“When they did not return after one, then two days, yet their sergeant was disinclined to think the worst of them—”
“The expectation of bacon for breakfast had impaired his judgment. As my own mouth is almost too full of saliva for me to speak, I must say that I understand.”
“Now still Jimmy and Danny are not back. I must assume that they have deserted.”
“They trained only too well, and learned the lesson too soon,” Barnes reflected. “Now their lives shall be forfeit, if they are caught.”
“Oh, they shan’t be caught,” Bob assured him. “You forget that before I taught them to be English soldiers, Teague Partry taught them to be rapparees.”
“Do you want leave to hunt them down? It would be an excellent—”
“No, sir,” said Bob, “and would you please explain your incessant jesting about everything we do being a training exercise?”
“I have a soft spot in my heart for the men of my regiment—most of them, anyway,” said Barnes, “and would see as many of them as possible survive what is to come.”
“What, then, is to come?” Bob asked, “and how does brush-gathering and pig-chasing make us more fit for it?”
“This war is over, Bob. Ssh! Don’t tell the men. But you may be assured there’ll be no fighting in the year to come. We shall occupy this ground, as a bargaining-chit for diplomats to shove to and fro on a polished tabletop somewhere. But there’ll be no more fighting.”
“That is what is always claimed,” said Bob, “until a new front is opened, and a campaign launched.”
“True enough—in your boyhood,” said Barnes. “But you must adjust your thinking now, and take into account that the money is all gone. England has ninety thousand men under arms. She can afford perhaps nine thousand; and she is willing to pay for many fewer than that—especially if the Tories throw down the Juncto, as seems likely.”
“The Black Torrent Guards are an elite regiment—”
“You really must fucking listen to me, Shaftoe…”
Barnes’s voice was getting fainter and falling away aft.
“I am listening sir,” said Bob, “but mind you don’t stand still and declaim for too long in one place, lest mud swallow up your peg.”
“Shut up, Shaftoe!” said Barnes; but renewed sucking and squelching noises told that he had heard Bob’s counsel too late. There was a long grunt of effort terminated by a succulent pop as he drew his prosthesis out of the mire.
“Yes, sir.”
“It is all going away, man! Every bit of it. An elite regiment, you say? Then some draughty chamber in the Tower of London may be set aside, and a sign nailed to the door reading ‘King’s Own Black Torrent Guards,’ and if I am very fortunate, and if my lord Marlborough intercedes, and fights hard for us, I may be allowed to go behind that door from time to time and push a quill about. On frightfully important occasions of state, I may be prevailed upon to rake together a skeleton Company and dress them up in uniforms so that they may parade before a visiting Embassy, or some such. But I say to you, Bob, that a year from now everyone in this regiment, with a very few lucky exceptions, shall be a Vagabond. If Jimmy and Danny have deserted, and taken to the road, it is only because they have had the wit to anticipate this.”
“Mmph. I have oft wondered over the amount of time you spent in yonder house, over the winter, reading letters from London.”
“I know you have from the queer looks you sent my way.”
“Since the Year of Our Lord 1689,” said Bob, “I have spent all of about three weeks in England. As I cannot read, all that I know of the place now consists of rumors. Your predictions seem unlikely to me—if you are correct, it means England has gone mad. But I do not have knowledge of my own to set against yours, in a debate; and in any case I do not have the standing to over-rule you, sir, if you have made up your mind to turn your Regiment’s winter quarters into a training-ground for Vagabonds.”
“It is more than that, Shaftoe. For their own sakes, I would that these men would survive the coming lean years. And for England’s sake I would conserve this Regiment. Even if we be disbanded for some years, yet the day shall come when we are mustered again, and on that day I’d fain re-constitute the King’s Own Black Torrent Guards from this lot, and not, as is customary, from some random collection of criminals, shake-rags, and Irishmen.”
“You want them to stay alive—if possible honestly,” Bob translated, “and you want me to know where they are to be found, so that we can call them up again, if there is a need, and if there be money to pay them.”
“That is correct,” said Barnes. “Of course, we can’t tell them any of this!”
“Of course not, sir,” said Bob. “They’ll have to work it out for themselves.”