'Sir?

'Dismiss!

Sharpe pulled the reins of his horse and wheeled towards the offices. He was not a gambler, but he was taking a risk as great as any he had ever taken before the guns in Spain. He put his heels back and rode to save his regiment.

The sergeants stood to attention as Sharpe came in. None, except for Horatio Havercamp, caught his eye. Some flinched when Harper slammed the door. The huge Irishman's boots were loud on the wooden floor as he went to stand behind and to one side of Sharpe.

Sharpe, as the silence stretched almost unbearably, counted thirty-one men in the room. He had decided to start here, letting the officers sweat in Lieutenant Colonel Girdwood's old office. These men, the sergeants, were the men who really ran this camp. They were the trainers, the disciplinarians, the workers who took boys and made them into soldiers. Nine officers were more than sufficient for Foulness, but Sharpe knew that Girdwood would have needed as many sergeants as he could find.

He spoke softly, 'You may sit.

Awkwardly, as if every noise they made might attract unwelcome attention, they perched on chairs or tables. Some remained standing.

Sharpe waited. He looked at each of them, again letting the silence put fear in them, and when he did speak, his voice was savage. 'Every one of you is going to die. That froze them. Whatever they had been expecting, it was not that. They seemed hardly able to breathe as they stared at him. 'You're going to die because you're useless buggers. A dozen of you against one man! He gestured at Harper. 'And you lost! You think the French are weaklings? You couldn't even catch the two of us! We ran circles round you! You feeble bastards! Brightwell!

'Sir? The Sergeant Major was sitting stiffly in an old armchair which trailed tufts of horsehair.

'I believe you owe Regimental Sergeant Major Harper one crucifix. Do you have it?

Brightwell said nothing. His face, red and broken veined anyway, was scarlet now.

Sharpe stared at him. 'I asked you a question!

'No, sir.

'No what?

'Don't have it, sir.

'Then you will pay him for it. Sharpe looked for Lynch, and found him at the back of the room. 'Lynch!

Lynch stood. 'Sir.

Sharpe paced towards him, stopping half way down the long, bare hut. 'I watched you commit murder, Lynch.

Lynch was white. 'Colonel's orders, sir.

'Go and lick out a latrine, now!

'Sir? Lynch looked horrified.

'Move!

'But, sir!

Sharpe waited till the Sergeant reluctantly moved, then told him to stay where he was. 'You see, Lynch. There are some orders you choose to obey and some you do not. Sit down, you bastard. Your punishment for that murder is delayed.

Sharpe's feet echoed on the bare boards as he walked back to the front of the room. One of the sergeants was nervously fingering dominoes left on a table, and his fidgeting pushed a tile over the edge. The clatter of its fall seemed unbearably loud, making some of the sergeants jump as if it had been the sound of Sharpe cocking a rifle.

Sharpe turned. 'I have taken over command of this Battalion as of this evening. The senior captain is now Mr d'Alembord. The head of this Mess is Regimental Sergeant Major Harper. As you are aware, the Sergeant Major and I had to use unusual methods to find you. Whatever happened to myself and the RSM in this place is now forgotten. It is over. There will be no recriminations for anything that happened to us, no punishments, nothing.

They stared at him, surprised by the leniency. 'So listen to me. I know what has been happening here. The army knows. Every one of you, every single one of you has earned a prison sentence or worse. He was making it up as he went along, but their submission told him that he was on target. 'But the army, in its wisdom, is not going to pursue charges, not if you bastards now do as you are told and do it well! Not one of them moved. The last rays of the sun slashed through the drifting dust in the air.

'There will be no more selling of recruits. We're marching to Chelmsford tomorrow. We're going, eventually, to Spain. I'm leaving you miserable bastards in your present ranks, and I expect you to earn that trust! You are accountable to the Regimental Sergeant Major and if any of you do not like that, then I suggest you take it up with Sergeant Major Harper personally. I can tell you from personal experience that he has no objections to settling quarrels in private.

Harper kept his rigid pose, but slowly, very slowly, a smile appeared on his face. No one smiled back.

Sharpe was nearly through with them. 'I assume that all of you remember how real sergeants behave? That is how you will behave. There will be no punishments except those sanctioned by your Company officer, or the officer of the day, or by myself, and all such punishments will be recorded in the Battalion book. And if I discover any one of you trying to get round that order, I will punish that man myself, in private, and alone, and without entering it into the book. Two last things. He did not raise his voice, and only Harper knew how desperately Sharpe meant these final words. 'If any man out of any of your Companies deserts on tomorrow's march, I will punish you for that desertion. There will be march orders in three hours; be ready for them. And one last thing. There was a small stir as they looked up at him. So far, beyond insults that they deserved, he had not been harsh.

His face was full of disdain. 'If any of you are frightened of going to Spain and wish to stay with a properly constituted Second Battalion, give your name to the RSM. On your feet! He waited till they were standing. 'Good evening.

He left, stopping only to mutter a question to Harper. 'Any sign of Charlie?

'Nothing, sir.

'Don't wait if he has news. Just find me.

'Yes, sir.

Sharpe crossed to the office and there he gave much the same to the officers, though he also offered them a chance to resign their commissions this very night if they so wished. 'Just don't be here in the morning, you understand?

There was silence. There were the two Captains; Smith the senior man, and Finch the junior, with six Lieutenants. They all looked old for their rank, and Sharpe supposed that Girdwood had hand-picked each of them. Doubtless they were filled with resentment against an army that had let younger men be promoted over them, that had even allowed a man from the ranks, Richard Sharpe, to be a Major. He was equally sure, though he did not yet have any proof, that their rancour had been assuaged by generous payments from the profits of Foulness.

'I know what this place is." Not one of them, just like the sergeants, would catch his eye. 'You're bloody crimpers! Hardly a gentleman's trade, is it? And thieves.

Captain Finch, his head still bandaged from the thump Harper had given him with his pistol butt, looked angrily at Sharpe, but the Rifleman stared him down. 'I had to find this place by bloody joining up! And what do I find? Thieves masquerading as gentlemen. Common bloody criminals. You! Captain Smith?

'Sir? Captain Hamish Smith, five years older than Sharpe and with prematurely grey hair and sunken cheeks, looked timidly at the Rifleman.

'Where's the Battalion chest?

'In that cupboard, sir.

'Open it.

'The chest is locked, sir. Colonel has the key.

Sharpe took his rifle. They watched in silence as, with the practised, quick efficiency of a trained Rifleman, he loaded the gun. When the rifle was primed, he opened the cupboard, dragging the great, padlocked chest onto the floor, and held the muzzle against the steel padlock.

They flinched as the bullet ripped the hasp away from the chest with a burst of splinters and a shrieking of torn metal. 'You! Tell me your name again. Sharpe pointed to a tall, long-faced Lieutenant who had been guarding the bridge when Sharpe arrived and who still looked shocked from the savage words that had answered his challenge there.