The Scarlet Thief by Paul Fraser Collard

continue his defence. Unable to look his captain in the eye, his replied was forced. ‘Yes, sir. Abundantly clear.’
    ‘Lieutenant Thomas. Do I make myself clear?’
    The Light Company’s junior lieutenant nodded firmly in reply, unable to summon the courage to match his fellow subaltern’s passionate defence of their actions. At nineteen, Lieutenant James Thomas was one of the youngest lieutenants in the battalion, having only recently moved up from the rank of ensign.
    ‘What was that, Thomas? Did you mumble something?’
    ‘No, sir. I understand you perfectly, sir.’
    ‘Good, I hate mumbling. You are an officer. Your every word must be audible and enunciated clearly.’ The company’s new commander seemed to be enjoying himself. Indeed, he gave every impression of savouring his subaltern’s discomfort. ‘How long have you been in the army, Thomas?’
    ‘Nearly two years, sir.’
    ‘How much did your lieutenancy cost?’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘I think I made my question perfectly clear, Thomas. Please do me the courtesy of answering.’
    ‘Two hundred and fifty pounds, sir.’ Lieutenant Thomas swallowed hard.
    ‘Plus the value of your ensign’s commission, correct?’
    ‘Yes of course, sir.’ Thomas’s face betrayed his anxiety. ‘With an extra consideration of twenty pounds to facilitate the transaction.’
    ‘Goodness me. That is a fortune, Thomas. Do you know how much your soldiers earn?’
    ‘Sir?’ Thomas was unsure how to answer the sharp question. As a rule, officers never discussed money. It was not a topic of conversation for gentlemen.
    ‘Really, Thomas. If you and I are going to get along you will have to stop behaving in such a contrary manner. It is a simple enough question. How much are the soldiers under your command paid for their service to the Queen?’
    ‘A shilling a day, I believe, sir.’
    ‘You believe or you know?’
    ‘Sir. A shilling a day, sir.’
    ‘You are nearly correct. The men are supposed to be paid a shilling a day, but that is before deductions. Deductions take away most of that pitiful amount and leave them lucky to see a few pence. Yet you, Mr Thomas, are prepared to spend two hundred and fifty pounds on a new commission. Is your family rich?’
    ‘No, sir,’ Lieutenant Thomas was sweating under the fierce barrage of questions. ‘Well, my parents are financially comfortable, I would say, sir.’
    ‘How very nice for them. Mr Digby-Brown, how much would it cost you to buy a captaincy?’
    ‘One thousand one hundred pounds is the current army list rate, sir.’
    ‘One thousand one hundred pounds. Do your family’s comfortable finances have such an enormous sum ready for you, Thomas?’
    ‘I do not know, sir. I would like to think they would be willing to invest such a sum in my advancement. It is, after all, the way things are done, is it not?’
    ‘So do you believe you are ready for a captaincy? Do you feel that your two years’ service, and not forgetting your family’s two hundred and fifty pounds, has properly prepared you to lead the men?’
    ‘Yes, sir. I would say I am confident in my own abilities.’
    ‘I admire your certainty.’ The captain let out a tired sigh before continuing. ‘As officers, the men expect you to lead them, not to pander to them. That is an art you must learn. You are not born to lead, whatever you may believe, and a privileged upbringing does not endow you with the qualities you’ll need if you are to succeed as an officer. In my company, I expect you to lead by example. To prove to the men that you are willing to share their discomfort and to fight as we expect them to fight. You do not learn to lead from a book. You do not learn it in the officers’ mess and you most certainly cannot purchase it. You learn it here. Here with your men.’
    Lieutenant Digby-Brown studied his new commander as the lecture ended. Now that the captain had finished speaking, he had turned away, suddenly awkward in front of his subalterns.