Hawkwood told him.

“Good God Almighty!” Lawrence said after the telling was over. He stared at Hawkwood in astonishment. “Bonaparte? You actually went to Paris to overthrow Bonaparte?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Hawkwood said wistfully.

“Well, of that I have no doubt. And Grant? Colquhoun-bloody-Grant! I’ll be double damned! There we were, thinking the Frogs had killed the bugger! I need another drink! Where’s that damned jug?”

Lawrence poured himself a fresh mug, from which he took a deep swallow before shaking his head in wonderment as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just been told. “Bonaparte! Good God!”

“So, what about you, Major?” Hawkwood said. “What’s your story? I saw in the guardhouse ledger that you were captured at Oswegatchie. That’s up on the St Lawrence, correct?”

“Which carries a certain irony, don’t you think?” Lawrence made a face. “But you’re right about the location. Though there’s some who call it Ogdensburg. That’s the trouble with the Americans – they can’t seem to make their bloody minds up.”

“What happened? Where’s the rest of the Fortieth? Did you get separated?”

“Separated?” Lawrence looked surprised by the question. “Ah, yes, well, you could say that, seeing as the rest of the regiment is in Spain.”

Hawkwood frowned, mystified. “Then, what the hell are you doing here?”

A fresh smile broke out across Lawrence’s face. “Unlike you, I’m here on purpose. Or at any rate, the Army’s purpose. I was assigned.”

“On your own? To do what?”

“Recruit the natives.”

Hawkwood stared at him, dumbstruck.

“Ha!” Lawrence chuckled at Hawkwood’s expression. “Thought that’d strike a chord!”

Just as well we’ve eaten, Hawkwood thought as he watched Lawrence take another sip, or else we’d both be in our cups.

Not that he was feeling particularly fatigued. And Lawrence was showing no signs of flagging either. He suspected it was the excitement of the night that was keeping them awake. Sleep was never going to come easy after being shot at and spearing a man through the guts with a twelve-foot pike – no matter how tired you thought you might be.

“Can I just begin by saying that, although my being here is in part your fault, I bear you no ill will,” said Lawrence. “And the same goes for Major Grant.”

“Me?” Hawkwood said, recovering and wondering if he’d misjudged Lawrence’s capacity for absorbing alcohol, though the major’s comment had been delivered in a tongue-in-cheek tone. “What did I do? And what on earth does Col Grant have to do with it?”

“He inherited your contacts with the guerrilleros when you returned to London, yes? Ended up as Wellington’s chief exploring officer?”

“That’s right,” Hawkwood said warily, wondering where this was leading.

“So who do you think took over Grant’s liaison duties after he was captured by the Frogs?”