'I don't need you to tell me my duty, Major! Sir Augustus' voice was angry. Dubreton watched silent. The hand touched the bandage again, 'Colonel Dubreton had given us his word. He will withdraw when his task is done. There is no need for a useless confrontation in this valley. You may wish a fight, Major, to burnish your laurels, but my job is done. I have destroyed Pot-au-Feu, retaken our deserters, and our orders are to go home!

Sharpe smiled. They were not Farthingdale's orders, they had been Kinney's orders, and now Kinney was in his grave looking westward at the hills, and Farthingdale had fallen into this command. Sharpe blew smoke at the ceiling, looked at Dubreton. 'You will go home?

'Yes, Major.

'And you call yourselves ‘the Army of Portugal’, yes?

Silence. Sharpe knew he was right. The French maintained three armies in the west of Spain; the Army of the North, the Army of the Centre, and the Army of Portugal. Dubreton's home was across the border, his words had been deliberately misleading, though not enough to compromise his honour.

Dubreton ignored Sharpe. He looked, instead at Sir Augustus, and he put steel into his voice. 'I have four Battalions of infantry, Sir Augustus, and can summon more within a day. I have my orders, however foolish they may seem, and I intend to carry them out. I will begin my operations at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. I leave the choice to you whether you care to obstruct them.

Dubreton knew his man. Sir Augustus saw the odds, and saw the French bayonets coming through the war-smoke, and he folded spinelessly in front of the threat. 'And you say we can withdraw unmolested?

'Our truce is extended to nine o'clock in the morning, Sir Augustus. That should give you ample time to distance yourself from Adrados.

Farthingdale nodded. Sharpe could hardly believe what he was seeing, though he had known other officers like this, officers who had bought their way to high rank without ever seeing the enemy and who ran away the first moment they did. Farthingdale pushed at the table, scraping his chair back. 'We will leave at dawn.

'Splendid! Dubreton raised his brandy glass. 'I drink to such sense!

Sharpe dropped his cigar butt on the floor. 'Colonel Dubreton?

'Major?

Sharpe had cards to play now, but in a different game, and he must play them carefully. 'Sir Augustus had led a gallant attack today, as you can see.

'Indeed. Dubreton looked at the white bandage. Farth-ingdale's peevish face looked suspiciously at Sharpe.

'I've no doubt, sir, that the story of this morning's attack will bring nothing but glory to Sir Augustus. Farthingdale's face, in the presence of such praise, showed only more suspicion. Sharpe raised an eyebrow. 'Sadly the despatch will have to record that Sir Augustus received an injury while leading troops into the breach. Sharpe leaned forward. 'I have known times, Colonel, when such an injury caused a serious relapse during the night.

'We must pray that doesn't happen, Major. Dubreton said.

'And we'll be grateful for your prayers, sir. However, if it does, then the command of the British troops will fall on my unworthy shoulders.

'So?

'And I will exercise that command.

'Sharpe! Farthingdale protested, quite rightly. 'You take too much on yourself, Major! I have made my decision, given my word, and I will not tolerate this insult. You will accept my orders!

'Of course, sir. I apologize.

Dubreton understood. Sharpe, too, had been protecting his honour, disassociating himself from Farthingdale's decision, and the Frenchman had caught the message Sharpe had wished to convey. He held up a hand. 'We shall pray that Sir Augustus' health lasts the night, and in the morning, Major, we will know he has happily lived if we see that you have withdrawn.

'Yes, sir.

They stayed a half-hour more then made their farewells. Soldiers brought horses to the door, officers pulled on cloaks or greatcoats and stood to one side to allow Josefina to mount her horse. Sir Augustus mounted beside her, pulled his hat low over the bandage, and looked at the British officers at the inn door. 'All Company officers to my quarters in a half hour. All! That includes you, Sharpe. He raised a gloved finger to the tassel of his hat and nodded at Dubreton.

The French Colonel held Sharpe aside. 'I will remember my debt to you, Sharpe.

'There's no debt in my mind, sir.

'I'm a better judge. He smiled. 'Are you going to fight us tomorrow?

'I shall obey orders, sir.

'Yes. Dubreton watched the first horses leave. He brought a bottle of brandy from behind his back. 'To keep you warm on your march tomorrow.

'Thank you, sir.

'And a happy New Year, Major.

Sharpe mounted and walked his horse after the receding officers. Harry Price hung back for him, fell in alongside, and when they were well out of earshot the Lieutenant looked at his tall Major. 'Are we really going tomorrow morning, sir?

'No, Harry. Sharpe grinned at him, but the grin hid his real feelings. Many Riflemen and many Fusiliers, Sharpe knew, would never leave the high place in the hills that was called the Gateway of God. They had had their last Christmas.

Christmas midnight. The mist clinging to stone and grass where the breeze had not yet taken it away, and the boot-heels of sentries were loud on the Castle ramparts. Flame flared in the courtyard. From below, the greatcoat-skirts of the patrolling sentries could have been the surcoats of armoured knights; their bayonets, catching the gleam of fire, the spearpoints of men who waited for Islam to attack in the dawn.

Sharpe held Teresa close. Two of her men waited in the Castle gateway, her horse moved restlessly behind her. 'You have the message.’

She nodded, pulled away from him. 'I'll be back in two days.

'I'll still be here.

She punched him softly. 'Make sure you are. She turned, mounted the horse, and pulled it towards the gateway. 'Take care!

'We ride more at night than at day! Two days! And she was gone through the arch, turning westward to take the news of the hidden French troops to Frenada. Another parting in a marriage that was made of too many partings, and he listened to the fading hooves and thought that at the end of two days' fighting there would be a reward.

He was late for Sir Augustus' meeting, and he hardly cared. The decision that Sharpe had made would render anything Sir Augustus had to say meaningless. Sharpe would take over. He climbed the stairway in the gate-tower, laboriously cleared of the windlass, and walked the circuit of the battlements towards the keep.

Sir Augustus had a huge fire in his room, the wood crackling fiercely as the thorns burned. The chimney, the only one in the Castle, opened up on the ramparts.

Farthingdale paused as Sharpe entered. A dozen officers sat or stood in the room, even Frederickson had been fetched from the watchtower, and the eyes looked at Sharpe. Farth-ingdale's voice was hostile. 'You're late, Major.

'My apologies, sir.

Pot-au-Feu had furnished the room in barbaric splendour, rugs on walls and floor, even serving as heavy curtains, and the curtains moved to reveal Josefina. She came from the balcony, smiled at Sharpe, then leaned against the wall as Sir Augustus lifted the piece of paper in his hand. 'I will recapitulate for those who could not be here on time. We leave at first light. The prisoners will go first, suitably dressed, and guarded by four Companies of the Fusiliers.

Brooker nodded, making notes on a folded square of paper.

'Captain Gilliland will go next. You will make space on your carts for the wounded.

Gilliland nodded. 'Yes, sir.

'Then the rest of the Fusiliers. Major Sharpe?

'Sir?