Just like his Father, poor man, stark staring raving mad. Nairn leaned back and nodded triumphantly at Sharpe. The letter shrivelled to a black wisp on the logs as Nairn waited for a reaction. 'Good God, Sharpe! You're supposed to say something! God bless the Prince of Wales would do at a pinch, but you sit there as though the news means nothing. Comes of being a hero, I suppose, always keeping a straight face. Stern business is it? Being a hero?

'Yes, sir. Sharpe was grinning broadly.

The door opened and Chatsworth edged in with a heavy wooden tray that he put on the floor in front of the fire. 'Bread and ham, sir, mustard in the small pot. Tea's well brewed, sir, and I beg to report that the toasting fork was in your room, sir. Here it is, sir.

'You're a rogue and a scoundrel, Chatsworth. You'll be accusing me of burning correspondence from the Chaplain General next.

'Yes, sir. Chatsworth grinned contentedly.

'Are you a Methodist, Chatsworth?

'No, sir. Don't rightly know what a Methodist is, sir.

'You are fortunate indeed. Nairn was fixing a slice of bread to the toasting fork. A Lieutenant appeared at the open door behind him, knocked hesitantly to attract attention. 'General Nairn, sir?

'Major General Nairn is in Madrid! Negotiating a surrender to the French! Nairn pushed the bread close to the logs, wrapping his hand in his handkerchief to keep the scorching heat away.

The Lieutenant did not smile. He hovered at the door. 'Colonel Greave's compliments, sir, and what's he to do with the iron brackets for the pontoons?

Nairn rolled his eyes to the yellowed ceiling. 'Who is in charge of the pontoons, Lieutenant?

'The Engineers, sir.

'And who, pray, is in charge of our gallant Engineers?

'Colonel Fletcher, sir.

'So what do you tell our good Colonel Greave?

'I see, sir. Yes, sir. The Lieutenant paused. 'To ask Colonel Fletcher, sir?