Free Simon by Rosemary Sutcliff Page B

you?’
    ‘Frankly, no, sir.’
    The General’s left brow shot up, and he leaned forward, arms folded on the table. ‘Tell me why,’ he suggested.
    ‘Well, sir, he’s too touchy about his dignity, for one thing, and he’s got a sarcastic way with him that doesn’t go down well.’
    ‘He has the makings of a good officer, none the less.’
    ‘But not for the Second Troop, sir.’ Barnaby was speaking quickly, and very much in earnest. ‘My men are mostly old Ironsides, and a good many of them are Anabaptists and so on, too, and that doesn’t make them any easier to handle. They’re the salt of the earth, sir, but they’re a pretty hard lot, and if Cornet Wainwright started his airs and graces on them, they’d—they’d be more inclined to spank him than salute him!’
    The General’s dark face kindled suddenly into a smile that made him seem for an instant like an eager boy; then it was gone, and only a trace of it lingered in his eyes. ‘That sounds like indiscipline, Captain-Lieutenant Colebourne.’
    ‘No, sir; human nature,’ said Barnaby with a grin.
    ‘And you think Carey, here, would have a better chance of success with these ravening wolves of yours?’
    ‘Yes, sir—and Colonel Ireton would speak for him, I’m sure. So would Richard Cromwell.’
    ‘You have met him only once before?’ mused Fairfax. ‘Ah well, the circumstances of the meeting being what they were, that might be enough. We won’t trouble Colonel Ireton or Captain Cromwell.’ Turning back to Simon, he began to question him closely: of course he could ride? Had he ever used pistols? . . . Simon’s answers to these and sundry other questions evidently satisfied him, for finally he pushed back his chair and got up, saying, ‘Very well, Colebourne. I bow to your judgement. John Rushworth, see to it. You have the details correctly?’
    The grey-haired secretary glanced at a slip of paper on which he had been writing and read out, ‘Simon Carey, to be commissioned as Cornet of the 2nd Troop, Fairfax’s Horse.’
    Fairfax nodded, then turned to Simon again. ‘You will receive your Commission from the Committee of Both Kingdoms in the course of a day or two. In the meanwhile, get your equipment and report to Major Disbrow.’
    Simon drew himself up even straighter than he had been standing before and said rather breathlessly, ‘Thank you, sir! I—I’ll do my level best to be worthy of it.’
    ‘I know that.’ Fairfax picked up his gloves and moved toward the fire. ‘I wish you a good evening, Colebourne. Good evening, Carey.’
    A few moments later they were outside the door again, and clattering downstairs.
    ‘A friendly soul, the Lord-General,’ said Barnaby with satisfaction, as they crossed the courtyard where the horses were still being walked up and down before the door. ‘Never too busy to talk to small fry man-to-man and listen to what one has to say. Now for the Quartermaster; I’m off duty, so I’ll come too. We’ll leave your horse here and pick him up later on the way back to Quarters. Oh, but wait a moment—’
    They had just emerged into the street, when he stopped in his tracks and turned to point upward. ‘Look up there.’
    Simon followed the line of his pointing finger, and saw a mass of drooping Colours that hung motionless in the quiet air, brilliantly, glowing blue and gold and white in the fading light of the February afternoon, from the open oriel window abovehim. ‘Those are our Regimental Standards,’ Barnaby was explaining. ‘The big ones on the left are the Colours of Fairfax’s Foot, and the smaller ones on lances are the Standards of Fairfax’s Horse; one for each Company and Troop, you see. That’s ours, second from the left, and the black leopard above is Sir Thomas’s personal Standard. They are always housed where everyone can see them, partly to show where Regimental Headquarters is, and partly because—well, because they belong to each one of us, and so we all have the