My previous story in this series seemed to get a bit of interest, so I thought I'd try my hand at another one. I kind of wish I'd known I was going to do this when I wrote Sharpe's Value, because then I'd have made it a bit more open-ended! Hope you enjoy.

CHAPTER ONE

Lieutenant Richard Sharpe of the 95th Rifles glared resentfully at his latest opponent: A Spanish shopkeeper. "Boots!"he insisted. "Army boots!" The shopkeeper responded with a stream of Spanish, of which Sharpe did not understand one word. Hoping to expedite the conversation, Sharpe moved around the counter to try and take the items off the shelf himself, prompting more angry words from the shopkeeper, who shoved Sharpe back to the customer's side, quite a feat considering that he was over a foot shorter than him.

Sharpe had a feeling the shopkeeper understood perfectly what he wanted. He was just delighting in showing up Sharpe's ignorance, as many people did. Sharpe could have taken an interpreter with him but the question was how to find one. For all their superior attitude towards Sharpe, he suspected his fellow officers knew not much more Spanish than him. And the idea of going to the other ranks, who already felt his status as an officer was undeserved, and admitting that one of them knew something he did not, would cause him even further humiliation.

Sharpe gestured to his own boots, lifting one foot up so the shopkeeper could see it. Either the shopkeeper finally understand his wishes or he took pity on him. Whichever one it was, he gave a big show of understanding. Sharpe produced a bag of money, which was enough to get the shopkeeper's attention, then wrote down the amount he needed. Fortunately, he no longer had to provide for the whole battalion, since they had been split up several weeks earlier. Lieutenant-Colonel Wade, Sharpe's battalion commander, had taken half the men to meet up with some new reinforcements, leaving the rest in billets.

With the shopkeeper suddenly co-operative, Sharpe soon had the boots he needed, the shopkeeper had most of his gold and he was able to head back out into the streets. The city was called Salamanca, although Sharpe didn't imagine he would have reason to remember the name once they left. It was three months since the British had landed in Portugal, three months since Sir Arthur Wellesley had led them to victories at Rolica and Vimeiro. They had seemed invincible then. They had cleared the French out of Portugal and they believed they would do the same in Spain. Instead they seemed to have stalled in Spain. Wellesley was gone, recalled to London with the generals who had superseded him, and the British troops in Salamanca were now under the command of Sir John Moore. And there they stayed.

Sharpe had passed the boots on to the sergeants, telling them to distribute them among their companies. He had no real desire to spend time with the riflemen he served with, and knew that they had no real desire to spend time with him. Besides, there was someone else that he did want to spend time with. He climbed his stairs to his room, where Delfina Lobato was waiting for him.

Delfina had been his lover for four months, since she had come to him for protection after learning more than was healthy about the British traitor, David Machin. Machin was dead now, killed by Sharpe on the field at Vimeiro, and Sharpe now held his rank. He had tried to get her to stay behind in Portugal when the British advanced but she had insisted on coming with him.

Delfina smiled at his appearance. "You were gone a long time, Richard."

Sharpe removed the belt that held his sword with a weary sigh. "You don't know any Spanish, do you?"

"A little."

"Maybe I'll take you with me next time. The local shopkeepers might respond better to you than me."

"Because I can speak their language or because I am prettier than you?"

Sharpe managed to force a smile onto his face. "Both."

"We are staying here though? There is no order to advance?"

Sharpe shrugged. "None that I've heard of. You like the people here?"

"They are Spanish, but they suffer at the hands of the French same as we have. Yes, I like them."

"How much?"

"Not as much as I like you."

He kissed her then, carrying her to the bed and disrobing her. Staying in Salamanca sounded fine to him.

Sharpe emerged a few hours later to walk the city again. He saw a few faces that he recognised but none of them stopped to greet him and he reciprocated by ignoring them. Then he saw another familiar face standing on the ramparts. Major Warren Dunnett. Since the departure of Colonel Wade, Dunnett was Sharpe's commanding officer. Sharpe detested Dunnett's company. The only reason he approached him was that he knew Dunnett detested his company just as much.

Dunnett gave his customary sneer as Sharpe approached. "The new lieutenant."

Sharpe knew that his promotion rankled Dunnett, that he referred to him in that manner as a way of indicating that he considered Sharpe undeserving of rising even that high in the battalion's ranks. In reality, the fact that it annoyed Dunnett pleased Sharpe. "Sir,"he responded, adding just a touch of insolence to the apparently deferential greeting. He stood at Dunnett's side and, like his major, quickly picked out a group of horsemen in the distance. "French patrol,"he stated.

"Don't worry, Sharpe, they won't come near here,"Dunnett told him patronisingly. "It'd take a full French army to even think of threatening us."

"What is the nearest army?"

Dunnett looked as though he resented answering the question but couldn't think of a reason not to. He took comfort in the fact the answer would be meaningless to Sharpe. "Marshal Soult,"he replied. "But he's eighty miles away, his hands full with our Spanish allies. We won't be seeing him any time soon."

Sharpe nodded. Part of him took comfort from the news, part of him was disappointed. As much as he was enjoying his billet, and Delfina, he wanted to get on in the army. He had been promoted into a dead man's shoes once, been in the right place at the right time. If the battalion was short of a captain, why not Sharpe? But for that to happen, they would have to fight the French. And while they were holed up in Salamanca, that would not happen. They would need to advance.