“After you tore it from the hand of the dead hero who was up there first,” said Andiche.

“Whatever is the purpose of dead heroes, if not to pass on stolen flags to more prudent fellows in the rank behind?” He snatched the bowl of fruit from the table and shoved it under Rigrat’s nose. “You look ill, Colonel. Have a grape.”

The man’s trembling face was rapidly approaching grape colour. “Grape? Grape?” He lashed at the flap with his gloves. “I demand that you attack at once! I flatly demand it!”

“Attack.” Cosca winced. “Across the upper ford?”

“Yes!”

“According to the excellent plan you laid out to me last night?”

“Yes, damn it! Yes!”

“In all honesty, nothing would please me more. I love a good attack, ask anyone, but the problem is… you see…” Pregnant silence stretched out as he spread his hands wide. “I took such an enormous sum of money from Duke Rogont’s Gurkish friend not to.”

Ishri came from nowhere. Solidified from the shadows at the edges of the tent, slid from the folds in the ancient flags and strutted into being. “Greetings,” she said. Rigrat and Andiche both stared at her, equally stunned.

Cosca peered up at the gently flapping roof of the tent, tapping at his pursed lips with one finger. “A dilemma. A moral quandary. I want so badly to attack, but I cannot attack Rogont. And I can scarcely attack Foscar, when his father has also paid me so handsomely. In my youth I jerked this way and that just as the wind blew me, but I am trying earnestly to change, Colonel, as I explained to you the other evening. Really, in all good conscience, the only thing I can do is sit here.” He popped a grape into his mouth. “And do nothing.”

Rigrat gave a splutter and made a belated grab for his sword, but Friendly’s big fist was already around the hilt, knife gleaming in his other hand. “No, no, no.” The colonel froze as Friendly slid his sword carefully from its sheath and tossed it across the tent.

Cosca snatched it from the air and took a couple of practice swipes. “Fine steel, Colonel, I congratulate you on your choice of blades, if not of strategy.”

“You were paid by both? To fight neither?” Andiche was smiling ear to ear as he draped one arm around Cosca’s shoulders. “My old friend! Why didn’t you tell me? Damn, but it’s good to have you back!”

“Are you sure?” Cosca ran him smoothly through the chest with Rigrat’s sword, right to the polished hilt. Andiche’s eyes bulged, his mouth dropped open and he dragged in a great long wheeze, his pockmarked face twisted, trying to scream. But all that came out was a gentle cough.

Cosca leaned close. “You think a man can turn on me? Betray me? Give my chair to another for a few pieces of silver, then smile and be my friend? You mistake me, Andiche. Fatally. I may make men laugh, but I’m no clown.”