A MURMUR of agreement sounded from Malan's supporters, then Malan looked momentarily alarmed as Sharpe strode down the aisle. The big man hefted his cudgel. «Outside,» Sharpe said, pulling open the church door. "I don't obey you, " Malan said stubbornly. "Lost your courage, have you?" Sharpe sneered as he walked out into the snow. "All words, no action?"

Malan came through the door like a charging bull, only to find Sharpe sitting on the church's low wall. "Stand up, " Malan demanded. "Just get it over,»

Sharpe said. "Hit me." He saw the puzzlement on Malan's face. "That's what you've been wanting to do all year, isn't it?" he asked. "Hit me? So do it."

"Stand up! " Malan said again, and his supporters, who had followed Malan out of the church, growled their support. "I'm not going to fight you, Jacques,»

Sharpe said, "I don't need to. I've been in as many battles as you have, so I don't have to prove a thing. But you do. You don't like me. In fact you don't seem to like anyone. You do nothing all day except make trouble. You were supposed to deliver firewood to the church-house, weren't you? But you haven't done it. You'd rather sit in the tavern spending your mother's money. Why don't you make yourself useful? I could use you! I've got a rusted-up mill that needs rebuilding, and a mill channel that needs clearing, and next month I've got a load of stone coming from Caen to repave the yard. I could do with a strong man. But right now I need a soldier. A good soldier, not some fat drunk who lives off his poor mother's purse." Malan stepped forward and raised the cudgel. "Get up, " he insisted. "Why bother?" Sharpe asked, "if you're just going to knock me down again?" "You're frightened! " Malan jeered. "Of a drunk?" Sharpe asked scornfully. "You dare call me a drunk?" Malan shouted.

"You? The English? Who were always drunk in battle! " "That's true, " Sharpe admitted, "but we had to be, didn't we? If we were going to fight you lot."