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in his code of instructions."
    "Fear and discipline are the only things that keep an army in order. General Burgoyne understands that."
    "There are shades of fear and degrees of discipline."
    "Not in my opinion."
    "Excessively harsh treatment only breeds hatred and resentment."
    "Arrant nonsense!"
    "I beg to differ, Major."
    "Go easy on the men and they see it as a sign of weakness. You know that as well as anyone, Jamie." Featherstone slapped him amiably on the shoulder. "Severe punishment teaches them obedience."
    "That depends on the circumstances," said Skoyles, trying to reason with him. "Look at the case of Private Higgs, for instance."
    "Ah," said Featherstone, raising an eyebrow, "so
that
is what this is all about. You and Sergeant Caffrey are in conspiracy, are you?"
    "Not at all, Major."
    "The pair of you have the impudence to question my authority."
    "We simply ask you to reconsider."
    "There's nothing to reconsider," declared Featherstone with a peremptory snap of his fingers. "I found Higgs drunk on duty and he used foul language when I reprimanded him. I had no choice but to have the wretch flogged. What would you have done in my position—award him some kind of medal?"
    "No, Major," said Skoyles, "I would have looked more closely into the case. Do you know
why
Private Higgs was in that state?"
    "Too much rum on an empty stomach."
    "But why did he take to drink in the first place? By the standards of the others, he's usually quite abstemious. Higgs also has an unblemished record as a soldier and how many can say that? So what made him act out of character?"
    "Who cares?"
    "I do, Major—and so does Sergeant Caffrey."
    "Higgs must take his medicine."
    "Some punishment is in order," Skoyles conceded. "We both accept that. But I feel that you should know that Higgs had some distressing news. Word came from England that his wife and child have died of smallpox. It was a crippling blow for the poor man.
That
was why he reached for the bottle."
    "The punishment stands. Sixty lashes."
    "Reduce the number and you still make your point."
    "No," said the other with a hollow laugh. "If I were stupid enough to do that, I'd lose face entirely. Lessen the severity of the flogging? Absolute madness! The men would think that I'd gone as soft as you."
    "I can be strict when strictness is called for, Major."
    Though they were hardly natural allies, there was a comfortable friendship between the two of them, based on a mutual respect for each other's abilities. Harry Featherstone, a wealthy man in his thirties from an aristocratic family, had bought his commission in the way that most officers did. Skoyles, by contrast, the son of a country doctor in Cumberland, had worked his way up through the ranks and been promoted lieutenant as a result of conspicuous gallantry. From the start, he lacked the airs and graces of his fellow officers, and his rough North Country vowels made him stick out even more. The same age as the major, Skoyles was taller and more athletic, with rugged features and close-cropped fair hair.
    Featherstone smiled at him "Do you know what your trouble is, Jamie?" he said, helpfully. "You're neither fish nor fowl. In trying to keep a foot in both camps, you're neither officer nor soldier. Your fellow officers distrustyou because you're simply not one of us while the lower ranks despise you because you try to befriend them. You are in limbo."
    "I care nothing for that. My concern is for Private Higgs."
    "Sixty lashes. My only regret is that I can't administer them myself. I'd appreciate the exercise."
    "Flaying a man until there's no skin left?" said Skoyles with distaste. "Is that what you call exercise?"
    "Yes, Captain—and pleasant exercise at that. Man or woman, I'd lay it on hard and leave my signature across their backs so they'd never forget me." He gave a thin smile. "As it happens, I had a woman flogged once—a corporal's wife. The provost marshal gave her thirty lashes for stealing some potatoes. A