Lawford led them through the press of officers and townspeople. Major Forrest kept glancing at Sharpe with an avuncular smile that made him look, more than ever, like a kindly country vicar dressed as a soldier for the village pageant. He tried to reassure Sharpe. 'It won't come to a court-martial, Richard; it can't! You'll probably have to apologize, or something, and it will all blow over.

Sharpe shook his head. 'I won't bloody apologize, sir.

Lawford stopped and turned round, his finger pushed into Sharpe's chest. 'If you are ordered to apologize, Richard Sharpe, you will damned well apologize. You will grovel, squirm, cringe and toady to order. Do you understand?

Sharpe clicked the heels of his tall French boots. 'Sir!

Lawford exploded in rare anger. 'Christ Almighty, Richard, don't you bloody understand? This is a general-court-martial offence. Ayres has screamed his head off to the Provost Marshal and the Provost Marshal has screamed to the General that the authority of the provost must not be undermined. And the General, Mr Sharpe, is rather sympathetic to that point of view. Lawford's passion had attracted a small crowd of interested spectators. His anger faded as suddenly as it had erupted, but he still jabbed his finger into Sharpe's chest. 'The General wants more provosts, not fewer, and he is understandably not happy with the thought that Captain Richard Sharpe is declaring open season on them.

'Yes, sir.

Lawford was not placated by Sharpe's crestfallen expression, which the Colonel suspected was not motivated by true regret. 'And do not think, Captain Sharpe, that just because the General ordered us here he will look kindly on your action. He's saved your miserable skin often enough in the past and he may not be of a mind to do it again. Understand?