Then he asked Worsley to stay a moment, and spoke with him in an unusually confiding tone.

‘Make touch with Fairbrother quick as you can, Christopher. He’ll be in peril already, and greatly more once the insurgents learn we’re coming. Most of all, he’ll best know of what’s happening. Ride clear of any fight unless it’s unavoidable. You’ve seen the country. Take your risks early. And …’ (he was conscious he spoke to a man who’d yet to see his son and heir) ‘there’s no reason we shouldn’t bring this off without excessive blood.’

‘That will certainly be my endeavour,’ replied Worsley, with a wry smile. ‘We’ll be off by dawn.’

‘Then I’ll see you next in Chintalpore,’ said Hervey, offering his hand. ‘Go to it.’

Worsley drained his glass – Hervey had requisitioned a case of burgundy from Somervile’s cellar, for a ‘stirrup cup’ after a council of war always got things off to a good start – then saluted and took his leave with an assuring ‘Depend upon it, General.’

Orders given, questions answered (so far as answerable) and the words of private encouragement delivered, there was then for Hervey the strange ‘hiatus’ that came between a council of war and commencement of an enterprise. Brigadiers and others had their instructions and in turn must give theirs, while he who’d first given them their orders now had little or nothing to detain him, almost as if the clock stood still. He could sit apart in thought, or take refreshment, or rest – or else visit.

He ought perhaps to show his face – or, at least, the mask of command – to those least familiar with it, but instead chose those who knew it best. In truth, there was reassurance to be had from those with the shared experience of many years, and he was not above the need of it. (Besides, he’d only face another onslaught from Georgiana if he went back to his quarters at once, and he was determined in that matter: Chintal in its present state was no place for her or Annie. She’d be safe enough here with the rear party of Somervile’s Bodyguard – and a sight more comfortable.)

There was no reason, either, why he shouldn’t go to the Sixth’s horse lines. The regiment remained his command no matter what the present arrangements (though he wouldn’t want to make Garratt’s job any harder by appearing to cling to it). Nor, with Worsley’s troop detached and the other four disposed to screen the advance of the brigades – a squadron to each – was there much that Garratt could practicably do till they reached Chintalpore. After the conference Hervey had wished him well – suppressing as best he could all thoughts of the unresolved affair of venality – and shaken his hand.

Armstrong he found with the quartermaster in the storehouse counting out ball cartridge – his oldest ‘Sixer’ comrades (along with Johnson). Both of them braced up like dragoons on first parade as he came in, for Collins, though four years commissioned now, would not give up the discipline of half a lifetime, and the RSM knew no other.