Sharpe watched the Lieutenant's eyes waver and knew that he had won, but it was a victory that would cost him dearly. The army did not look kindly on men who held rifles on provosts, even empty rifles.

Ayres pushed Batten forward. 'Have your thief, Captain. We shall meet again.

Sharpe lowered the rifle. Ayres waited until Batten was clear of the horses, then wrenched the reins and led his men towards Celorico. 'You'll hear from me! His words were flung back. Sharpe could sense the trouble like a boiling, black cloud on the horizon. He turned to Batten.

'Did you steal that bloody hen?

'Yes, sir. Batten flapped a hand after the provost. 'He took it, sir. He made it sound unfair.

'I wish he'd bloody taken you. I wish he'd bloody spread your guts across the bloody landscape. Batten backed away from Sharpe's anger. 'What are the bloody rules, Batten?

The eyes blinked at Sharpe. 'Rules, sir?

'You know the bloody rules. Tell me.

The army issued regulations that were inches thick, but Sharpe gave his men three rules. They were simple, they worked, and if broken the men knew they could expect punishment. Batten cleared his throat.

'To fight well, sir. Not to get drunk without permission, sir. And-

'Go on.

'Not to steal, sir, except from the enemy or when starving, sir.

'Were you starving?

Batten clearly wanted to say he was, but there were still two days' rations in every man's haversack. 'No, sir.

Sharpe hit him, all his frustration pouring into one fist that slammed Batten's chest, winded him, and knocked him gasping into the wet road. 'You're a bloody fool, Batten, a cringing, miserable, whoreson, slimy fool. He turned away from the man, whose musket had fallen into the mud. 'Company! March!