'I'm afraid I have, sir.

'Well what, man?

Sharpe told him what had been preached in the church that morning and Nairn listened with fingers steepled in front of his closed eyes. When Sharpe finished Nairn groaned. 'God in his heaven, Major, it couldn't be bloody worse, could it? Nairn swivelled in the chair and stared across the roofs of the town. 'We're unpopular enough as it is with the Spanish. They don't forget the seventeenth century, blast their eyes, and the fact that we're fighting for their bloody country doesn't make us any better. Now the priests are preaching that the heathen British are raping anything that's Catholic with a skirt on. God! If the Portuguese are believing it, what the hell are they believing over the border? They'll be petitioning the Pope to declare war on us next. He turned back to the desk, leaned back and closed his eyes. 'We need the co-operation of the Spanish people and we are hardly likely to get it if they believe this story. Come! This last word was to a clerk who had knocked timidly on the door. He handed Nairn a sheet of paper which the Scotsman looked through, grunting approval. 'I need a dozen, Simmons.’Yes, sir.

When the clerk had gone Nairn smiled slyly at Sharpe. 'Be sure your sins will find you out, eh? I burn a letter from that great and good man, the bloody Chaplain General, and today I have to write to every Bishop and Archbishop inside spitting distance. He mimicked a cringing voice. 'The story is not true, your Grace, the men were not from our army, your Holiness, but nevertheless we will apprehend the bastards and turn them inside out. Slowly.’