The huge man held out a hand to Sharpe. He was holding coins, gold coins, maybe a dozen thick gold coins, bigger than English guineas and probably adding up to three years' salary for Sharpe. "You and I can talk," Ferragus said.

"Sergeant Harper!" Sharpe called past the looming Ferragus. "What are those bloody Crapauds doing?"

"Keeping their distance, sir. Staying well off, they are."

Sharpe looked up at Ferragus. "You're not surprised there are French dragoons coming, are you? Expecting them, were you?"

"I am asking you to go," Ferragus said, moving closer to Sharpe. "I am being polite, Captain."

"Hurts, don't it?" Sharpe said. "And what if I don't go? What if I obey my orders, senhor, and get rid of this food?"

Ferragus was plainly unused to being challenged for he seemed to shiver, as if forcing himself to be calm. "I can reach into your little army, Captain," he said in his deep voice, "and I can find you, and I can make you regret today."

"Are you threatening me?" Sharpe asked in astonishment. Major Ferreira, behind Ferragus, made some soothing noises, but both men ignored him.

"Take the money," Ferragus said.

When Sharpe had coughed and scuffed his feet he had been making enough noise to smother the sound of his rifle being cocked. It hung from his right shoulder, the muzzle just behind his ear, and now he moved his right hand back to the trigger. He looked down at the coins and Ferragus must have thought he had tempted Sharpe for he thrust the gold closer, and Sharpe looked up into his eyes and pressed the trigger.

The shot slammed into the roof tiles and filled the shrine with smoke and noise. The sound deafened Sharpe and it distracted Ferragus for half a second, the half second in which Sharpe brought up his right knee into the big man's groin, following it with a thrust of his left hand, fingers rigid, into Ferragus's eyes and then his right hand, knuckles clenched, into his Adam's apple.