Second day on the march

"We -" Perkins paused to heave a few breaths. Now the colonel was standing nearby, and the doctor also was watching him. He leaned close to the lieutenant's ear and spoke as quietly as he could with his gasping breath. "I think we found what's left of the French hussars."

To have one of the flank guards running in, looking like death, was worrying. It did not seem to presage an attack, or at least, Edrington assumed so. The young Rifleman seemed more concerned to keep his infomation secret than to alert the column.

"Mr Sharpe," he said, "what is going on? What have they discovered?" He brought Bauer back to stand ready for him to remount.

"Think?" Oh bugger. Right; he had some officering to do.

"Stephen, you wait here, get your breath back and have a bit of a rest while you wait for Sir Arthur. You probably want to get back to Lisbon today, and you won't manage that if you're worn out, even if we ain't got that far."

He turned to where the Riflemen were marching past. "Harper!" The sergeant turned to look. "Take over for me; I'm goin' to check summat out."

And that left Colonel Edrington. Bother. "Frenchmen. Dead. I'm goin' to have a look; I'll give you a better report when I know for sure. My lord."

Dead Frenchmen. Stephen gave Sharpe a withering look, and then turned to Perkins. "How far away are they?"

Perkins stared at the doctor for a moment as if he hadn't heard, but then he seemed to come to his senses again. "Oh, just t'other side of that hill, sir. We went over but the path goes around, about two miles. There's a bit of a valley."

"Perkins!" He waited for the lad to come to attention and look at him. "They are too far away for the doctor to go and look at, what wi' his bad leg, and all."

He relented; they weren't that far from where they'd met up with the French Hussar captain. The Doctor needed to know, if they were anything at all to do with that group. "Stephen, if they're of any interest, I will let you know. But you need to take it easy for a bit, what wi' that game leg an' all."

"Lieutenant Sharpe, if there are injured men, I must go to them immediately, and if there are not, then I will be of use in the making of your report. If it is two miles, I will take the horse - my leg will cope fine." He patted Bethany's neck in absent-minded affection, and then gripped the saddle to remount.

Perkins hesitated before opening his mouth to speak. "There aren't any injured survivors, sir."

With a grunt, Stephen managed to pull himself into the saddle. "What direction, rifleman - Perkins, is it?"

He addressed his question to the Rifleman. "Any idea which unit they are from?" That drew the blank looks, that said I know, but I don't see why you should, and Edrington make the only logical suggestion. "Troisieme Hussars? Or are we overrun with French patrols?"

Stephen looked at the unknown officer - high-ranking, he guessed from the ostentatious amount of glitter on his uniform - sitting unnaturally straight in the saddle, but said nothing.

Perkins looked uneasily between the three men. "They're this way, sir," he replied to the doctor, confused for a moment by his strange unfamiliarity. Then to the colonel, "I don't rightly know which unit, sir. Mister Harris just sent me to bring Lieutenant Sharpe."

Oh God. Well, being a doctor, the man should have a cast-iron stomach. It would help, hopefully.

Sharpe had already seen what the Portuguese irregulars did to any French they captured. He wasn't sure Stephen had; but the man had spent at least some of his youth in Spain, and probably knew better than Sharpe how the locals would react.

"It ain't goin' to be a pretty sight," he said, warningly.

He turned to Colonel Edrington. "I'll give you a proper report once I've had a look meself, sir. With your permission?" Or without it, he added, mentally, allowing no trace of that thought to appear on his face.

"Don't worry, Sharpe. You need not write a letter, just speak softly. This does concern me, in a way." He turnded back to Perkins: "The bodies were wearing grey uniforms?"

Sharpe sighed, and nodded for the lad to go ahead and speak.

Perkins' mouth moved, thinking before he actually began speaking. "Well, no, colonel. That is-- " To his utter shame, he had to clap a hand over his mouth and turn away for a moment.

"Are you all right, Perkins?" Stephen asked softly. "Take a minute now."

Perkins nodded, mortified.

"I'm very sorry, sir," he said, straightening up and standing to attention in front of the colonel. "The men had been stripped of their clothes, sir, but we found some grey cloth that looked to be from a uniform, sir."

Sharpe took his canteen back from the Doctor and held it out to the youngster. "In your own time, Perkins."

He drank from it gratefully and continued. "Thank you, sir. And the men had been - their bodies had been - cut up, quite a lot. Sir."

He addressed himself to Sharpe. "We know there are French cavalry around, and they are in grey. Are these those soldiers, or their victims.? They won't be in numbers large enough to threaten the column. So let us ride out and see what is there. The civilian can stay here: this is a military problem."

"The 'civilian' works with this army, sir," Stephen said idly, wrapping the reins around his fingers. "And he is concerned."

"From the sounds of it, sir, these are the French. And Doctor Maturin may be able to help if there are any survivors. He's a physician, sir." Though probably without any medical tools with him.

"Dr Maturin," Edrington responded automatically and then stopped, looked from him to Sharpe and back again, and grinned. "That Dr Maturin? By all means, doctor, accompany us. I would hesitate to stand in your way." He nodded. "Colonel Edrington." he said formally.

Stephen raised an eyebrow at the grin, but nodded. "Your servant, sir." He was certain he was being made game of, but he had no time for this officer's games. Not with Perkins in the way that he was, and the bodies of des Sablières' men but two miles away. He wondered how the Colonel knew his name, though - Sharpe?