CHAPTER SEVEN
The next few days, the mood was despondent. Everyone knew that they were retreating. It felt like a failure and yet the British had not been defeated, had not even fought the French in Spain. There were mutterings that the danger wasn't as great as feared, that Moore had lost his nerve, that if they just stood and fought then they would turn the French away just as they had done at Rolica and Vimiero. But still they retreated.
Sharpe's brief moment of freedom, his brief time commanding troops into battle, was over. He was back carrying out his quartermaster's duties, with endless lists and having to account for every item they had taken with them when they marched. His only comfort was that Delfina continued to accompany them.
"You're not going after the French,"she said one night, as they lay together in his tent. "Not even with this Baird."
Sharpe felt embarrassed. But he owed her an answer. "It doesn't look like it,"he admitted.
"What will you do?"
"I don't know. Maybe head back to Portugal. We've still got a garrison there, maybe we'll meet up with them."
Delfina nodded decisively. "That is good. I feel for the Spanish, for Catalina and the others, but they let the French in here. We did not do the same. You should stay and help us."
In truth, Sharpe wasn't sure that would happen. But he nodded all the same.
But the next morning somehow things were different. There seemed to be a more positive feel around the camp that Sharpe noticed instantly. He looked at Delfina but she was as confused as him. The confusion increased when Dunnett began issuing orders for them to get underway. The direction they were heading in was completely different to the one they'd been taking the previous day. Instead of the coast, they seemed to be heading deeper into Spain. "Something I don't know about, sir?"he asked.
Dunnett gave one of his superior smiles. "Quite a few things, I imagine, Sharpe. Just make sure the supplies are ready to be brought with us."
Once again, Sharpe turned to Murray for help. "Where are we going?"
"Sir John Moore's had a change of heart,"Murray explained.
"We're not retreating?"
"Not immediately. Sir John's decided to strike one last blow against the French. He's found out that Marshal Soul's army is nearby, on the Carrion River. We're going to join up with Baird's men and then launch an attack. Give Napoleon something to remember us by."
Sharpe looked out towards the frontier with renewed hope. In truth, he didn't care about Marshal Soult or the Carrion River. He wasn't even sure he cared about Spain. He had a different target. A French cavalry officer with a full moustache. It was a vain hope, of course. He didn't even know if Laurent was with Soult. But he had a dream that eventually he would meet Laurent on the field of battle. And when he did, only one of them would walk away.