Sharpe's Enemy

'Yes, sir. Sharpe sipped his tea. There was something odd here, something still unsaid. Sharpe had heard of Congreve's rocket system, indeed the army had been having rumours of the new secret artillery for five or six years, but why was Sharpe selected to test them? He was a Captain, and Nairn had spoken of him taking command of another Captain? It did not make sense.

Nairn had another piece of bread by the fire. 'You're wondering why you were chosen, is that right? Out of all the brave officers and gentlemen, we chose you, yes?

'I was wondering, sir. Yes.

'Because you're a nuisance, Sharpe. Because you do not fit into the Peer's well ordered scheme of things. Sharpe ate his toast and ham, saving himself the need to answer. Nairn seemed to have forgotten the toasting fork, that lay on the hearth, and instead had plucked another piece of paper from the table. 'I told you, Sharpe, that Pri

The paper was thick and creamy. A seal was big and red on its wide left margin. Sharpe twisted it towards the windows so he could read the words. The top two lines were printed in decorative copperplate script.

'George the Third by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith'. The next words were hand written on ruled lines. 'Trusty and Well-beloved Richard Sharpe, Esq. The printing resumed. 'Greeting: We do by these Presents, Constitute and Appoint you to be'. Sharpe looked up at Nairn.

The Major General was grumbling as he scooped butter from the dish. 'Waste of time, Sharpe! Throw it on the fire! Man's mad!

Sharpe gri

'Major in Our Army now in Portugal and Spain'. Dear God! Dear, sweet God! A Major! The paper shook in his hands. He leaned back for an instant, letting his head touch the chair behind him, a Major! Nineteen years he had been in this army. He had joined days before his sixteenth birthday and he had marched across India in the ranks, musket and bayonet in his hands, and now he was a Major! Dear God! He had fought so hard for his Captaincy, thinking it would never come, and now, suddenly, out of the blue, from nowhere, this! Major Richard Sharpe!

Nairn smiled at him. 'It's only army rank, Sharpe. A Brevet Major, then, but still a Major. Regimental rank was a man's real rank, and if the commission had said 'a Major in our South Essex Regiment', then it would have been Regimental rank. Army rank meant that he was a Major as long as he served outside of his own Regiment, paid as a Major, though if he were to retire now his pay would be computed by his Regimental rank and not his new Majority. But who cared? He was a Major!

Nairn looked at the ta

Sharpe read through the Commission to the bottom. He would well discipline both inferior officers and soldiers, he would observe and follow such orders as were given him. Dear God! A Major!

'Given at Our Court at Carlton House the Fourteenth day of November 1812 in the Fifty-Third Year of Our Reign. The words By His Majesty's Command had been crossed out. In their place the Commission read; 'By the Command of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent, in the Name and on the Behalf of His Majesty.

Nairn smiled at him. 'Pri

'Would you take it hard if I disobeyed that order, sir?

'Congratulations, Sharpe! You're begi

'Thank you, sir.

'Don't thank me, Major. Thank all of us by making sure that little Gilliland's rockets go fizz-plop. D'you know the beggar's got over a hundred and fifty horses for his toys? A hundred and fifty! We need those horses, Sharpe, but we can't bloody touch them as long as Pri

Sharpe smiled. 'So that's why I was chosen?

'Good! You're not a fool. Of course that's why you were chosen, and as a punishment, of course.

'Punishment?

'For being promoted before your time. If you'd have had the grace to wait for one of your own Majors to die in the South Essex you'd have landed Regimental rank. It'll come, Sharpe, it'll come. If 1813 is anything like this year we'll all be Field Marshals by next Christmas. He pulled the dressing gown tight round his chest. 'If we live to see next Christmas, which I doubt. Nairn stood up. 'Off you go, Sharpe! You'll find Gilliland playing fireworks on the Guarda road. Here's your orders. He knows you're coming, poor lamb. Pack him back to Pri

'Yes, sir. Sharpe stood up, took the proffered orders, and felt the elation again. A Major!

Bells suddenly clanged from the church, jangling the still air, frightening birds into hurried flight. Nairn flinched at the sound and crossed to the window. 'Get rid of Gilliland, then we can all have a quiet Christmas! Nairn rubbed his hands together. 'Except for those bloody bells, Major, there's nothing, thank the Good Lord, that is disturbing His Majesty's Army in Portugal and Spain.

'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. God! The 'Major' sounded good in his ears.

The bells rang on, marking the feastday, while, fifty miles north and east, the first English soldiers, red coats untidy, filed into the quiet village of Adrados.