The tocsin of the soul - the dinner bell (25th June 1809)

Edward considered, his cheeks slightly flushed from the implied praise and his own pride in his profession.

"I will certainly try my best to help you there. And blow up anything you would like to see gone, of course ...", he added, eyes twinkling mischieveously.

"Would it be considered impolite to ask what engagements the company has fought since you took it over?"

He knew that there had been at least one sucessfull skirmish and the Captain hadn't been in command that long, so Vickery didn't need to be shy about the answer.

"I think I shall leave the decision of what to blow up to those more senior than I," Vickery replied, and smiled. "I received my promotion just before Christmas, so Oporto was my first action as a Captain - although there was the skirmish at Pombal shortly before that, and a minor clash with a French picquet, although that was so minor as to hardly be worth mentioning."

he looked curiously at Torrington. "Have you seen any action yourself?" he enquired curiously.

Edward's mouth twisted in a rueful smile.

"No, I haven't. Nothing beyond a few ruffians and bandits, and those weren't even foreign."

He shrugged lightly, only his fingers playing with his cufflinks betraying his uncertainty. He wasn't exactly afraid of fights - he had never especially minded getting into dangerous situations before.

But a battle was something he had no experience with, didn't really know what to expect, but still - being an officer - needed to cope with without fault if or rather when the need arose. He could only hope that he would be able to keep his head and courage together and not make any wrong decisions, but he couldn't be sure.

"Well, then, confusion to Bonaparte," Vickery said lightly, raising his glass slightly in a toast. "I am sure this war will last long enough to give us all plenty of experience." He gave Torrington a rueful smile. "I am not entirely sure whether I should recommend you stay out of the action, or keep with us - the Rifles are likely to be in the thick of it, whatever happens."

"Confusion to Bonaparte!", Edward echoed, raising his own glass.

"I guess I will try to be where I can be of some use. If there is nothing to build or clear away ... Well, I'm still a decent rider, and I know the terrain quite thoroughly by now."

"It is a shame your map-making class was interrupted," Vickery said, thoughtfully. "Do you think you would care to make another attempt? Because I think that even understanding the principles of creating maps would help my men to understand the ground and how best to make use of it - or formulate reports so that their superiors can make the best use of it." He gave a wry smile. "Although I doubt that anyone can teach General Wellesley how to make the best use of the ground.

Edward laughed.

"True! But then again, he is also very competent with maps, so I'd say your argument still holds."

He looked at the folded map wistfully.

"I'd rather like to make another attempt. I, too, believe that they would profit from understanding it. But I wonder whether we shouldn't give some thought to other engineering tasks as well. I know that riflemen do not have to dig trenches, but they might find themselves in situations when knowing how to quickly set up a barrier or some means to impete cavalry might be helpful."

"I hope you do not intend to recruit them into the Sappers and Miners," Vickery replied. "I cannot imagine they would willingly give up their rifles. But yes, knowing how to delay the enemy would be very useful; especially as we are so often out ahead of the army."

If they had known that, maybe they could have delayed the French cavalry for longer than they had, and would not have been ridden over so badly, earlier that month.

"I certainly won't have them build us a fort", Edward laughed, hands raised in mock surrender.

"No, just a few simple things. Sharpened branches firmly fixed so that they point outward make quite an effective barrier against cavalry."

He became wistful, looking at his fingers.

"At least I have heard so. I'm afraid I will have to relay on you to tell me how effective it actually is."

"If they work anything like bayonets, it would work quite well, I believe," Vickery replied, and smiled. "None of us know how long this war is going to last but the French are quite tenacious - you will certainly see some action within the next month or so."

"Well, we can still hope that Boney will suddenly succumb to some disease or an apoplexy."

Edward returned the smile.

"From what I could gather on my way here, even the marshalls here in the Peninsula won't work well with one another, and then add to this the various siblings and men like Talleyrant ... I doubt that they would reorganize quickly enough."

"We can but hope," Vickery replied. "And his marshals may not work together, but their petty rivalries may well keep us very busy. If one fights us here today, then another shall want to outdo him, and fight us over there next week. If they could agree with each other for more than five minutes, they could prove a serious threat - and I daresay they will prove a hard nut to crack as it is."

"They certainly will be", Edward agreed, then fell silent for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was curious:

"Have you ever met one of your French counterparts outside of battle?"

Vickery shook his head. "No, I have not. I daresay they are quite civilised, however - despite what rumour back home would have you believe. They take good care of our wounded, however, should any of them fall into French hands."

Barely noticeable, Edward relaxed a bit - an anxiety he hadn't consciously acknowledged diminishing.

"That's good to hear. Yes, the rumours back home rather make them out to be monsters - but then, the enemy's cruelties are constantly reported to the public, seldom their kindness."

He carefully picked a breadcrumb from his cuff.

"The women that have been returned ... Do you know how they have fared with the enemy?", he asked hestitantly.

"It is strange how views of the French differ, even back home," Vickery mused. "Nothing pleases my sister more than to hear of the latest fashions in Paris, and yet the French themselves are considered to be monstrous and uncivilised." He smiled. "Mind you, to be at war with the French is natural... To be at war with Paris is unthinkable!"

He poured them each another glass of wine. "I must confess that I do not, although I think they were treated about as well as can be expected, and better than the French would have treated local women."

Edward chuckled at the first statement, because the irony really was delicious, but he quickly became earnest again.

"Yes, I'm afraid boney has made a mistake in moving around so much - nobody associates him with Paris. I'd be glad if our women hadn't suffered unduly. What I heared in London and on my journey here was ... I think one officer - and not a drunken one - told me about a woman they had found in the middle of a street, crushed by a stone three men had to lift off."

Vickery winced. "She was probably Portuguese - although I have heard that the animosity between the Spanish and the French is worse. The French are quite civilised when it comes to dealing with the British, but there are some very high feelings between the French on the one side and the Spanish and Portuguese on the other. That isn't the worst of what treatment they give each other."

He sighed. "We were two or three days' march out of Lisbon when some of the 95th came across the remains of a French patrol, and by all accounts it was not a pretty sight by any means."

Edward nodded silently, remembering Estefania and her fierceness towards the French. He didn't like that things like that happened. He had been taught on the cricket fields of Eton that one should respect their enemy, and shake hands and be friends when the fight was over. He was old and disilluioned enough to know that it wasn't like this in real life, but he still didn't like it. He said sadly:

"And each side uses whatever the other has done as an excuse to do even worse."

"Precisely." Vickery made a quick gesture with one hand. "Although, I can see why the Portuguese - and the Spanish - are so hostile to the French. After all, the French army live off the land; they take what they want and there is no question of paying for it. And the Spanish were their allies only two years ago. I daresay we would do the same, were the French to land on English soil." He could not imagine his sister or mother having to take up arms against a foreign invader as Estefania had.

"Probably!", Edward agreed.

"Although I can't help myself thinking that we would go about it in a much more organized fashion. And that every step would be documented in writing and filed in triplicate."

Vickery couldn't help chuckling at that. "I suppose we would. There are times I wonder we do not suffocate under the paperwork we have to manage."

"Our army has a mobile press, buys paper by the bulk and every day half a dozen persons hand in reports that in some way or other get edited, printed and circulated - if this wasn't a war, we could become a newspaper!"

Vickery had just taken a mouthful of wine and somehow managed not to laugh until he had swallowed it. "There would be very little news to report if there was not a war, I think. On the other hand, a newspaper for the Army would probably have some very strange reports... General Picton was reported as being in a good temper last week, for only the second time this century..."

Edward bit his lip not to snort in a very undignified manner.

"I would read it on the spot - although it probably would be not quite in keeping with the general air of dignity and sophistication we try to project. But reading that stuff about their officers would certainly do wonders for the literacy of the men."