“We have to do two things. One is to reassert military discipline. Many senior officers believe we should have immediate, large and summary executions. Pétain does not think that is wise, nor does the prime minister. What do you think?”

“My opinion is altered by what you have just told me about the size of the mutiny. I think the numbers should be as small as possible.”

“Good. When we’ve got them all rounded up, we shall have trials and give the death sentence to very few. Then we shall shoot fewer than that. Probably fewer than a hundred.” He paused. “For the second thing we have to do, even more important, is to restore morale. Each time you reach a regiment or division—some are up at the front line, many are farther back—you are to ensure that when the officers and NCOs select the men to be sent for trial, that they send troublemakers, that is, people who may start up this business again, and if possible, men who are not too popular with their comrades. We want as few martyrs as possible, and we don’t want to damage morale. Use your judgment.” He gave Roland a firm look. “Now you see that I am paying you a compliment by entrusting this mission to you.”

Roland understood. But it didn’t mean he liked the mission any better.

They met in the officers’ tent. The colonel of the regiment was there, a short, bristling man, together with a captain and three lieutenants.

“We’ve got ten men for you,” said the colonel. “Though I could let you have at least fifty who deserve to be shot.”

“I’d rather have five,” said Roland. “This wasn’t a very large disturbance.” Then he explained what Pétain was trying to achieve. “The minimum that will preserve discipline while encouraging morale.”

“If we chose only the men who first initiated the mutiny, the ones who refused a direct order, then I think it would be five,” suggested the captain.

“And that devil Le Sourd,” said the colonel. “That makes six.”

Roland noticed that the captain and one of the lieutenants looked awkward.

“Describe this Le Sourd to me,” said Roland.

“He’s a big fellow,” said the captain. “He must have been over the age limit when he volunteered. The troops call him Papa.”

“He’s a communist agitator, a revolutionary,” the colonel said furiously. “He had a red flag up, told the men they’d march on Paris and take down the government. He deserves to be shot more than any of them.”

“Black hair, and eyes wide apart?” asked Roland.

“That’s the man. Do you know him, sir?”

“He may be a fellow I came across once. The politics sound like him.” Roland thought for a moment. “You say the men call him Papa. Does that mean they like him?”