He pointed to Christian Gibbons who was riding his black horse onto the field. “Lieutenant Gibbons?” Sharpe asked.

“You’ve met then?” Lennox laughed. „I’ll say nothing about Mr Gibbons, then, except that he’s Simmerson’s nephew, he’s interested in nothing but women, and he’s an arrogant little bastard. Bloody English! Begging your pardon, Sharpe.“

Sharpe laughed. “We’re not all that bad.” He watched as Gibbons walked his horse delicately to within a dozen paces and stopped. The Lieutenant stared superciliously at the two officers. So this, Sharpe thought, is Simmerson’s nephew? “Are we needed here, sir?”

Lennox shook his head. “No, Mr Gibbons, we are not. I’ll leave Knowles and Denny with Lieutenant Sharpe while he works his miracles.” Gibbons touched his hat and spurred his horse away. Lennox watched him go. “Can’t do any wrong, that one. Apple of the Colonel’s bloodshot eye.” He turned and waved at the company. “I’ll leave you Lieutenant Knowles and Ensign Denny, they’re both good lads but they’ve learned wrong from Simmerson. You’ve got a sprinkling of old soldiers, that’ll help, and good luck to you, Sharpe, you’ll need it!” He grunted as he heaved himself into the saddle. “Welcome to the madhouse, Sharpe!”

Sharpe was left with the company, its junior officers, and the ranks of dumb faces that stared at him as though fearful of some new torment devised by their Colonel. He walked to the front of the company, watching the red faces that bulged over the constricting stocks and glistened with sweat in the relentless heat, and faced them. His own jacket was unbuttoned, shirt open, and he wore no hat. To the men of the South Essex he was like a visitor from another continent. “You’re in a war now. When you meet the French a lot of you are going to die. Most of you.” They were appalled by his words. „I’ll tell you why.“