30 May, evening; Tea and gossip

The road was getting worse. Billy Stubbins had lost count of the number of times he'd seen the steadily-marching infantry stumble or knock into each other because of the deep ruts. He almost felt sorry for them. Not that the going was much easier for the cavalry. They had to watch the ground carefully to keep their horses from losing their footing. It would not do to have a horse break a leg because of a trooper's inattention.

They were at their ease now, however, and Stubbins was glad for it. Horses had been picketed, rubbed down, and fed, which left the weary hussars to throw themselves down in careless attitudes around the low guttering fires that were the centre of each individual mess. The evening's fare was slim; a few crusts of hard bread and a thin soup made from withered vegetables and a small rabbit one of the lads had acquired.

There was tea, however, and in plenty. Stubbins lay back against his saddle and cradled his tin mug against his chest. The steam rising up from the mug warmed his face nicely.

"Don't s'pose any you lads heard of what them Rifles got up to last night?" Forbes asked, stirring the watery soup with a chipped spoon.

"Whazzat then?" Stubbins asked, pushing himself up a bit so he could drink his tea without slopping it down his front.