'Given at Our Court at Carlton House the Fourteenth day of November 1812 in the Fifty-Third Year of Our Reign. The words By His Majesty's Command had been crossed out. In their place the Commission read; 'By the Command of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent, in the Name and on the Behalf of His Majesty.

Nairn smiled at him. 'Prinny heard about Badajoz, then about Garcia Hernandez, and he insisted. It's against the rules, of course, absolutely against the rules. The damned man has no business promoting you. Throw it on the fire!

'Would you take it hard if I disobeyed that order, sir?

'Congratulations, Sharpe! You're beginning as you mean to go on. The last words were hurried as a sneeze gathered in his nose and Nairn grabbed his handkerchief and trumpeted into it. He shook his head, bullied and blew his nose, and smiled again. 'My real congratulations.

'Thank you, sir.

'Don't thank me, Major. Thank all of us by making sure that little Gilliland's rockets go fizz-plop. D'you know the beggar's got over a hundred and fifty horses for his toys? A hundred and fifty! We need those horses, Sharpe, but we can't bloody touch them as long as Prinny thinks we're going to knock Boney bum over tip with them. Prove him wrong, Sharpe! He'll listen to you.

Sharpe smiled. 'So that's why I was chosen?

'Good! You're not a fool. Of course that's why you were chosen, and as a punishment, of course.

'Punishment?

'For being promoted before your time. If you'd have had the grace to wait for one of your own Majors to die in the South Essex you'd have landed Regimental rank. It'll come, Sharpe, it'll come. If 1813 is anything like this year we'll all be Field Marshals by next Christmas. He pulled the dressing gown tight round his chest. 'If we live to see next Christmas, which I doubt. Nairn stood up. 'Off you go, Sharpe! You'll find Gilliland playing fireworks on the Guarda road. Here's your orders. He knows you're coming, poor lamb. Pack him back to Prinny, Sharpe, but keep the bloody horses!