Page 240 of The Armor of Light

‘All right. Form them up five abreast and I’ll march them off.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He looked them over appraisingly as the sergeant marshalled them. Their uniforms were grubby from the trip. Apart from a few eager youths they were a sullen lot, probably regretting the impulse that had made them volunteer. Mostly they looked healthy, though.They would be drilled and marched to keep them on their toes, but they would not have to fight. The war was over.

His eye was caught by the back of a tall man with broad shoulders, and he thought how useful that man would have been when manoeuvring cannons in battle. The man had long, straggly fair hair, and seemed vaguely familiar. He turned, and Kit was astonished to recognize Jarge Box.

Why was he here? Perhaps he had lost hope of finding work, and had joined the army in desperation. Or, more likely, he had been convicted of a serious crime – of which he might well have been guilty – and had been sentenced to the army.

Kit’s relationship with his stepfather had been rocky, but now he felt glad to see him. As he approached, Jarge’s face – which had borne the look of one who is staunchly bearing the trials of a long, uncomfortable journey – broke into a smile. ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he said. ‘I wondered if I might run into you.’

Kit shook his hand energetically. ‘You’ve come at the right time,’ he said. ‘The fighting’s over.’ Then he glanced over Jarge’s shoulder and saw his mother.

He burst into tears.

He went to her and they embraced. Kit could not find words. He was overwhelmed by happiness and love.

Eventually she stood back and looked him up and down. ‘My, my,’ she said. ‘So brown-faced, so thin, and yet so much a man.’ She touched his neck just below his ear. ‘With a scar, too.’

‘A souvenir of Spain. Mother, you look well.’ She was in her middle forties but seemed as healthy and strong as ever. ‘How was the journey?’

‘That barge was overcrowded. But we’re out of it now.’

‘Have you eaten?’

‘A scanty breakfast.’

‘There’ll be dinner at the camp.’

‘I can hardly wait.’

‘In that case we’ll get going.’ He stepped back and let the sergeant get on with forming them into a marching body.

When they were ready he got on his horse to address them. Raising his voice in the way he had learned to make it carry, he said: ‘Being in the army is very easy. If you do what I tell you, when I tell you, and do it right, you will have a happy time.’ There was a rumble of quiet assent to that: it was fair. ‘If you piss me off I will make you so miserable you will wish you were dead.’ They laughed at that, though with an undercurrent of nervousness.

The truth was that Kit never made anyone’s life miserable. However, the threat was effective.

Finally he said: ‘On my word...march.’

He turned his horse and nudged it into a walk, and the recruits followed.

*

It was mid-morning when Elsie received the letter from Kit Clitheroe. She remembered him as a bright little boy in Sunday school. So little Kit was now a captain in the 107th Foot and based in Brussels.

If Kit and his mother had stayed in their village they would both still be poor agricultural labourers who never travelled farther than Kingsbridge. How their lives had been transformed by industry and war.

She read Kit’s letter several times. It seemed to her that Kenelm was seriously ill. She brooded all morning, then took the letter with her at dinner time and showed it to her mother and Spade.

Arabella agreed with her that it looked bad. ‘The infection has persisted too long,’ she said. ‘I wish he was here, so that we could look after him, but the journey would make him worse.’

Elsie said: ‘It’s kind of the earl to pay for the boarding house, andI’ll send money right away. I still have most of my inheritance from Father.’

Arabella still looked worried. ‘I can’t think what more we can do for poor Kenelm.’

This was the question that had troubled Elsie all morning, but she had found a solution. ‘I must go to Brussels and look after him,’ she said.

‘Oh, Elsie, no!’ said Arabella. ‘Such a dangerous journey.’