Sharpe sidled toward the steps, elbowing the beggars aside..The crowd was jeering at the defeated British seamen, Panjit and Nana Rao were laughing, while the petitioners, emboldened by the success of the bodyguards, jostled each other for a chance to kick the fallen men. Some of the bodyguards were wearing the sailors’ tarred hats while another pranced in triumph with Chase’s cocked hat on his head. The captain was a prisoner, his arms pinioned by two men.

One of the bodyguards had stayed with Panjit and saw Sharpe edging toward the steps. He came down fast, shouting that Sharpe should go back, and when the cloaked beggar did not obey he aimed a kick at him. Sharpe grabbed the man’s foot and kept it swinging upward so that the bodyguard fell on his back and his head struck the bottom step with a sickening thump that went unnoticed in the noisy celebration of the British defeat. Panjit was shouting for quiet, holding his hands aloft. Nana Rao was laughing, his shoulders heaving with merriment, while Sharpe was in the shadow of the bushes at the side of the steps.

The victorious bodyguards pushed the petitioners and beggars away from the bruised and bloodied sailors who, disarmed, could only watch as their disheveled captain was ignominiously hustled to the bottom of the steps. Panjit shook his head in mock sadness. “What am I to do with you, Captain?”

Chase shook his hands free. His fair hair was darkened by blood that trickled down his cheek, but he was still defiant. “I suggest,” he said, “that you give me Nana Rao and pray to whatever god you trust that I do not bring you before the magistrates.”

Panjit looked pained. “It is you, Captain, who will be in court,” he said, “and how will that look? Captain Chase of His Britannic Majesty’s navy, convicted of forcing his way into a private house and there brawling like a drunkard? I think, Captain Chase, that you and I had better discuss what terms we can agree to avoid that fate.” Panjit waited, but Chase said nothing.