‘So,’ said the sergeant, ‘where have you been?’

‘Here, there and everywhere, Henry.’

‘And where might that be?’

‘Well, I spent some time in England at the start of the year.’

‘I doubt if I’ll ever do that again,’ moaned Welbeck. ‘This bleeding war will drag on for ever.’

‘Don’t be so pessimistic,’ said Daniel.

‘We take one step forward and two back. After we battered the Frenchies at Ramillies, I was rash enough to believe that the end might finally be in sight. But what happened?’ he asked, jabbing a belligerent finger in the air. ‘Last year we managed to lose almost everything we’d gained the year before. Marshal Villars stormed the Lines of Stollhofen before surging on into Germany and any hope we had of making headway in Spain vanished at the battle of Almanza. As for the naval attack on Toulon, it came to nothing — just like every other bloody thing we tried to do. I sometimes wonder if our so-called commanders have a clue how to win this war.’

‘Now that’s unfair, Henry.’

‘Is it? I don’t think so. We’re supposed to be part of the Grand Alliance but, if you ask me, it’s neither grand nor allied.’

Daniel grimaced. ‘I’d have to agree with that.’

‘Time and time again, we’ve been let down by the Dutch or by some other foreign frigging idiots who are meant to be on our side.’

‘Be careful,’ warned Daniel, indulgently. ‘Bear in mind that my dear mother was Dutch. I’m one of those foreign frigging idiots you’re talking about.’

‘I knew there was something peculiar about you.’ He slapped his friend familiarly on the shoulder. ‘Nevertheless, it’s good to have you back in camp again, Dan.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And while you’ve been gallivanting here, there and everywhere, I’ve not been idle. I’ve been thinking about those British soldiers who burnt that farm down.’