CHAPTER SEVEN

The French were coming.

No-one was sure when they were coming or where they were coming but everyone knew they were coming. The positions had been reversed. Whereas before the British needed to attack the French before they had time to reinforce their men, now the French army in Portugal needed to hit hard and fast before the British ships carrying additional troops arrived. The French were coming to Vimiero. It was just a question of when. But Sharpe had a feeling there was one person in the British camp who knew better than others.

Sharpe watched from his bedroom window as the lieutenant assigned to number five company walked across the courtyard below him, before looking back at Delfina, lying in bed. "You're sure it was him you saw?"

He had asked the question many times and he could tell Delfina was getting tired of answering it. "Yes, I'm sure."

"And you're sure it was a French officer with him?"

"He wore a French uniform."

Sharpe nodded. "There's probably some explanation. Maybe they went to the same party once. Or maybe the Frenchman's spying for us." But deep down, Sharpe knew the most likely explanation. There were many reasons he didn't want to believe it, not least the fact that he liked Machin. But he knew there was every likelihood that the lieutenant was passing information to the French.


Sharpe stood to attention before his commanding officer. Wade continued to sign reports for a few minutes longer before looking up at him. "Lieutenant Sharpe."

"I wish to discuss Lieutenant Machin, sir."

"Continue."

"I have a witness who says that in Figueira, he met with a French officer."

"Yes?"

Sharpe felt suddenly foolish. "That's all, sir."

"Your witness being..?"

"Senhorita Lobato, sir. The young Portugese woman I met in Figueira."

"Who is, I believe, still being granted the courtesy of your bed,"Wade remarked, with a slight twinkle.

Sharpe was aware the conversation was getting away from him. "I wondered if you were aware of the reasons for this meeting."

"No,"Wade answered. "I'm not. Nor am I aware of the reason why Lieutenant Machin has requested permission to carry out a solo patrol for two days. But it does concern me. You were at Copenhagen, were you not?"

Sharpe was taken aback by the sudden change of subject. "Yes, sir. I was. With the first battalion."

"You spent some time on…detached duties, investigating an officer whose loyalties had been proven to be unreliable. I think you should assume that role again. Take three men. I'll square it with Major Travers."


Sharpe heard a rifle clatter behind him and turned angrily on the man who had dropped it. "Keep that under control! Don't you know there could be patrols about?"

"Sorry, sir,"Miller apologised. "But we've been marching for hours, sir."

Sharpe cast his eye over the trio of soldiers: Cooper, Jackson and Miller. They were unhappy about being assigned to take orders from the battalion quartermaster and even less happy about being made to march after an officer on horseback. There was only one horse in the group and Delfina was riding it, after refusing to be left behind. Sharpe had felt giving her the horse was the gentlemanly thing. It also saved him the trouble of having to ride it himself.

"Richard,"she called from the saddle. "There's something ahead. I can see smoke."

"Is something burning?"Jackson asked rather redundantly.

"Maybe they've set fire to a village,"Cooper suggested.

Delfina shook her head. "There are no villages near here."

"They're campfires,"Sharpe replied. "That's not a village, it's an army."

They reached the top of a hill, looked down…and in that moment, everything Sharpe had suspected was confirmed. Below them was the French army. Thousands of them. And galloping towards them, accepted as a friend, was the solitary figure of Lieutenant Machin.