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church and low farmhouses. The wholevillage quakes and trembles as the glittering, thundering troops make their way through on the narrow dirt road.
    I’m pretty pleased to belong to such a magnificent regiment. And to go to war as part of it. War can’t be so bad. We’ll just ride everything down. On my splendid Arab and with this glittering army, war can only be a beautiful thing.
    Where the war is going to be, though, no one is quite sure.
    Down in Spain, says someone. It’s supposed to be warm there all the time. And the girls are the most beautiful in the world. Dark and proud and crisp as honey cakes.
    In the east, say others. In Russia! Where else? The whole world knows Napoleon wants to conquer Russia. Russia’s not so good. It’s cold there, and the girls aren’t half so beautiful, but heavy and dumpy.
    Apparently, the crown prince is with the army. But he’s not traveling with our regiment. He’s taking some other route.
    If the king sends his son along, then the war’s in the bag. With an army like ours, and with the invincible Napoleon at the helm.
    Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to clap eyes on the greatest general in history for myself.
    The February sun is getting warmer and more pleasant. The regiments trot and march across the country ata comfortable pace. The wheels of the cannon and the many baggage and forage carts rut the big roads. Slowly the giant worm of the army winds its way forward. No need to hurry. The strength of horses and men must be conserved for the encounter with the enemy. And the reserves mustn’t fall too far behind.
    A town appears on the horizon. The regiment rides past it. It’s the town where my farmer left me just three months ago. I don’t want to think about it.
    The regiment stops for the night in a valley. The villages fill up with soldiers from the mounted Jagers. As befits a count, my lieutenant is put up in the castle. Turns out he’s related to the master of the castle. Are there any nobles to whom he
isn’t
related? I trot along after him, to discharge my duties as his officer’s servant. Of course, I’m not quartered in the castle. That wouldn’t be right, and, anyway, I have my place with the horses. The stable is roomy. Most of the officers’ horses and servants end up in there. The horses are given beets, hay, and oats, and the servants plenty of bread and pear juice. I pull off my uniform, burrow down into the hay next to my horses, and sleep contentedly as any weary wanderer who has reached his destination. The war is getting off on the right foot.
    Only rarely do I spare a thought for my farmer, his big cow shed, and his vast dung heap.

9
    Usually it’s like this: You think you’ve made it into heaven, and suddenly you drop out of the clouds into the deepest pile of dreck.
    It must be the end of February That’s when the thing with heaven and dreck happens to me.
    The day doesn’t begin badly I feed the horses. Then I currycomb them till they whinny with rapture. It makes me happy when my lieutenant is happy and it makes him happy when his horses are happy. When they stand there all glossy and healthy.
    I wait outside the castle for a window to open. Then I’ll know that my master needs me. He can’t get into his boots alone, and he has trouble with his tight pants as well.
    An hour later, the lieutenant is suddenly standing in front of me so sheepish and uncertain, as if he’d gone inhis pants. He can’t look into my eyes, and he tells me in a wobbling, squeaky voice that his father has sent out two replacements for the stable boy who was sent home sick. They are both trusty servants of long years’ standing, but also experienced soldiers, who now must go to war with the lieutenant. And look after him. On orders of the old count. Everything’s been sorted out with the colonel. As is the way among titled gentlemen.
    All of which makes me rapidly surplus to requirements. From one moment to the next. His Grace the lieutenant is very sorry. I