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the British, and in the very next breath mentioned that he had seen some of Marshal Soult’s cavalry to the north-west of his village. Sharpe did not believe the report, which would have implied that the French were attempting an outflanking march, but he had to report the sighting to Division who then did nothing about it.
    In the afternoon there were a dozen new standing orders for the clerks to copy and send to Nairn’s three battalions. Sharpe wondered if he would now have time to join the Spaniards who were lingering over the lunch table, but then the problem of the brigade’s cattle landed on his lap.
    â€˜They’re just no damned good, sir.’ The head drover, a Yorkshireman, stared gloomily at the beasts which had been driven into a pasture behind the headquarters. These animals had been sent as the brigade’s walking larder which the Yorkshireman was supposed to herd forward as the army advanced. ‘It’s the wet that’s done it, sir.’
    â€˜They look plump,’ Sharpe said, hoping that optimism would drive the problem away.
    â€˜They’re fleshy, right enough,’ the Yorkshireman allowed, ‘but you should see their hooves, sir. It’s fair cruel to do that to a beast.’
    Sharpe stooped by the nearest cow and saw how the hoof had separated from the pelt. The gap was filled with a milky, frothy ooze.
    â€˜Once they start seeping like that,’ the drover said grimly, ‘then you’ve lost the beasts. They’ve walked their last mile, sir, and I can’t understand the nature of a man who’d do this to a creature. You can’t walk cattle like men, sir, they have to rest.’ The Yorkshireman was bitter and resentful.
    Two hundred cattle stared reproachfully as Sharpe straightened up. ‘Are they all like it?’
    â€˜All but a handful, sir, and it’ll mean a killing. Nothing else will serve.’
    So butchers had to be fetched, ammunition authorised, and barrels and salt found for the meat. All afternoon the sound of bellowing and musket shots, mingling with the stench of blood and powder smoke, filled headquarters. The sounds and smells at least served to drive away the two Spaniards who otherwise seemed intent on draining away Nairn’s precious hoard of captured brandy. An aide arrived from Division demanding to know what the firing was, and Sharpe sent the man back with a curt complaint about the quality of the cattle. The complaint, he knew, would be ignored.
    At the day’s end, and despite its unrelenting activity, Sharpe felt that most of his work was still unfinished. He said as much to Nairn when they met before supper in the farm’s parlour. The Scotsman, as ever, was ebullient. ‘Four brace of duck! Almost as satisfying as a good battle.’
    â€˜I’ve got enough work without fighting battles,’ Sharpe grumbled.
    â€˜There speaks the true staff officer.’ Nairn stretched out his legs so his servant could tug off his muddied boots. ‘Any important news?’ he asked Sharpe.
    Sharpe decided not to worry Nairn with the problem of the cattle. ‘The only remarkable aspect of today, sir, is that Colonel Taplow didn’t make any trouble.’
    Lieutenant Colonel Taplow commanded one of Nairn’s two English battalions. He was a short and choleric man with a manner of astonishing incivility who perceived slights to his dignity in every order. Nairn rather liked the foul man. ‘Taplow’s easy enough to understand. Think of him as typically English; stubborn, stupid, and solid. Like a lump of undercooked pork.’
    â€˜Or salt beef,’ Sharpe would not rise to the Scotsman’s bait, ‘and I hope you like salt beef, sir, because you’re going to get a damned lot of it.’
    Next day the advance continued. Every village greeted the British with a sullen curiosity that later turned to astonished approval when the villagers discovered that, unlike