'Just one Irish regiment, sir. The 101st.

The Prince laughed and turned to his brother, the Duke of York. 'Hear that, Freddy?

'I've got the whole damned army. And you're supposed to salute it.

The Prince was enjoying himself. It was a splendid summer day and the crowd was remarkably friendly. For a change not a single jeer had greeted him, and the troops looked marvellous. He called for a glass of champagne, and waited for the parade of trophies.

Sharpe left the Edgware Road at the Polygon and marched his half Battalion west towards the Queen's Gate of Hyde Park.

There were few people in the streets, most having been drawn to the entertainment in the park, but a few urchins, shouldering sticks, fell in step with his men.

It was odd, Sharpe thought, how this felt like a wartime action. He had no permission to bring these troops to London, so he was, in effect, on enemy territory. His target lay to the south, but he was hooking round west to sneak up on it and, just as if this was a real surprise attack on an enemy's flank, he must stay hidden till the very last minutes.

He was leading his men through the smart, new houses of Polygon Street, their facades brilliant white in the sunlight. Maids stared at the men from the black railings that guarded the cellar steps, and sometimes faces would peer from the curtained windows above. Sharpe, mounted on his horse, could see into the parlour windows and, thinking of his action as a secret approach march, he feared that he might lead his men past the house of a senior army officer who, like a French tirailleur, would ambush them.

They marched without singing. To many of these men, like Charlie Weller, this was their first sight of London. It astonished them. So many rich, high, ornate houses, so many people, so many kitchen chimneys, so much horse-dung, so many carriages, so much to look at and be amazed by. Houses as tall as church spires, rows of them, and never the comforting sight of hills and trees at the end of a street to remind a boy that the country was always a short walk away. Hyde Park, which was sometimes visible through streets to their left, was not countryside. It was a great expanse of rolling lawn, dotted with trees, just like the squire's park which was forbidden territory to any but the most impudent poachers.

They could hear the bands behind them and, sometimes, a cheer that would grow, swell, and fade on the breeze. A signal gun sounded, a blank charge of powder blasting into the hot, early afternoon air, and to Sharpe the sound was utterly familiar, while, to his men, it was an awesome reminder of what might face them in Spain and France.

They turned into the Queen's Gate. There was no one to challenge them. The urchins still accompanied the troops, shouting out the steps in imitation of the sergeants. One got too close to Sergeant Lynch and reeled off the road with a well-aimed clip to his ear. At the Serpentine, Sharpe called a halt and ordered the officers to gather round him.

All the officers were mounted. He trotted with them over the grass, away from the four Companies. He was not sure of what he should say, but, now they were so close to the target, he expected trouble and these men had to know how to deal with it.

'We're here at the Prince Regent's invitation. That shook them. It was not true, for the invitation hardly requested Sharpe to bring a stolen half Battalion with him, but the lie might give them confidence. 'However, there's been the usual army buggery so the parade marshals don't know about us. Understand? They did not, but Sharpe's voice discouraged an exploration of the misunderstanding.

Captain Smith looked desperately worried, while Captain Carline, who had grumbled all week about the lack of comforts on the march, plucked at his uniform in an attempt to make it look fit for royalty.

Sharpe felt a sudden terror of what he was about to do. 'If any officer, I don't care how senior, demands to know why you're here, refer them to me. That's all you do! Send them to me. My orders are the only ones you obey. Mine only!

'What are our orders, sir? Captain Smith asked nervously.

'There is to be a re-enactment of the battle of Vitoria. Our orders are to take part in that. We're to be the French. We stay in close order, you listen for my commands, and you ignore all others! As French troops today we don't obey British officers. He grinned, and some men grinned with him. d'Alembord and Price, who knew the truth of it, looked solemn.

'We ignore senior officers, sir? Captain Smith frowned. 'Can we do that, sir?

Sharpe had been offering carrots all week, now, he thought, it was time for a bitterer diet. 'You do what I say, Captain, just what I say. Every god-damned officer from Foulness has deserved worse than you're going to get. Your only chance of survival, of honour, lies in my hands. So don't upset me, or I will recommend your dismissals, trials, and imprisonment. That, after Sharpe's friendliness of the past days, brought silence.

None of them, except d'Alembord and Price, knew what he did. Yet the habit of obedience was strong in them so that, until an officer more senior than Sharpe gave them conflicting orders, they would obey him. That was what had brought Sharpe this far with their dubious help, but now he was taking them into a place that teemed with senior officers, with more Generals than Wellington had Battalions, and, for these crucial hours, he had to bind their obedience with something other than mere habit. He used the threat, and he trusted the threat would keep them docile.

He twisted to stare at the review. He could see the Ring and, flanking it, the two lines of carriages. No one looked his way. He was far from the Hyde Park Gate, but he could see no golden-haired girl in that direction, only a few grooms who exercised horses behind the carriage parks and who thought nothing strange this day about soldiers waiting by the Serpentine. Sharpe stared a long time, looking for Jane Gibbons, but he did not see her. He turned back. 'The main thing, gentlemen, is to enjoy this.

'Enjoy it, sir? Smith asked.

'Of course, Captain. We're going to win a battle. Sharpe laughed, though he felt despair too. 'To your Companies, gentlemen! She had not come. She had not come, and his best hope was gone. Now he must fight.

Sharpe took his place at the head of his men. He was glad to hear the bands playing for it filled him with the right warlike spirit. The music; heart-stirring martial tunes, came faint over the park's grassland, and the big drums punched the warm air like cannon fire. Regimental Sergeant Major Harper, marching Sharpe's force towards the review, unconsciously called the steps to match the music's rhythm. The men marched in silence, muskets shouldered, and, though they marched in the heart of England itself, they were marching to war.