"Of course they didn't," Sharpe said, "but what else were they doing? Jesus! They were flying a white flag to tell the Frogs it was safe up here and if we hadn't arrived, Pat, they'd have sold that flour."

"God and his saints preserve us from evil," Harper said in amusement, "and it's a pity the dragoons didn't come up to play."

"Pity! Why the hell would we want a fight for no purpose?"

"Because you could have got yourself one of their horses, sir," Harper said, "of course."

"And why would I want a bloody horse?"

"Because Mister Slingsby's getting one, so he is. Told me so himself. The Colonel's giving him a horse, he is."

"No bloody business of mine," Sharpe said, but the thought of Lieutenant Slingsby on a horse nevertheless annoyed him. A horse, whether Sharpe wanted one or not, was a symbol of status. Bloody Slingsby, he thought, and stared at the distant hills and saw how low the sun had sunk. Let's go home," he said.

"Yes, sir," Harper said. He knew precisely why Mister Sharpe was in a bad mood, but he could not say as much. Officers were supposed to be brothers in arms, not blood enemies.

They marched in the dusk, leaving the hilltop white and smoking. Ahead was the army and behind it the French.

Who had come back to Portugal.

Miss Sarah Fry, she had always disliked her last name, rapped a hand on the table. "In English," she insisted, "in English."

Tomas and Maria, eight and seven respectively, looked grumpy, but obediently changed from their native Portuguese to English. " 'Robert has a hoop, " Tomas read. " 'Look, the hoop is red. »

"When are the French coming?" Maria asked.

"The French will not come," Sarah said briskly, "because Lord Wellington will stop them. What color is the hoop, Maria?"

"Rouge," Maria answered in French. "So if the French are not coming why are we loading the wagons?"