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strength to attack a fortress like this. It would come, he knew, because

    before the French were spat out of Spain the British would have to take towns like this, and

    he pushed away the thought. Sufficient unto the day was that evil.
    The Portuguese defenders were as impressive as their walls. The Company marched

    through the first gate, a tunnel that took two right turns beneath the first massive wall,

    and Sharpe was pleased at the look of the Portuguese. They were nothing like the shambles

    that had called itself the army of Spain. The Portuguese looked confident, with the

    arrogance of soldiers secure in their own strength and unafraid of the French storm that

    would soon lap round the walls of their huge, granite star. The town's steep streets were

    virtually empty of civilians, most of the houses barred shut, and to Sharpe it was as if

    Almeida were waiting, empty, for some great event. It was certainly prepared. From the

    guns on the inner walls to the bales of food stacked in courtyards, the fortress was

    supplied and ready. It was Portugal's front door and Massena would need all his fox-like

    cunning and strength to open it.
    Brigadier Cox, the English Commander of the garrison, had his headquarters at the top

    of the hill, but Sharpe found him outside, in the main Plaza, watching his men roll barrels

    of gunpowder into the door of the cathedral. Cox, tall and distinguished, returned

    Sharpe's salute.
    'Honoured, Sharpe, honoured. Heard about Talavera.'
    'Thank you, sir.' He glanced at the barrels going into the dark interior of the

    cathedral. 'You seem well prepared.'
    Cox nodded happily. 'We are, Sharpe, we are. Filled to the gunwales and ready to go.' He

    nodded at the cathedral. That's our magazine.'
    Sharpe showed his surprise and Cox laughed. 'The best defences in Portugal and nowhere

    to store the ammunition. Can you imagine that? Luckily they built that cathedral to last.

    Walls like Windsor Castle and crypts like dungeons. Hey presto, a magazine. No, I can't

    complain, Sharpe. Plenty of guns, plenty of ammunition. We should hold the Froggies up

    for a couple of months.' He looked speculatively at Sharpe's faded green jacket. 'I could

    do with some prime Riflemen, though.'
    Sharpe could see his Company being ordered on to the main ramparts and he swiftly

    changed the subject. 'I understand I'm to report to Major Kearsey, sir.'
    'Ah! Our exploring officer! You'll find him in the place nearest to God.' Cox

    laughed.
    Sharpe was puzzled. 'I'm sorry, sir?'
    'Top of the castle, Sharpe. Can't miss it, right by the telegraph. Your lads can get

    breakfast in the castle.'
    'Thank you, sir.'
    Sharpe climbed the winding stairs of the mast-topped turret and, as he came into the

    early sunlight, understood Cox's reference to nearness to God. Beyond the wooden

    telegraph with its four motionless bladders, identical to the arrangement in Celorico,

    Sharpe saw a small man on his knees, an open Bible lying next to a telescope at his side.

    Sharpe coughed and the small man opened a fierce, battling eye.
    'Yes?'
    'Sharpe, sir. South Essex."
    Kearsey nodded, shut the eye, and went back to his prayers, his lips moving at double

    speed until he had finished. Then he took a deep breath, smiled at the sky as if his duty

    were done, and turned an abruptly fierce expression on Sharpe. 'Kearsey.' He stood up, his

    spurs clicking on the stones. The cavalryman was a foot shorter than Sharpe, but he seemed

    to compensate for his lack of height with a look of Cromwellian fervour and rectitude.

    'Pleased to meet you, Sharpe.' His voice was gruff and he did not sound in the least pleased.

    'Heard about Talavera, of course. Well done.'
    'Thank you, sir.' Kearsey had succeeded in making the compliment sound as if it had

    come from a man who had personally captured two or three dozen Eagles and was

    encouraging an apprentice. The Major closed his Bible.
    'Do you pray, Sharpe?'
    'No, sir.'
    'A