon his own judge and jury in the matter. And who knew what tongue-lashing an anxious dragoon might need when the guns began to play?

But they’d had this conversation before, and Armstrong had nothing further to say. ‘With your leave, then, Colonel?’

Hervey nodded.

It was a slightly later hour for orderly room, the first day of the post-Monsoon routine. It could hardly be called the cool season, for although the thermometer no longer broached a hundred, it refused to fall very much below ninety during the day – at least in the first month. Nevertheless, Hervey was glad to have the day restored to something like usual, the hot weather stand-down from midday to four o’clock being rarely gainful.

The adjutant, who’d stood silent during the serjeant-major’s report, beckoned to Sammy, the orderly room’s bearer.

The little Tamul brought in a silver tray of coffee and two cups, the customary accompaniment to ‘officers’ memoranda’ – the discussion of matters not requiring the presence of the serjeant-major. Lieutenant St Alban would one day command the attention of the House of Commons, and undoubtedly from the despatch box (and in the Whig, even Radical, interest): of that, Hervey was certain, for besides aught else, it was St Alban’s own desire. But for the moment the adjutant’s ambition was in abeyance, overtaken by the conviction that, as he put it, ‘we do good here’. Besides, he found being adjutant the most agreeable work. Hervey had told him he’d be no use in the appointment unless he knew his commanding officer’s opinion on everything and everybody, and had proceeded to give it him very decidedly. The confidence was beguiling.

Officers’ memoranda had no fixed procedure. Unlike orderly room, however, St Alban usually tried to keep anything untoward till the end.

Hervey spoke first, though, this morning: ‘This may amuse you,’ he said, taking up a close-written sheet. ‘From Lord George: