Harper grinned. "Good to see you, Mr Price."

"I thought the army had discharged you."

"It did."

"You're as mad as a b.l.o.o.d.y bishop! What are you doing here?" Harry Price was genuinely puzzled. "You could get hurt, you d.a.m.ned fool!"

"I'm staying well out of any trouble, so I am."

Price shook his head at Harper's foolishness, then had to hurry away as the battalion was ordered into the wood. The companies filed through the trees and so out into the sunlit rye field where, like the other three battalions in Halkett's brigade, they formed square.

Sharpe and Harper walked their horses back to the crossroads where the Prince of Orange was fidgeting with the ivory hilt of his sabre. He was frustrated by the day's setbacks. He had seen his infantry crumple at the first French attack, then watched his cavalry flee at the drop of a lance point, yet he blamed the day's lack of success on anyone but himself or his countrymen. "Look at those men, for instance!" He pointed towards the four battalions of Halkett's brigade which had just formed their squares on the flank of the wood. "It's a nonsense to form those men in square! A nonsense!" The Prince turned irritably, looking for a British staff officer. "Sharpe! You explain it to me! Why are those men in square?"

"Too many cavalry, sir," Sharpe explained gently.

"I see no cavalry!" The Prince stared across the smoke-shrouded battlefield. "Where are the cavalry?"

"Over there, sir." Sharpe pointed across the field. "There's a lake to the left of the farm and they're hidden there. They've probably dismounted so we can't see them, but they're there, sure enough."

"You're imagining it." Since losing his Belgian cavalry the Prince had been given nothing to do, and he felt slighted. The Duke of Wellington was ignoring him, reducing the Prince to the status of an honoured spectator. Well, d.a.m.n that! There was no glory to be had in just watching a battle from behind a crossroads! He looked back at the newly deployed brigade that stood in its four battalion squares. "What brigade is that?" he asked his staff.

Rebecque raised an eyebrow at Sharpe, who answered. "Fifth Brigade, sir."

"Halkett's, you mean?" The Prince frowned at Sharpe.

"Yes, sir."

"They're in my Corps, aren't they?" the Prince demanded.

There was a brief silence, then Rebecque nodded. "Indeed they are, sir."

The Prince's face showed outrage. "Then why wasn't I consulted about their placement?"

No one wanted to answer, at least not with the truth which was that the Duke of Wellington did not trust the Prince's judgement. Rebecque just shrugged while Sharpe stared at the smoke of the French guns. Harry Webster, beyond Rebecque, looked at his watch, while Simon Doggett slowly moved his horse back till he had left the group of embarra.s.sed staff officers and was next to Harper's horse. The Prince drew his sabre a few inches then rammed it back into its scabbard. "No one gives orders to my brigades without my permission!"

"When I was in the ranks, Mr Doggett, we had a way of dealing with young gentlemen like His Royal Highness," Harper said quietly. "

"You did?"

"We shot the little b.u.g.g.e.rs." Harper smiled happily.

Doggett stared into the battered and friendly face. "You did?"

"Especially b.u.g.g.e.rs like him." Harper nodded scornfully towards the Prince. "He's nothing but a silk stocking full of s.h.i.t."

Doggett stared in horror at Harper. Doggett's sense of propriety, as well as his natural respect for royalty, were outraged by the Irishman's words. "You can't say things like that!" he blurted out. "He's royalty!"

"A silk stocking full of s.h.i.t with a crown, then." Harper was quite unmoved by Doggett's outrage. "And if the little b.u.g.g.e.r doesn't watch out, Mr Sharpe will feed his guts to the hogs. It wouldn't be the first time he's done it."

"Murdered someone?" Doggett blurted out the question.

Harper turned innocent eyes on the Guards Lieutenant. "I know for a fact he's rid the world of some bad officers. We all have! Don't be shocked, Mr Doggett! It happens all the time!"

"I can't believe it!" Doggett protested, but too loudly, for the sound of his voice made the Prince turn irritably in his saddle.

"Is something offending you, Mr Doggett?"

"No, sir."

"Then get back here, where you belong." The Prince looked back to the four battalions of Halkett's brigade which were an itch to his wounded self-esteem. Closest to the crossroads, and just forward of _the Highlanders across the highway was a battalion of Lincolnshire men, the 69th, who were unknown to Sharpe. They had never fought in Spain, instead they had been a part of the disastrous expedition that had failed to free the Netherlands at the end of the previous war. Beyond them was the 30th, the Three Tens, a Cambridgeshire battalion which, like the 33rd next in line, had also been a part of the Dutch debacle. Furthest south was the Prince of Wales's Own Volunteers, the only veterans of the Spanish campaign in the brigade.

"So who ordered them to form square?" the Prince demanded petulantly.

No one knew, so Harry Webster was sent to discover the answer and came back after ten minutes to say that Sir Thomas Picton had deployed the brigade.

"But they're not in Picton's division!" The Prince's pique had turned to a real anger that flushed his sallow face.

"Indeed not, sir," Rebecque said gently, "but- ,

"But nothing, Rebecque! But b.l.o.o.d.y nothing! Those men are in my corps! Mine! I do not give orders to brigades in Sir Thomas Picton's division, nor do I expect him to interfere with my corps! Sharpe! My compliments to Sir Colin Halkett, and instruct him to deploy his brigade in line. Their task is to give fire, not cower like schoolboys from non-existent cavalry." The Prince had taken a sheet of paper from his sabretache and was scribbling the order in pencil.

"But the cavalry - , Sharpe began to protest.

"What cavalry?" The Prince made a great fuss of pretending to stare across the battlefield. "There is no cavalry."

"In the dead ground over- ,

"You're frightened of unseen hors.e.m.e.n on the left? But this brigade is on the right! Here, take this." He thrust the written order at Sharpe.

"No, sir," Sharpe said.

The bulbous eyes swivelled to stare in amazement at Sharpe. Rebecque hissed a warning at the Rifleman, while the other staff officers held their breath. The Prince licked his lips. "What did you say, Sharpe?" His voice was filled with horror and revulsion.

"I'm not taking that order, sir. You'll kill every man jack of that brigade if you insist on it."

For a second the Prince literally shook with rage. "Are you refusing to obey an order?"

"I'm refusing to take that order, sir, yes."

"Rebecque! Suspend Colonel Sharpe from his duties. Have this order sent immediately."

"You can't - , Sharpe began, but Rebecque seized Sharpe's bridle and tugged his horse out of the Prince's reach. "Rebecque, for G.o.d's sake!" Sharpe protested.

"He's ent.i.tled!" Rebecque insisted. "Listen, by tomorrow he'll have forgotten this. Give him an apology tonight and you won't be suspended. He's a good-hearted man."

"I don't give a d.a.m.n for his heart, Rebecque. It's those men I care about!"

"Rebecque!" The Prince turned petulantly in his saddle. "Has that order gone!"