He and Laurence wrangled a long time, in low voices, over sums and coverts, and how much ought to be paid to a heavyweight, over a courier, and so on. Temeraire listened carefully, but he did not know all the places that Laurence named, where coverts ought to be, and also he was not quite certain about the money. His breastplate, he knew, was worth nearly ten thousand pounds, but shillings and pence were new. They were interrupted at last only by the arrival of a breathless courier from the main camp, to inform them that the last stragglers from the battlefield had regrouped, and were ready to begin the march to the north.

‘I have no more time for this,’ Wellesley said. ‘Twenty coverts, on the Bath Road and the Great North Road, where they can go to sleep and be fed. As for pavilions, they can build the damn things themselves with their own shillings; set themselves up like admirals, if they like. And after this, they had damned well better keep in line.’

‘Sir,’ Laurence said, and made a bow to Wellesley's back; the general had already turned and walked away.

Laurence found himself the focus of a large and interested audience of dragons, all pressing in and jostling for room to hear him, as soon as he had begun to try and explain the system of coinage to Temeraire and Minnow.

‘So ten pounds will buy one cow?’ Minnow said intently, ‘and a pound and a shilling is a bit of gold?’

‘If it is twenty shillings to a pound, and twenty-four shillings a day, then that is nearly four hundred pounds a year for a heavyweight—’ Temeraire said thoughtfully, performing the calculations in his head, which produced a buzz of satisfaction among the other dragons.

‘But where is it?’ Iskierka demanded. ‘I did not come back just to hear numbers; what sort of treasure is it?’

Temeraire snapped at her a little. ‘It is reliable treasure,’ he said. ‘Not all of us want to be always running around picking quarrels and making difficulties, like you, grabbing more and more. This is for everyone who does their duty every day, like proper soldiers, and it is fair.’

The other dragons were generally of his mind, even if Iskierka continued to sulk, and agreed they were satisfied with their lot. But Laurence felt not a little disgusted for having stooped to such back-room negotiations, at such a moment. Manoeuvring for personal interest, while Bonaparte marched into London and the French followed on their heels, felt like treason to him. ‘We must see to your dinners,’ he said, more out of an urgent wish to put an end to the gloating noise. ‘The army will march at first light, and we must be ready.’

*  *  *