'Yes, sir.

'I suppose you lost some the other day?

'A good few. Three more men had already died of the wounds they received in the pass. 'But we've got replacements coming.

Major General Nairn closed his eyes. 'He's got replacements coming. From where, pray?

'From the Second Battalion, sir. The South Essex, for much of the war, had only possessed one Battalion, but now, in their English depot at Chelmsford, a second Battalion had been raised. Most regiments had two Battalions, the first to do the fighting, the second to recruit men, train them, then send them as needed to the First Battalion.

Nairn opened his eyes. 'You have a problem, that's what you've got. You know how to deal with problems?

'Sir? Sharpe felt the fear of uncertainty.

'You dilute them with alcohol, that's what you do. Thank God I stole some of the Peer's brandy. Here, man. Nairn had pulled the bottle from his sabretache and poured generous tots into two dirty glasses he found on the table. 'Tell me about your bloody replacements.

There was not much to tell. Lieutenant Colonel Leroy, before he died, had conducted a lively correspondence with the Chelmsford depot. The letters from England, during the previous winter, told of eight recruiting parties on the roads, of crowded barracks and enthusiastic training. Nairn listened. 'You asked for men to be sent?

'Of course!

'So where are they?

Sharpe shrugged. He had been wondering exactly that, and had been consoling himself that the replacements could easily have been entangled in the chaos that had resulted from moving the army's supply base from Lisbon to Pasajes. The new men could be at Lisbon, or at sea, or marching through Spain, or, worst of all, still waiting in England. 'We asked for them in February. It's June now; they must be coming.

'They've been saying that about Christ for eighteen hundred years, Nairn grunted. 'You heard for certain they were being sent?