"They're mostly shepherds, " said Captain Peter d'Alembord.

"Shepherds! That's fitting for Christmas, " Sharpe said. "I seem to remember something about shepherds. Shepherds and wise men, isn't that right?"

"Quite right, sir, " d'Alembord said. He could never quite get used to the idea that Sharpe had received no education at all other than being taught to read while he was a prisoner in India.

"A fellow used to read the Christmas story to us in the foundling home,»

Sharpe remembered. "A big, fat parson, he was, with funny whiskers. Looked a bit like that sergeant who caught a bellyful of cannister at Salamanca. We had to sit and listen, and if we yawned, the bugger used to jump off the platform and clout us round the face with the Holy Book. One minute it was all peace on earth, the next you were flying across the floor with a thick ear."

"But at least you learned your Bible stories."

"Not there, I didn't. I learned those in India. I worked with a Scottish colonel who was a Bible-thumper." Sharpe smiled at the memory.

He was walking north, climbing the road that led from Irati towards the nearby French frontier. He had already found a place south of the village where the battalion could stop the escaping garrison and he wanted to be certain that no Frogs were lurking at his rear.

"You liked India?" d'Alembord asked.

"It was a bit hot, " Sharpe said, "and the food was funny, but yes, I liked it.

In India I served under the best colonel I ever had."