Riflemen to the front of the column

"I shoot myself. I shoot you. You shoot yourself. You shoot me." Carty nodded to himself. "Talk to me, talk to me, talk to me."

"She talks to him. He talks to her." Better than shooting and eating, anyway, as an example, Harris thought, hiding his amusement. His eyes never stopped looking ahead, choosing a path for them, and he hoped that Carty, for all his concentrated look, was also paying attention to what went on around him. At present, that included watching the cavalry ride out along the road...

"I, you, he, she - me, you, him, her-" Carty heard a noise ahead in the bushes and instantly stopped talking.

Silence, and another sound - Harris's eyes swept the hillside around them, and saw nothing odd, in the long shadows of early morning. He unslung his rifle. Then something moved, a patch of darker shadow.

Carty unslung his own rifle, ready to cover Harris in a second.

"Maaaaaa." Reproachfully, as if blaming the riflemen for waking her up, the goat rose, then moved away, pausing only to grab a mouthful of leaves from the bush.

Carty lowered his rifle again. "She is girl-goat," he said, picking his words carefully. "English have word for girl-goat?"

"Nanny goat." Harris slung his rifle back over his shoulder. Other shadows were growing legs now, and the goats began to move off. Goat would be better than rabbit, but goat would be a hanging offence.

"Nah-nee goat. Nanny goat. She is nanny-goat."

"And a billy-goat," said Harris, relaxing. "The young one is a kid."

"Billy-goat, nanny-goat and kid-goat."

"Just kid - not kid goat." He watched them go and said. "Sheep are different: ram, ewe and lamb." Forget about all the different words for sheep at different ages. Carty was a rifleman, not a shepherd.

"Goats is billy-goat, nanny-goat, and kid. Sheep is ram, ewe, and lamb," Carty repeated. He thought it was probably more important to remember 'I' and 'me' and 'she' and 'him, but he had a very good memory; he needed it.

Harris smiled at the youngster, and then turned to watch the road, clear at this point. "Light Dragoons," he said, pointing. "They're more use than the Heavy Dragoons, but stay alert, anyway." Not that Carty ever wasn't alert - he had spotted the goats before Harris.

"Harris, light is for not dark in sun, and when pack is not h-heavy, and for Dragoons like hevay is for Dragoons. Light is one word?"

"One word, yes. Light comes from the sun, or from a candle. That is one meaning. Then there is not dark: Mr Sharpe's hair is lighter than yours. Lighter than the Colonel's even."

"So... so... more light is lighter? So, your hair is lighter th-than my hair, and Mister Sharpe hair is lighter than your hair? And! And when room has candle is lighter than room not having candle because candle give light!"

"That's it. That can work for colours too - light green, dark green. Light blue, dark blue." It was a pleasure to teach Carty, and a pleasure to patrol with him, for that reason, and because, young as he was, he could be trusted to do his job, no matter how enthusiastically he appeared to be thinking about something else.

Carty pointed to the faded cloth of Harris' forage cap. "Is light black!"

"It is that colour because of the light," Harris confirmed. "We'd say grey, although... It isn't grey, it is black. Not a very good black. As your coat is Rifles green, ever where it isn't."

"But is more light - lighter - here and not lighter here. And is dirt here, and light black- grey at neck..."

"Yes - light black is grey," Harris agreed, as they dropped down into a narrow gully, impassable for horses. "And light red is pink - but do not tell a redcoat that his coat is pink - it is 'faded', if you dare mention it at all."

"Why not say 'pink' to redcoat? It is fighting word?"

"A rather pretty pink muslin dress," Harris murmured, and then smiled at Carty. "It might be. The coat shows what they have suffered, just as ours do.

"Anyway. That is light - as in 'pale' or 'light from the sun'. Then there is the Light Cavalry. Who do not make things brighter for us."

Carty lost track of the sentence and never had a hope in hell of understanding the puns, but he nodded dutifully.