Bernard Cornwell: Sharpe’s Battle: The Battle of Fuentes de Oñoro, May 1811

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 1995

Copyright © Bernard Cornwell 1995

Bernard Cornwell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is a work of fiction.

The incidents and some of the characters portrayed in it, while based on real historical events and figures, are the work of the author’s imagination.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.

Source ISBN: 9780006473244

Ebook Edition © March 2012 ISBN: 9780007339525

Version: 2017-05-08

Sharpe’s Battle is for Sean Bean

‘As always the action’s the thing – and once Sharpe is surrounded by enemies, both on his own side and the opposition, events move at their usual satisfyingly breathless pace’

Independent on Sunday

Title Page SHARPE’S BATTLE Richard Sharpe and the Battle of Fuentes de Oñoro, May 1811 BERNARD CORNWELL

Copyright Copyright Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 1995 Copyright © Bernard Cornwell 1995 Bernard Cornwell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library This novel is a work of fiction. The incidents and some of the characters portrayed in it, while based on real historical events and figures, are the work of the author’s imagination. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication. Source ISBN: 9780006473244 Ebook Edition © March 2012 ISBN: 9780007339525 Version: 2017-05-08

Dedication Sharpe’s Battle is for Sean Bean

Epigraph ‘As always the action’s the thing – and once Sharpe is surrounded by enemies, both on his own side and the opposition, events move at their usual satisfyingly breathless pace’ Independent on Sunday

Map

Part One PART ONE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Part Two

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Historical Note

Keep Reading

Sharpe’s Story

About the Author

The SHARPE Series (in chronological order)

The SHARPE Series (in order of publication)

Also by Bernard Cornwell

About the Publisher

Sharpe swore. Then, in desperation, he turned the map upside down. ‘Might as well not have a bloody map,’ he said, ‘for all the bloody use it is.’

‘We could light a fire with it,’ Sergeant Harper suggested. ‘Good kindling’s hard to come by in these hills.’

‘It’s no bloody use for anything else,’ Sharpe said. The hand-drawn map showed a scatter of villages, a few spidery lines for roads, streams or rivers, and some vague hatchings denoting hills, whereas all Sharpe could see was mountains. No roads or villages, just grey, bleak, rock-littered mountains with peaks shrouded by mists, and valleys cut by streams turned white and full by the spring rains. Sharpe had led his company into the high ground on the border between Spain and Portugal and there become lost. His company, forty soldiers carrying packs, haversacks, cartridge cases and weapons, seemed not to care. They were just grateful for the rest and so sat or lay beside the grassy track. Some lit pipes, others slept, while Captain Richard Sharpe turned the map right side up and then, in anger, crumpled it into a ball. ‘We’re bloody lost,’ he said and then, in fairness, corrected himself. ‘I’m bloody lost.’

‘My grand-da got lost once,’ Harper said helpfully. ‘He’d bought a bullock from a fellow in Cloghanelly Parish and decided to take a short cut home across the Derryveagh Mountains. Then the fog rolled in and grand-da couldn’t tell his left from his right. Lost like a wee lamb he was, and then the bullock deserted the ranks and bolted into the fog and jumped clear over a cliff into the Barra Valley. Grand-da said you could hear the poor wee beast bellowing all the way down, then there was a thump just like you’d dropped a bagpipe off a church tower, only louder, he said, because he reckoned they must have heard that thump all the way to Ballybofey. We used to laugh about it later, but not at the time. God, no, it was a tragedy at the time. We couldn’t afford to lose a good bullock.’

‘Jesus bloody wept!’ Sharpe interrupted. ‘I can afford to lose a bloody sergeant who’s got nothing better to do than blather on about a bloody bullock!’

‘It was a valuable beast!’ Harper protested. ‘Besides, we’re lost. We’ve got nothing better to do than pass the time, sir.’

Lieutenant Price had been at the rear of the column, but now joined his commanding officer at the front. ‘Are we lost, sir?’

‘No, Harry, I came here for the hell of it. Wherever the hell this is.’ Sharpe stared glumly about the damp, bleak valley. He was proud of his sense of direction and his skills at crossing strange country, but now he was comprehensively, utterly lost and the clouds were thick enough to disguise the sun so that he could not even tell which direction was north. ‘We need a compass,’ he said.