‘I joined the infantry,’ argued Welbeck, ‘not the cavalry.’

‘Even you wouldn’t have wanted to walk all the way, Henry,’ said Daniel. ‘Apart from anything else, we’re on French territory.’

‘I’d sooner have my feet on the ground, Dan. All that horses ever do is to upset my stomach and give me a sore arse.’

‘I thought you’d like a chance to escape from the camp.’

‘Nobody told me we’d have so far to ride. Why bother to take that old nag back? You could have sent someone else.’

‘The farmer saved my life. The least he deserves is to see how grateful I am. I’m deeply obliged to him.’

Welbeck snorted. ‘I don’t know why,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t be grateful to anyone who sent me back to my regiment, riding a flea-bitten old jade and stinking like a latrine during a hot summer. Do you realise what you looked like, Dan?’

‘You should have seen me when I got out of the pigsty.’

‘I could smell you from twenty yards away.’

Sergeant Henry Welbeck of the 24^th Foot was Daniel’s best friend in the regiment, and rank disappeared when they were alone together. The sergeant was a solid man of medium height with an ugly face decorated with a long battle scar. He had the greatest respect for his friend but even he had joined in the laughter when Daniel came back to camp in such an appalling state. Welbeck had continued to poke fun at him until Captain Rawson had bathed naked in the river, put on his scarlet uniform and at last looked like someone who deserved to be a member of the British army. In spite of his dislike of horses, the sergeant had agreed to accompany Daniel to the farm.

‘How much farther is it, Dan?’ he asked.

‘We’ll be there soon — it’s on the other side of that hill.’

‘At least we’ll get a warm welcome.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Use your eyes, man. Can’t you see that smoke up ahead of us? My guess is that they’re roasting that pig for you.’