‘I am speechless.’

‘If I had known I could achieve that simply by resigning I would have done it years ago.’

A pause. ‘I would like Opker promoted to lead my division.’

‘I see no objection.’

‘And for General Jalenhorm’s I thought—’

‘Colonel Felnigg has been given the command,’ said Kroy. ‘General Felnigg, I should say.’

‘Felnigg?’ came Mitterick’s voice, with a tinge of horror.

‘He has the seniority, and my recommendation to the king is already sent.’

‘I simply cannot work with that man—’

‘You can and you will. Felnigg is sharp, and cautious, and he will balance you out, as you have balanced me. Though you were often, frankly, a pain in my arse, by and large it has been an honour.’ There was a sharp crack, as of polished boot heels snapping together.

Then another. ‘Lord Marshal Kroy, the honour has been entirely mine.’

Tunny and the guard both flung themselves to the most rigid attention as the two biggest hats in the army suddenly strode from the tent. Kroy made sharply off into the gathering gloom. Mitterick stayed there, looking after him, one hand opening and closing by his side.

Tunny had a pressing appointment with a bottle and a bedroll. He cleared his throat. ‘General Mitterick, sir!’

Mitterick turned, very obviously wiping away a tear while pretending to be clearing dust from his eye. ‘Yes?’

‘Corporal Tunny, sir, standard-bearer of his Majesty’s First Regiment.’

Mitterick frowned. ‘The same Tunny who was made colour sergeant after Ulrioch?’

Tunny puffed out his chest. ‘The same, sir.’

‘The same Tunny who was demoted after Dunbrec?’

Tunny’s shoulders slumped. ‘The same, sir.’

‘The same Tunny who was court-martialled after that business at Shricta?’

And further yet. The same, sir, though I hasten to point out that the tribunal found no evidence of wrongdoing, sir.’

Mitterick snorted. ‘So much for tribunals. ‘What brings you here, Tunny?’

He held out the letter. ‘I have come in my official capacity as standard-bearer, sir, with a letter from my commanding officer, Colonel Vallimir.’

Mitterick looked down at it. What does it say?’

‘I wouldn’t—’

‘I do not believe a soldier with your experience of tribunals would carry a letter without a good idea of the contents. What does it say?’

Tunny conceded the point. ‘Sir, I believe the colonel lays out at some length the reasons behind his failure to attack today.’

‘Does he.’

‘He does, sir, and he furthermore apologises most profusely to you, sir, to Marshal Kroy, to his Majesty, and in fact to the people of the Union in general, and he offers his immediate resignation, sir, but also demands the right to explain himself before a court martial – he was rather vague on that point, sir – he goes on to praise the men and to shoulder the blame entirely himself, and—’

Mitterick took the letter from Tunny’s hand, crumpled it up in his fist and tossed it into a puddle.

‘Tell Colonel Vallimir not to worry.’ He watched the letter for a moment, drifting in the broken reflection of the evening sky, then shrugged. ‘It’s a battle. We all made mistakes. Would it be pointless, Corporal Tunny, to tell you to stay out of trouble?’