Sharpes Sword   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

“Level your muskets!”

The Light Company alone was not loaded. The other companies levelled their muskets and beneath each muzzle the seventeen inch bayonet pointed towards the French.

“Fire!”

“And charge! Come on!”

The crash of that volley, the smoke, and then the redcoats were released from the Sergeants’ discipline and they were free to take the blades up the hill to savage the enemy who had been shattered by the close volley.

“Kill the bastards. Go on! Get in with them!” And the cheer carried them up the slope, screaming mad, wanting only to get at the men who had threatened them during the long approach march, and Sharpe ran ahead of his men with his long sword ready.

“Halt! Form up! Hurry!”

The enemy had gone. They had fled the bayonets as Sharpe had guessed they would. The enemy Battalions were running full tilt back towards the main army, and the redcoats were left holding the small knoll which bore the dead and wounded of their enemy. The looting had begun already, practised hands stripping the casualties of clothes and money. Sharpe sheathed his unblooded sword. It had been well done, but now he wondered what was next. Twelve hundred British troops held the small hill, the only British troops on a plain that was peopled with more than fifty thousand Frenchmen. That was not his concern. He settled down to wait.

“They’ve run away!” La Marquesa sounded disappointed.

Lord Spears grinned. “That was only a ten guinea battle, my dear. For two hundred you get the whole spectacle; slaughter, dismemberment, pillage, and even a little rape.”

“Is that where you come in, Jack?”

Spears laughed. “I’ve waited so long for that invitation, Helena.”

“You’ll have to wait a little longer, dear.” She smiled at him. “Was that Richard Sharpe?”

“It was. A genuine hero, and all for ten guineas.”

“Which I doubt I’ll ever see. Is he truly a hero?” Her huge eyes were fixed on Spears.

“Good Lord, yes! Absolutely genuine. The poor fool must have a death wish. He took an Eagle, he was first into Badajoz, and there’s a rumour he blew up Almeida.”

“How delicious.” She opened her fan. “You’re a little jealous of him, aren’t you?”

He laughed, because the accusation was not true. “I wish to have a long, long life, Helena, and die in the bed of someone very young and breathtakingly beautiful.”

She smiled. Her teeth were unusually white. “I rather want to meet a real hero, Jack. Persuade him to come to the Palacio.