of ignorance. The full extent of his medieval history lay between the covers of E. Wilmot Buxton, but there had been none of those names in those pages; and the rest of his historical knowledge coincided exactly with the School Certificate syllabus, which had acknowledged nothing before 1815.
His tongue was like a piece of balsa wood in his mouth.
“Tell the man, David,” said the major.
Audley glanced at Butler sympathetically. “Hundred Years’ War and all that, Corporal—the Black Prince and the battle of Crécy, 1346—“ he blinked and cut short the recital of facts as though they irritated him.
“Go on,” the major urged him. “Sir John Chandos?”
Audley turned towards him. “What’s Sir John Chandos got to do with us … sir?”
“I said go on , Mr. Audley,” said the major. “And I dislike repeating instructions.”
Audley’s chin lifted. “I didn’t know it was an order, sir. Chandos was a fourteenth-century soldier, one of Edward III’s field commanders and a comrade of the Black Prince’s. That’s all I know about him—except that he was famous for his courtesy and good manners.”
Butler held his breath as the major’s good eye became as fishlike for an instant as the glass one. Then the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.
“Not just for his good manners, David,” he said coolly. “He was the greatest captain of the age—the complete fighting man, you might say. Crécy, Poitiers, and Najera, and a hundred skirmishes.”
Audley met the stare. “Yes, sir?”
He hadn’t actually said “So what?” but he hadn’t left it quite unsaid, Butler realised. It had never occurred to him that officers as well as other ranks should have mastered the art of dumb insolence—or it might be better described as dumb arrogance in young Mr. Audley’s case; and somehow he didn’t think that it was a newly acquired skill.
But at least the set of the subaltern’s jaw and the obstinate expression in his eyes settled one question: whatever there was wrong with Second Lieutenant Audley, it wasn’t LMF.
Suddenly the major grinned disarmingly, displaying the full range of gold in his mouth.
“Welcome to Chandos Force, David”—he took in Butler with the grin—“and you, Corporal.”
Butler kicked himself for a fool. He had quite forgotten that any test set by the major would be as foxy as the major himself.
Chandos Force?
“I—“ Audley’s jaw dropped. “Sir?”
“Chandos Force. Which I have the honour to command, and in which you have the honour to serve now—both of you.”
The jeep was slowing down. As Butler was grappling with the significance of what had gone before he was also aware that the sergeant-major was searching the line of trees on the left of the road.
The major looked ahead briefly. “Another two hundred yards, Sergeant-major—you’ll see the broken signpost on the opposite side.” He swivelled back to them. “And what is Chandos Force going to do, eh?”
“Yes, sir.” Audley sounded a little chastened.
“Naturally. Well, that one will discover in due course. But one is entitled to add two and two if one wishes—as I have … that is, if one is good at history as well as arithmetic.”
The test wasn’t over.
The jeep was crawling now, almost down to walking pace. But that didn’t matter.
“I thought code names weren’t meant to mean anything,” said Audley slowly. “But this one does—is that it?”
“So I am authoritively informed.” The major nodded. “It was apparently coined by a historian like yourself—with an historical sense of humour, so I’m told.”
The major was no historian obviously, thought Butler. But the major was the sort of man who would do his homework if he got half a chance, that was for sure.
“Then I presume we’re going to follow in Chandos’s footsteps, sir,” said Audley. “I seem to remember … he covered a lot of country in his time.”
The jeep turned off the road, though mercifully it was
His tongue was like a piece of balsa wood in his mouth.
“Tell the man, David,” said the major.
Audley glanced at Butler sympathetically. “Hundred Years’ War and all that, Corporal—the Black Prince and the battle of Crécy, 1346—“ he blinked and cut short the recital of facts as though they irritated him.
“Go on,” the major urged him. “Sir John Chandos?”
Audley turned towards him. “What’s Sir John Chandos got to do with us … sir?”
“I said go on , Mr. Audley,” said the major. “And I dislike repeating instructions.”
Audley’s chin lifted. “I didn’t know it was an order, sir. Chandos was a fourteenth-century soldier, one of Edward III’s field commanders and a comrade of the Black Prince’s. That’s all I know about him—except that he was famous for his courtesy and good manners.”
Butler held his breath as the major’s good eye became as fishlike for an instant as the glass one. Then the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.
“Not just for his good manners, David,” he said coolly. “He was the greatest captain of the age—the complete fighting man, you might say. Crécy, Poitiers, and Najera, and a hundred skirmishes.”
Audley met the stare. “Yes, sir?”
He hadn’t actually said “So what?” but he hadn’t left it quite unsaid, Butler realised. It had never occurred to him that officers as well as other ranks should have mastered the art of dumb insolence—or it might be better described as dumb arrogance in young Mr. Audley’s case; and somehow he didn’t think that it was a newly acquired skill.
But at least the set of the subaltern’s jaw and the obstinate expression in his eyes settled one question: whatever there was wrong with Second Lieutenant Audley, it wasn’t LMF.
Suddenly the major grinned disarmingly, displaying the full range of gold in his mouth.
“Welcome to Chandos Force, David”—he took in Butler with the grin—“and you, Corporal.”
Butler kicked himself for a fool. He had quite forgotten that any test set by the major would be as foxy as the major himself.
Chandos Force?
“I—“ Audley’s jaw dropped. “Sir?”
“Chandos Force. Which I have the honour to command, and in which you have the honour to serve now—both of you.”
The jeep was slowing down. As Butler was grappling with the significance of what had gone before he was also aware that the sergeant-major was searching the line of trees on the left of the road.
The major looked ahead briefly. “Another two hundred yards, Sergeant-major—you’ll see the broken signpost on the opposite side.” He swivelled back to them. “And what is Chandos Force going to do, eh?”
“Yes, sir.” Audley sounded a little chastened.
“Naturally. Well, that one will discover in due course. But one is entitled to add two and two if one wishes—as I have … that is, if one is good at history as well as arithmetic.”
The test wasn’t over.
The jeep was crawling now, almost down to walking pace. But that didn’t matter.
“I thought code names weren’t meant to mean anything,” said Audley slowly. “But this one does—is that it?”
“So I am authoritively informed.” The major nodded. “It was apparently coined by a historian like yourself—with an historical sense of humour, so I’m told.”
The major was no historian obviously, thought Butler. But the major was the sort of man who would do his homework if he got half a chance, that was for sure.
“Then I presume we’re going to follow in Chandos’s footsteps, sir,” said Audley. “I seem to remember … he covered a lot of country in his time.”
The jeep turned off the road, though mercifully it was
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