“Oh yes, I heard. And you can rest easy. The Spanish do not, I fear, recognise the value of a British infantry corporal. What they require is an officer, and that is what we shall give them. For the sake of the alliance. For the sake of the war. But there cannot be a court martial. Any such affair would inevitably become public. The news of it would spill out. Imagine, please, certain of our papers, their pages full of stories of British soldiers assaulting defenceless women and dangling their menfolk from a tree. Or, in different papers, a different story, one about a British officer, doubtless a hero, being sacrificed to soothe the pride of a Spanish conde. Either way we have a scandal we cannot afford. The public are weary of the war. They feel it in their pockets. Trade falters. They lose their farm boys, their apprentices, their sons and brothers. The tale of Morales might just be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Have you ever seen a camel?”

“No, sir.”

“You were not on the campaign in Egypt?”

“No, sir.”

“We cannot fight a war without the support of the people. That is the truth of it. It did not used to matter. People did not know what went on. They did not know, they did not care. But England now is enamoured of the printed word. Gentlemen, ladies too, are all either writing or reading. We are adrift in a sea of opinions, language, ink. So we must proceed in the only way left open to us. We will give the Junta what it demands but none, other than the few of us to whom this unpleasant business falls, shall know of it. Now then, I feel you understand what I am saying but I need to hear you say so.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes?”

“I believe I do, sir.”

“What is the first rule of a soldier’s life, Calley?”

“Orders, sir.”

“The first rule of warfare?”

“Killing the enemy.”

“And?”

“Not getting killed yourself.”

“And?”

“Tidiness?”

“Well, I like a tidy soldier. A tidy soldier has not forgotten himself. But I was thinking rather of necessity. Of doing what is necessary. When were you last in England?”

“June last year, sir.”

“Then you will be pleased to see it again.”

“I’m going back?”

“You will be shipped on the first suitable transport. You will find the officer whose name you confirmed to the inquiry. Having found him you will do what your country requires of you.”

There was a silence between them. Three, four seconds.

“There are always those, Calley, who are called upon to do what others prefer not even to contemplate. Think of it like this. You will be continuing the war in a private and unofficial capacity. You will not wear a uniform but you will still be a soldier.”

Another silence. Calley shifted his weight. A board squeaked.

“He might already be dead, sir.”