Riflemen to the front of the column

"I say, 'Sarge, I go sleeping, not trouble,'" said Carty, looking worried. "And Jenny, Jenny come, but Sergeant girls crying in tavern, and I not want Jenny cry, so I shout, 'Go away!' at Jenny."

"Damn," Harris repeated. How much trouble that would cause he could not say, but that Carty had spoken to the man ... The boy was looking at him, needing some kind of reassurance. "A lot of people got in his way. The horseboy, the girls in the tavern, the Inniskillings ... He can't get his revenge on all of them. And there's no reason why he should pick you out. But - whoever it is - you keep by me or the others, and don't annoy redcoat officers."

They were climbing up through the town now, with the avenida getting wider and the houses bigger and more impressive. The city still bore the shape imposed by the Romans and their successors, although it had out grown its original walls several times. They would still have to pass out through the gate, like so many armies before them.

"Mister Sharpe come; he say 95th stick together, and I stick together with you and Mister Sharpe and Sarge and Ben and Cooper and Dan..." He trailed off, trying to remember his point. "But there are Inniskillings there! And Williams is a Inniskillings and he is fighting Sergeant Hakeswill when me and Mister Sharpe going billet."

He looked up, and he could see that Harris was angry. "Harris, I not want him there, or I not..." He searched for the proper words. "Sorry, Harris."

"It's not your fault," Harris said. "The grudge with Mr Sharpe goes back so far, it's probably older than you... Williams fought Hakeswill, did he? And you said Hakeswill had a knife. That is a very lucky redcoat. But he wasn't alone. And you won't wander off again." He thought, regretfully, that that might put an end to any plans he had for celebrating victory once they got to Oporto. Unless someone managed to dispose of Sergeant Hakeswill during the battle, but the 33rd hadn't summoned the courage to do so yet.

"Mister Sharpe older than me, and Sergeant Hakeswill - many, many, many older," agreed Carty. "Has knife, but many Inniskillings - Inniskillings pull me not in fight, and Mister Sharpe and me go billet."

"We are all much older than you, Carty," Harris said. "It is a pity that the Inniskillings didn't deal with him, but I'm glad they kept you out of the fight. You and Mr Sharpe."

"I not seeing Sergeant after. Many Inniskillings, but he has a knife, so I say 'Mister Sharpe, knife', and Mister Sharpe says to Inniskillings, but I am happy seeing Williams at water and he is having no knife-wound."

Harris thought about that. "If he was with his mates, and not using a knife - Hakeswill wouldn't be able to swear himself out of a murder charge, if he'd stuck the lad." He gave a quick twisted grin. "They'd back up their man, without a second thought. They would lie to protect to Williams, or to avenge him," he rephrased himself.

"Inniskillings stick together like 95th Rifles stick together," said Carty, his mood lightening. Pride in one's regiment, and a feeling of belonging...

"Inniskillings fight among themselves," Harris said, with a wry smile. "If there's no one else to fight. But if there is, they'll stick together. The 95th Rifles do not fight among themselves - nowadays."

"Why Inniskillings fight a-among them-selves?"

To keep their hand in, Harris thought, or any other part that could be used to strike or kick or... "Company pride," he said. "There are some old rivalries and even new ones. And they're not like us - they don't talk among themselves and sort things out, they just ..." It was the reputation, he thought. They couldn't be seen to forgive an insult from someone outside whatever group they were in. That would just lead to more insults. So they fought. They were the Inniskillings.

Harris was speaking quickly again; Carty was flattered but puzzled. "Rivalries?"

"My company is better than your company. My regiment is better than your regiment. They are rivals - who is better?"

"Like... Connacht man and Ulster man? They are rivals?"

That was probably what he had meant. The Scots with their clan system and the memories - if that's what it was - of the last great rebellion in Britain. And the Irish, which seemed to be the same, only more. "That's right - though it can be good. Like Dan Hagman and Gabe Cotton, they're rivals too."

"Because... Dan want being more good 'an Gabriel Cotton, and Gabriel Cotton want being more good 'an Dan?"

"Good lad," said Harris. "It can make you try harder. When we were all part of the regiment, then one company tried to be better - better shots like Dan and Gabe; smarter, so they're not the ones made to do extra drill and spend their afternoons polishing and buffing, like that company of the 62nd did yesterday!"

"You and I are rivals, Harris? Because I want making English more good?"

"No - because I want you to speak English better... If you end up speaking better than I do, I shall be proud of you. That's the best thing for a teacher." Unless the teacher was afraid of being bettered, of losing his status as superior. Harris would just be glad. And learning to speak good English would only be part of it. With that hurdle over, there was reading and writing, and ... Not an academic career, of course, but learning enough to make it in the Army.

Proud... Carty smiled up at Harris. "I want me to speak English better," he said slowly and carefully.

Harris frowned. That was a tricky one. It was better to leave it for the moment - it was perfectly understandable, and a great improvement on the English Carty had spoken earlier. "You are speaking much better English. Well done."

And they were out on the road. It would be some time to sunrise, but already there was enough light for them to see the road, and the fields, the land rising to the east and to the west the more prosperous farm land. They could leave the road and the lanes that linked farms, villages and monasteries, for the cavalry screen. For them, a chance to do more skulking among the foothills and the small woods and orchards, that just might hold a French company of tirailleurs.

"We wait for Dan and Ben? We are scouting?" said Carty, frowning in concentration and speaking in a drawl.

"They'll be along - though you might not see Dan," Harris grinned. "Or hear him. We will make sure there are no French here - but if there are, Dan will be the one to get close enough to count them, and tell us what they are eating."

"Eating... eating frogs legs!" said Carty with a grin.