"It might be a bloody honor," Sharpe said sarcastically, "but it would still be bloody suicide. If we're going to fight the bastards," he went on, "then I'd rather be on a hilltop than scattered halfway down a slope. Dragoons like skirmish lines, Slingsby. It gives them sword practice." He turned to look at the shrine. There were two small shuttered windows on the wall facing him and he reckoned they would make good loopholes if he did have to defend the hilltop. "How long till sunset?"

"Ten minutes less than three hours," Slingsby said instantly. Sharpe grunted. He doubted the dragoons would attack, but if they did he could easily hold them off till dusk, and no dragoon would linger in hostile country after nightfall for fear of the partisans. "You stay here," he ordered Slingsby, "watch them and don't do anything without asking me. Do you understand that?"

Slingsby looked offended, as he had every right to be. "Of course I understand it," he said in a tone of protest.

"Don't take men off the hilltop, Lieutenant," Sharpe said, "and that's an order." He strode towards the shrine, wondering whether his men would be able to knock a few loopholes in its ancient stone walls. They did not have the right tools, no sledgehammers or crowbars, but the stonework looked old and its mortar was crumbling.

To his surprise his path to the shrine door was barred by Major Ferreira and one of the civilians. "The door is locked, Captain," the Portuguese officer said.

"Then I'll break it down," Sharpe answered.

"It is a shrine," Ferreira said reprovingly.

"Then I'll say a prayer for forgiveness after I've knocked it down," Sharpe said and he tried to get past the Major who held up a hand to stop him. Sharpe looked exasperated. "There are fifty French dragoons coming this way, Major," Sharpe said, "and I'm using the shrine to protect my men."