The fire crackled once more, but this time it seemed to give out no warmth. The men were in their circles again, this time with less circles and with some of the recruits sitting in the inner circle. There was but one gap in the circle.
No one dared sit in Terry's place.
They had seen the body, watched as the Colonel plucked the blood covered Eagle that had ended at least two French lives from his hands, and seen him receive his own grave as a mark of respect. But they still could not convince themselves that he was dead. They were sure that should anyone be presumptuous enough to sit in his place that he would come back roaring at them to get out of it, pick them up and hurl them away like he had done to Bill Jackson back at Talavera.
There was a nervous shuffling as a group of Provost Lieutenants marched past looking for some thieves who had shot and stolen some chickens from a nearby Belgian farm to supplement their meagre provisions. They looked at the men around the fire suspiciously, then noticed one man held the rank of Captain, saluted him, and scurried off quickly to find some men whom they outranked. As they wandered off in the direction of the 95th Rifles Carter grinned, undid his coat, and started handing round the purloined poultry.
O'Donnel began to sing a melancholy air in Gaelic and as the Connaught Rangers added their voices to his the others began to hum. Gradually the mood lightened and the songs became merrier, the men became drunker, and the smiles more heartfelt as the men began to forget the blood and death of the day and celebrated the fact they were alive. The nearby 95th Rifles tried to outsing them with their marching song 'Over the Hills and Far Away' but the 33rd gave a rousing chorus of 'The Drummer Boy' which led to a Rifleman coming over to them waving a piece of white cloth on the end of his gun. A few moments later all of the remaining Riflemen carried their pile of wood over to the 33rds fire, and a minute later were singing 'Over the Hills' again, this time with the 33rd humming along with them. Carter was enjoying himself, while watching Yorkie's wife, Molly, kissing O'Donnel on the cheek. It was the way of the army wife to find a new protector when her husband died. Molly, being a pretty young lass, had found no difficulty in convincing Sean he needed her to look after him.
The veterans of the Spanish Wars started to discuss what they would do now. They were still immensely rich, more so since the wills that the dead men had written gave the money to their surviving comrades. The money, kept in a bank in London would finance the building of a pub in the capital, they reckoned, and would buy Carter and Wilson the promotions they deserved. Then when they retired they would get half-pay which for a Majority would be enough to live on along with what the pub earned. And they could finally hang up that picture they had found in the French plunder wagons at Vitoria in the bar room, the one signed by that Leonardo DaVinci chap.
"Givvussaquote!" came the inevitable cry. Carter expected it and without a moment's hesitation responded "And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, from this day until the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered." He looked around at his smiling men with their wives and whores, and froze.
A man in a bicorne hat and dark cloak had just sat himself in Terry's place.
If anybody had a right to sit there it was him, Carter supposed.
But why was Nosey at their campfire?
Others had noticed him and the whole atmosphere hushed as the General looked around at the men he had asked to die for their King and Country earlier that day. His thin lips formed themselves into a smile.
"Don't mind me," he said, as though his presence here was inconsequential. The silence remained. "Please carry on with the singing and the jokes," he continued. "They are what led me to this fire."
"Fine," Sean O'Donnel said. "What's an Italian virgin?" he asked the newcomer.
"Good grief!" exclaimed the Duke, "Is that joke still making the rounds? Faster than her brother, I seem to remember the answer was."
"See laddy," said O'Donnel turning to Wilson in triumph. "Even Nosey knows it, so he does."
The chatter singing and joking resumed and Carter found himself talking to the General. He asked him why he really had come to the campfire.
"Well," answered the Duke. "I am on my way to a celebratory meal in the village north of here, Waterloo I believe it's called. Colonel Winterburn is supposed to be coming with me, but wasn't quite ready so I decided to see my old regiment again."
"Course sir!" exclaimed Carter. "You used to lead the 33rd didn't you!"
Wellington smiled. "I once had that honour and that privilege," he said making sure the men of the 33rd heard him. There was a cheer as the men toasted their Duke and he was offered dozens of illicitly gained bottles of wine and numerous slices of the pilfered chickens. The Provosts returned, saw the chickens they were after, but were waved away by the Duke, who believed that after what these men had been through they had earned a few birds. Besides he would send the farmer enough money to compensate his loss.
One thing was still bothering him though. "If you don't mind me asking, why was this place empty? I haven't stolen someone's seat have I?" With a heavy heart Carter tried to explain.
"It was Terry's place that, you see sir," he said. "Terry's been in the army longer than us and he was sort of something special. Guts, experience and the best damned fighter in your army, sir. He died today but nobody could really fill his place. 'Cept you sir."
"This wouldn't be Private Terry of the 33rds in India and the First Battalion of Detachments in Spain would it? Small fellow but built like an ox?"
"Aye, do you know him?" queried Carter.
"Yes," answered the Duke. "I arranged him to join the First Detachments when I left for Spain. I wanted to have at least one damn good fighter in my army."
"This might sound a bit silly sir, but do you know how old he is?"
"Damned if I know. The fellow was there when I arrived as a Lieutenant. He'd been in the regiment longer than anyone could remember even then. He must be over fifty by now. If he hadn't have died." There was an uncomfortable pause as the two men thought about their fallen comrade.
Finally the Duke spoke. "This too may sound a little silly," he asked the newly promoted Captain, "But I don't suppose the chap ever did tell you what his damn surname was?"
