'Good God! The boy is entrusted to my care! Now I have to write to his father and say the lad's life was tossed away by an irresponsible officer who committed his company to an attack without any authorization from me!' Lawford paused, evidently too angry to frame his next words, then slapped his hand against his sword scabbard. 'I command this battalion, Sharpe!' he said. 'Perhaps you have never realized that? Do you think you can swan around as you like, killing men as you see fit, without reference to me?'
'I had orders, sir,' Sharpe said woodenly.
'Orders?' Lawford demanded. 'I gave no order!'
'I was ordered by Colonel Rogers-Jones, sir.'
'Who the devil is Colonel Rogers-Jones?'
'I believe he commands a battalion of cazadores,' Forrest put in quietly.
'God damn it, Sharpe,' Lawford snapped, 'Colonel Rogers bloody Jones does not command the South Essex!'
'I had orders from a colonel, sir,' Sharpe insisted, 'and I obeyed.' He paused. 'And I recalled your advice, sir.'
'My advice?' Lawford asked.
'Last night, sir, you told me you wanted your skirmishers to be audacious and aggressive. So we were.'
'I also want my officers to be gentlemen,' Lawford said, 'to show courtesy.'
Sharpe sensed that they had reached the real point of this meeting. Lawford, it was true, had a genuine grievance that Sharpe had committed the light company to an attack without his permission, but no officer could truly object to a man fighting the enemy. The complaint had been merely a ranging shot for the assault that was about to come. Sharpe said nothing, but just stared fixedly at a spot between the Colonel's eyes.
'Lieutenant Slingsby,' the Colonel said, 'tells me that you insulted him. That you invited him to a duel. That you called him illegitimate. That you swore at him.'
Sharpe cast his mind back to the brief confrontation on the ridge's forward slope just after he had pulled the company out of the French panic. 'I doubt I called him illegitimate, sir,' he said. 'I wouldn't use that sort of word. I probably called him a bastard.'
Knowles stared westwards. Forrest looked down at the grass to hide a smile. Lawford looked astonished. 'You called him what?'
'A bastard, sir.'
'That is entirely unacceptable between fellow officers,' Lawford said.
Sharpe said nothing. It was usually the best thing to do.
'Have you nothing to say?' Lawford demanded.
'I have never done a thing,' Sharpe was goaded into speaking 'except for the good of this battalion.'
That vehement statement rather took Lawford aback. He blinked. 'No one is decrying your service, Sharpe,' he said stiffly. 'I am, rather, attempting to inculcate the manners of an officer into your behavior. I will not tolerate crass rudeness to a fellow officer.'
'You'd tolerate losing half your light company, sir?' Sharpe asked.
'Half my light company?'
'My fellow officer,' Sharpe did not bother to hide his sarcasm, 'had the light company in skirmish order underneath the French. When they broke, sir, which they did, he'd have lost them all. They'd have been swept away. Luckily for the battalion, sir, I was there and did what had to be done.'
'That is not what I observed,' Lawford said.
'It happened,' Sharpe said bluntly.
Forrest cleared his throat and stared pointedly at a blade of grass by his right toe. Lawford took the hint. 'Major?'
'I rather think Lieutenant Slingsby had taken the light company a bit too far, sir,' Forrest observed mildly.
'Audacity and aggression,' Lawford said, 'are not reprehensible in an officer. I applaud Lieutenant Slingsby for his enthusiasm, and that is no reason, Sharpe, for you to insult him.'
Time to bite his tongue again, Sharpe thought, so he kept quiet.
'And I will not abide dueling between my officers'-Lawford was back in stride-'and I will not abide gratuitous insults. Lieutenant Slingsby is an experienced and enthusiastic officer, an undoubted asset to the battalion, Sharpe, an asset. Is that understood, Sharpe?'
'Yes, sir.'
'So you will apologize to him.'
I bloody well will not, Sharpe thought, and kept staring at the spot between Lawford's eyes.
'Did you hear me, Sharpe?'
'I did, sir.'
'So you will apologize?'
'No, sir.'
Lawford looked outraged, but for a few seconds was lost for words. 'The consequences, Sharpe,' he finally managed to speak, 'will be dire if you disobey me in this.'
Sharpe shifted his gaze so that he was looking at Lawford's right eye. Looking straight at Lawford and making the Colonel feel uncomfortable, Sharpe saw weakness there, then decided that was wrong. Lawford was not a weak man, but he lacked ruthlessness. Most men did. Most men were reasonable, they sought accommodation and found mutual ground. They were happy enough to fire volleys, but shrank from getting in close with a bayonet. But now was the time for Lawford to wield the blade. He had expected Sharpe to apologize to Slingsby, and why not? It was a small enough gesture, it appeared to solve the problem, but Sharpe was refusing and Lawford did not know what to do about it. 'I will not apologize,' Sharpe said very harshly, 'sir.' And the last word had all the insolence that could be invested in a single syllable.
Lawford looked furious, but again said nothing for a few seconds. Then, abruptly, he nodded. 'You were a quartermaster once, I believe?'
'I was, sir.'
'Mister Kiley is indisposed. For the moment, while I decide what to do with you, you will assume his duties.'
'Yes, sir,' Sharpe responded woodenly, betraying no reaction. Lawford hesitated, as though there was something more to be said, then crammed on his cocked hat and turned away. 'Sir,' Sharpe said.
Lawford turned, said nothing.
'Mister Iliffe, sir,' Sharpe said. 'He fought well today. If you're writing to his family, sir, then you can tell them truthfully that he fought very well.'
'A pity, then, that he's dead,' Lawford said bitterly and walked away, beckoning Knowles to accompany him.
Forrest sighed. 'Why not just apologize, Richard?'
'Because he damned well nearly had my company killed.'
'I know that,' Forrest said, 'and the Colonel knows it, and Mister Slingsby knows it and your company knows it. So eat humble pie, Sharpe, and go back to them.'
'He'-Sharpe pointed at the retreating figure of the Colonel-'wants rid of me. He wants his goddamned brother-in-law in charge of the skirmishers.'
'He doesn't want rid of you, Sharpe,' Forrest said patiently. 'Good God, he knows how good you are! But he has to bring on Slingsby. Family business, eh? His wife wants him to make Slingsby's career, and what a wife wants, Sharpe, a wife gets.'
'He wants rid of me,' Sharpe insisted. 'And if I apologize, Major, then sooner or later I'd still be out on my ear, so I might as well go now.'
'Don't go far,' Forrest said with a smile.
'Why not?'
'Mister Slingsby drinks,' Forrest said quietly.
'He does?'
'Far too much,' Forrest said. 'He's holding it in check for now, hoping a new battalion will give him a new
