'Yes, sir.'

'Who the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l are you?'

'Ensign Arthur Wesley, reporting for duty, sir.' Arthur held out his doc.u.ment.

'Where's the salute then, Wesley? I'm your superior officer. Come on, man, salute me!'

Arthur reproduced the effort he had made at the barracks gate and the captain snorted with derision. 'You'll need to work on that, Wesley. Before you meet the colonel.'

'Yes, sir. Is the colonel at headquarters? I was given to understand that I was supposed to report to him.'

'The colonel's not here. Went to a party with him last night and he disappeared with some slip of a girl. Still s.h.a.gging her senseless, if I'm any judge of the man.'

'Oh . . .'

'So you'll have to let me write you into the books. You'll be the replacement for that fool, Ensign Vernon. Got himself crushed by an ammunition cart.That was three months ago.We applied for a new ensign and, well, you can see how swiftly the bureaucratic cogs turn in the army. It's a wonder we got a replacement at all, I suppose. So you are most welcome, Mr Wesley.'

'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'

'Now, if you don't mind, I have some boots to return to my shoemaker. My staff sergeant will take care of the paperwork. Then he can show you around the barracks and you can be introduced to that rabble you'll be commanding.' He turned his head and shouted over Arthur's shoulder. 'Phillips!'

'Yes, sir!' A voice answered from another doorway and a moment later a tall, thin and perfectly turned-out sergeant stamped to attention.

'This is Ensign Wesley. Get him entered on the strength and written into the pay books. He's taking over MrVernon's position in Captain Ford's company. Once you're finished at headquarters take Mr Wesley over to the mess and open an account for him.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good day, Wesley.' Braithwaite nodded towards the door and Arthur turned and started towards it when a shout stopped him in his tracks. 'Salute!'

Arthur spun round and swept his arm up to his brow. 'Sorry, sir.'

'Don't apologise, Wesley. Just do it in future.'

'Yes, sir.'

Arthur followed Sergeant Phillips back to the room he shared with the other clerks. Once Arthur had been given his pay book, the sergeant escorted him to the officers' mess. Only two of the battalion's officers were present and one of them was sleeping on a seat in the corner, a London newspaper lying open across his face. The other officer was eating a breakfast of devilled kidneys and nodded a welcome to Arthur as he pa.s.sed through the room to the mess sergeant's office in a small room at the back. Phillips entered Arthur's name in the ledger and immediately added a figure of two shillings in the credit column.

'Membership fee,' he explained. 'Payable every month, or part thereof, sir.'

'I see. Any other charges I should be aware of ?'

Sergeant Phillips counted them off on his fingers. 'Funeral club. Wedding club. Do you hunt, sir?'

'Let me guess. Pack subscription?'

'Yes, sir. We've a share in the Guards' hunt. Helps keep prices down.'

'Is it compulsory to join?'

'Only if you require friends and something of a social life, sir.'

Arthur frowned. 'Anything else?'

'Only food, lodgings and kit, Otherwise, your pay is your own, sir.'

'That's a great comfort. I believe we are to meet my men.'

'Yes, sir. This way.'

Arthur was taken to the barracks, and while he waited outside, Sergeant Phillips went in and shouted orders for the men to a.s.semble outside, in full uniform. There was a chaos of shouting and sc.r.a.ping of clothes chests before the first men emerged from the wide doorway and hurried into position before standing at ease. Arthur took care to examine each man carefully, noting the surly expression in most faces as they had been hauled from the warm fug of their quarters into a cold, damp late winter morning. Then he pointed to one of the corporals.

'You! Come here.'

The corporal hurried over and stood at attention in front of Arthur.

'What's your name?'

'Campbell, sir.'

'Right Campbell, you see that meal scales over there?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Right then, Campbell, here's what I want you to do.' As he explained, Sergeant Phillips leaned into the barracks and screamed at the last few men still inside. 'Come on, you beauties! Move yourselves! Or the last man out is on a charge!'

As the last of the men took up his position, Arthur puffed his chest out and strode along the front rank of the company. So these were the men of the 73rd Highland Regiment: dour-faced for the most part, roughly shaven and smelling of the damp, sweat and smoke of a crowded barrack room. Every one of them looked to be older than the fresh-faced ensign staring down his long nose at them. Arthur froze for a moment as he desperately tried to summon up the strength to address these men, the likes of which he had rarely encountered before, and never en ma.s.se.

He cleared his throat, drew himself up and began. 'Good day to you, gentlemen!'

Silence, and seventy-odd expressionless faces. Arthur felt like turning away and having Sergeant Phillips dismiss these men. Perhaps he could face them another time. Another day. NO! Arthur clenched his fists. He was committed now. Either he act the part of an officer or quit the army immediately. He cleared his throat again.

'I am the Honourable Arthur Wesley, newly appointed ensign to this company. I aim to do my duty and learn the skills of the trade . . . our trade, as soon as I humanly can. Therefore I ask for your forbearance in the weeks ahead while I become worthy enough to serve alongside fine men like you. It is my intention to know exactly what I can demand of the men I command. How far they can march, how well they can shoot and how hard I can expect them to fight.' He paused to see if his words had had any kind of impact, but the men stared straight ahead as before with no sign of their reaction. Arthur smiled to himself. No doubt some of them had been addressed by so many new officers during their service that they saw him as just the latest face in a chain of young gentlemen from whose lips spewed the plat.i.tudes of the first ever such address. Well, today things were going to be a little different. They were going to remember Ensign Wesley.

'It is my intention to start my learning here and now.' Arthur glanced over to where the corporal was busy attaching a large empty water b.u.t.t to the feed scales.Then Arthur looked along the front rank until his eyes came to rest on a man about halfway along, a well-proportioned individual in his mid-thirties with a shock of dark hair. Arthur pointed to him.

'What's your name?'

'Stern, sir.'

'Stern, get your full marching kit, and musket.' The soldier glanced to Sergeant Phillips as if asking for confirmation. Arthur snapped at him, 'Do it! Now!'

'Yes, sir.' The man fell out and ran back into the barracks. Arthur turned to the sergeant. 'I want you to give him the standard issue of cartridges for a soldier on campaign.'

'Yes, sir.'The sergeant turned and ran off towards the barracks' a.r.s.enal. When Private Stern and the sergeant returned and the soldier had placed the cartridges in his belly belt, Arthur quickly examined him to make sure that all the kit he expected to see was there. 'Where's your blackjack?'

'Couldn't find it, sir.'

'Then we'll use another man's.' Arthur jerked his thumb back at the barracks. The soldier trotted off, accoutrements jingling as he went. He returned an instant later with a leather beaker and fastened it to his belt.

'That's better,' Arthur nodded. 'Now get in the water b.u.t.t over there, the one the corporal has attached to the feed scales. Come on, Private! Quickly now.'

The private doubled across the yard and clambered over the side of the b.u.t.t and squatted down inside, so that his head and shoulders and the barrel of his musket protruded above the rim.

'Corporal, you can weigh him now.'

'Yes, sir.'

Arthur had the man weighed in full kit, then without his pack so that he would be at the same weight as when he was in battle, and finally the soldier was ordered to strip down to his plain uniform and boots before the last weighing. Deducting the man's weight in uniform from the total of his marching rig gave Arthur the total weight of equipment. He turned to the a.s.sembled men. 'Seventy-six pounds. That's how much each of you carries on his back when you're on campaign.'

'Aye!' a voice called from the end of the line. 'An' doan' we ken it, laddie!'

Arthur smiled as he leaned towards the sergeant. 'Do you know that man's voice?'

'Overton, sir. I'd stake my life on it.'

'Overton!' Arthur shouted. 'Out here, now!'

There was a shuffling in the ranks as a huge man squeezed through and marched up to the new ensign. He stared over Arthur's shoulder, and his lips had tightened into a sneer. Arthur narrowed his eyes as he addressed the soldier. 'Since you are in such fine voice, Overton, I want you to go and get your full equipment. Then you will march round this yard until you have covered twelve miles. When that's done, Sergeant Phillips will come for me and then we'll see how much further you can go. Should be an interesting experiment. I hope to understand precisely what weight and distance variables can be applied to troop movement.' He smiled. 'And I thank you for your services in this experiment. Sergeant Phillips!'

'Yes, sir.'

'Dismiss the men. Except Overton here, of course.'

As the company returned to their barracks Arthur looked round the yard and made some quick calculations.'A hundred and seven times round the parade ground. Call it a hundred and ten. Make sure he sticks to the perimeter. Oh, and get that one out of the water b.u.t.t.'

Over the following months the new ensign became a source of considerable interest to the men and officers at the barracks as he wasted no opportunity to learn more about the men, the equipment and the organisation of the British Army. It was the latter that perplexed Arthur most. Rather than being left to run its own affairs the army was thoroughly caught up in a web of official hierarchies. The Treasury was responsible for the commissariat that supplied the 73rd's food and transport needs; the army's medical services were overseen by the Surgeon General's office; the troops were paid through the office of the Paymaster General; camp supplies were organised by the Storekeeper General and the Master General of Ordnance was responsible for the upkeep of the barracks. If ever the regiment should go on campaign then the officials of the Quartermaster General would be added to lines of records that caught the regiment in a tangle of bureaucracy that would have instantly broken the nerve of a more dedicated adjutant than Captain Braithwaite.

'Imagine what would happen if ever we went into battle, young Wesley,' he complained one day. 'Daren't fire a single volley for fear of unleashing an avalanche of paperwork. I sometimes wonder if those johnnies in Whitehall aren't secretly working for a foreign power intent on sabotaging our ability to fight.'

If the men of the regiment were impressed by the new officer, his behaviour came as a revelation to his family. So much so that Richard even provided his brother with a private income of one hundred and twenty-five pounds a year to subsidise his meagre pay. At the same time Richard continued to press his political friends to advance Arthur's career.

Then in November, a letter arrived at the officers' mess and was presented to Arthur as he sat down to lunch with the other officers of the regiment. Chewing on a small hunk of fresh-baked bread Arthur broke the wafer and opened the letter.

'Good Lord,' he mumbled.

Captain Braithwaite glanced up. 'What is it, Wesley?'

'Well, it seems I'm to be appointed an aide-de-camp to the new viceroy of Ireland, with the rank of lieutenant.'

'Lucky man. That'll mean an extra two shillings a day. And a new regiment.' Braithwaite crumpled his napkin. 'Confound it, man! That'll mean having to find another ensign for the 73rd.You might have told me about this before.'

Arthur raised the letter. 'Sir, this is the first I knew about it. My brother has arranged it.'

'Your brother? Can't have b.l.o.o.d.y relatives making a man's career for him. Does he do this sort of thing often?'

'You can't imagine,' Arthur smiled wearily.

'Still, eh? Ireland. Dublin Castle is where you'll be. But, of course, I was forgetting.' Braithwaite thrust his fork in Arthur's direction. 'You're from Ireland. An Irishman. I imagine it'll be just like going home, eh?'

Arthur stiffened. 'Sir, being born in Ireland no more makes me an Irishman than being born in a barn makes one a horse.' Then he smiled. 'But it is a home of sorts.'

Back to Ireland. It was over eight years since he had left. His mind filled with memories, flashes of images of Dangan, Dr Buckleby, his father awkwardly swiping at a shuttlec.o.c.k in the great hall . . . So long ago, it seemed. When he returned to the island, it would be as a very different person from the boy who had left it so reluctantly all those years ago.

Chapter 36.

France, 1786 The cannon trials at the a.r.s.enal at Nantes proved to be an interesting diversion for Napoleon. Nearly every other country in Europe was equipped with heavier calibre guns. One of the generals at the Ministry of War had decided that the army needed to investigate the possibility of re-equipping the artillery to match the wider standard. Of course, such an undertaking was expensive and a number of foundries had been asked to submit cannon for testing. For nearly two weeks Napoleon and over a hundred other officers of various ranks from across the army observed the submitted weapons being put through their paces.

The sampled weapons performed well enough, particularly a gun designed to be drawn by a team of horses for swift deployment on the battlefield. Napoleon was immediately intrigued by the possibilities of such a weapon. Even though the artillery officers were impressed by the weapons on offer, the cavalry and infantry officers were not. Any programme to replace the existing weapons would be bound to result in less expenditure on the other elements of the army.With no agreement possible, the trials were concluded and everyone returned to his unit.

Napoleon quickly grew accustomed to life in the garrison town of Valence. The daily round of duties became less onerous as he became more efficient in his dealings with the men and equipment.When he was off duty, the lack of any private income was a constant source of frustration. He simply could not afford to spend every evening drinking with Alexander and the other officers. This became something of a contentious issue between them, particularly following the promotion of an officer in another battalion. The man in question had no obvious military talent, but made up for it with an unparalleled pedigree that saw him rise to the rank of lieutenant colonel at an indecently young age.

'That's how it is,' Alexander shrugged, as they sat in the officers' mess of the regimental headquarters. 'There's no point in getting angry and bitter about it.'

'Why not?' Napoleon snapped back. 'It's absurd. And it's wrong.'

'Wrong?'

'Yes.' Napoleon leaned forward in his chair. 'And this is not about jealousy, before you throw that into the argument. It's about simple justice and - more importantly - it's about what's good for the army.'

'Really? Would Lieutenant Buona Parte care to explain why his judgement is superior to that of all the generals and ministers of His Majesty?'

Some of the officers in the mess were looking round at them and Napoleon was tempted to end the discussion there and then. But some devil within prompted him to continue, 'Mark my words, Alexander. This cannot be allowed to go on. And not just in the army. One day the aristocrats will have to renounce all their advantages and give other Frenchmen a chance to prove themselves.'

'And if they don't?'

'Then their powers will have to be taken from them.'

'Really?' Alexander laughed. 'Who by? The peasants? The factory owners? Or will it all come down to one Corsican with a particular zeal for reform, I wonder.'

Napoleon forced himself not to respond to the slight and returned to his original point. 'All I am saying is that the current situation is intolerable. It can't, and won't, continue. You have as much chance to read the news from Paris as I have. The people have had enough. All that matters for us is to decide which side we are on.'

'Side?' Alexander laughed.'You make it sound like this is going to lead to war.'

'It might.'

'In which case, which side will you take, Napoleon?'

It was a good question, and now that it had been asked Napoleon was not sure.True, his sympathies were with the people who aimed to modernise France; through them the dream of an independent Corsica might one day come true. On the other hand, he had sworn an oath to the King of France and saw that any fundamental change in the way France was governed might descend into chaos - or worse, the civil war that Alexander alluded to.