1st June: A Violent Reaction

"Yes, sir," Vickery said. Prepare his men? He had no idea what state they were in, how much ammunition they had left, anything. His head was still pounding like a drum, he was seeing double when things weren't blurred, and his side throbbed. But he was alive, which was something, and he was determined to march with his men if at all possible.

If only he could get some sleep first.

Looking back down to Vickery again, the general felt pity for the young captain. It had all happened so fast, and had come off rather the worse for wear.

"You ought to get some rest, Vickery," hes said, his tone softening a fraction. "Sharpe, you'll have to see if you arrange a cart to take the wounded back along the road. We shall not be advancing any further today."

Rest... A rest would be very welcome. He had failed in his duty and could not afford to fail again, however. He wanted to see his men for himself, reassure himself that they were all fine... although of course they weren't all fine. Cotton was a prisoner of the French, and who knew how they were treating him?

"I can... I can walk, sir," he said, determined not to be a burden to anyone if he could help. There were men worse off than he was who would need a cart, after all. "If you would be so kind as to help me up, Lieutenant?" he added.

Sharpe frowned and offered his arm, using his own weight to help pull Vickery to his feet, where he stood swaying a little for a moment before the young lad gathered his wits and came to support the captain.

"You cannot walk, captain, and there is no shame in being unable to do so," Wellesley said firmly, before feeling a slight embarrassment at his own brief public show of sympathy. He looked again at Sharpe, as his ADCs galloped off to deliver the summons to the relevent officers, and stated crisply; "You will stay here and offer your every assistance to Captain Vickery, Mr. Sharpe. The matter of your missing men will be addressed presently."

"Yes, sir," Sharpe said, wondering how he would be able to offer any assistance if Vickery didn't want it. It seemed to be a moot point, however. Even though a spark of irritation flared in Vickery's eyes, they were unfocussed and the irritation died as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the captain looking drained, but relieved that something was going to be done about his men.

The Captain's soldier-servant was among the missing group of men, Sharpe realised. Of course he knew the name Cotton - the man had distinguished himself only a few short weeks ago, after all. Sharpe somehow hadn't registered that the cheerful Rifleman also performed the role of batman to Vickery. Of course the officer was devastated that Cotton wasn't there, it was only natural. But there was a connection between the two that Sharpe didn't have with any of his own men, apart from possibly Pat Harper.

"We'll sort things out for you, sir, don't worry about that," Sharpe said quietly. "You've got a good bunch of men - they done you proud up there, sir."

Seeing as he would get nothing further from either Vickery or Sharpe, Wellesley turned Hercules' head and trotted a short way back along the road to await the return of the Divisional and Headquarters Staff. Poor Vickery deserved peace at the least in which to contemplate his sufferings.

Vickery was left feeling obscurely as though he'd let Sir Arthur down, badly, even though he'd done his best and the General himself didn't seem to think that he could have done any more. And he had Sir Arthur's word that something would be done about his missing men; he could only hope that they'd been taken prisoner rather than any of the alternatives.

He couldn't bring himself to tell Sir Arthur about the Walcheren Expedition, not now, it was neither the time nor place. The letter from Robbie was only newly opened, with the courier almost dying from exhaustion, and Charles couldn't help but speed up to join Arthur to at least share some good news of the day.

Although, Charles still didn't know how to approach the man in question. His ears still rung from the sound scolding he had last time, which almost brought tears to his eyes (he was a 31 year old man, for Christ's sake!). Yet perhaps some good news would be easier to break than the bad. For that, Charles thanked his brother a hundred times over for it.

"Sir!" Finally catching up to Sir Arthur on his horse, he saluted him, "I have received a letter from my brother regarding the reinforcements. Now that the Irish rebellion has died down, His Majesty has agreed to contribute more men and supplies to our cause. He has written to say that he will send, in addition to the light brigade under Brigadier-General Crauford, another seven regiments." The letter was still clutched in his hand, in the easily discernible elegant script that was the Lord Castlereagh's.

A figure came cantering up from back along the column, and not recognising one of his staff Wellesley squinted to see who it was - then internally groaned when he realised the familiar figure of Stewart; his appointed commander of cavalry. What now? he thought irritably as Stewart drew level with him and saluted, but restricted himself to a curt nod at the younger man's greeting. From his flushed face and hurried manner it was clear he was excited about something...

On hearing Stewart's explanation Wellesley's expression remained resolutely blank, and he simply held out his hand for the missive that was clutched in Stewart's hand.

"May I?" he enquired civilly, though it was clear from the general's tone that this was not merely a request.

Wordlessly, Charles gave the missive to the Sir Arthur, still quite flushed from trying to catch up. As always, he would never read anything from his expression, so he waited quietly for the man to acknowledge him again. The silence that fell over them as Sir Arthur read the missive unnerved Charles, but he knew that he was growing used to it. The man was as inexorable as death, but so was his brother, Lord Castlereagh, to many people. Yet, Charles knew that Robert had a side that many seldom saw, he perhaps put Sir Arthur in the same ideal.

The other expedition, he expected a letter would come soon. After all, did not his brother intend for Sir Arthur to support him in it? Surely Robert knew what he was doing after all.

Charles knew better than to speak, so he waited, and studied the features of Sir Arthur, but found nothing of note in his expression. He would have to wait until he was spoken to.

((The missive is in the correspondences section ))

Wellesley's eyes quickly scanned the page, taking in the information with practiced speed. Externally he showed no reaction to the news, but internally he was yet again angry. Yes, finally Horse Guards had decided to send him the extra men he had requested; men which he had stated so many times that he needed if he were to push into Spain with any decisive success. That the troops were coming from Ireland would mean they were fresh, though they woud find the Peninsula a shock after garrison duty in Ireland; for despite what Stewart and Horse Guards believed the severe threat from Ireland had been put down years before, and Wellesley knew first hand how quickly men could grow soft if left to their own devices. Yet he had men; for that he was grateful.

What he was not pleased about, though, was that Castlereagh had apparently sent this information by private post to his younger brother, and not by dispatch to himself; the man who most needed to hear this news. Surely Castlereagh would not have been so outrightly foolish. He raised his blue eyes from the page and stared hard at Stewart.

"When and how did you receive this?" he asked.