She felt guilty because she had not loved him, yet he had died because he had gone back into the village to find her, and Sharpe did not know how to console her.
“He was a soldier, love,” he told her, ‘and he died in battle.”
“But I killed him!”
“No, you didn’t,” Sharpe said, and he heard hooves behind him and he turned, hoping to see Colonel McCandless, but instead it was General Wellesley and Colonel Wallace and a score of aides riding up to the ford. He straightened to attention.
“Sergeant Sharpe,” Wellesley said, sounding embarrassed.
“Sir,” Sharpe said woodenly.
The General slid from his saddle. His face was red, and Sharpe supposed that was the effect of the sun.
“I have been remiss, Sergeant,” the General said awkwardly, ‘for I believe I owe you my life.”
Sharpe felt himself blushing and was glad that the sun was low and the roadway where he stood was in deep shadow.
“Just did my best, sir,” he muttered.
“This is Madame Joubert, sir. Her husband was killed, sir, fighting for Colonel Pohlmann.”
The General took off his hat and bowed to Simone.
“My commiserations, Madam”,” he said, then looked back to Sharpe whose long black hair still spilled over his collar.
“Do you know where Colonel McCandless is?” he asked.
“No, sir. I’ve been looking for him, sir.”
Wellesley fidgeted with his hat, paused to take a deep breath, then nodded.
“Colonel McCandless managed to have a long talk with Colonel Wallace this afternoon,” the General said.
“How they found time to have a conversation in battle, I don’t know!” This was evidently a jest, for the General smiled, though Sharpe stayed straight-faced, and his lack of reaction disconcerted Wellesley.
“I have to reward you, Sharpe,” Wellesley said curtly.
“For what, sir?”
“For my life,” the General said in a tone of irritation.
“I’m just glad I was there, sir,” Sharpe said, feeling as awkward as Wellesley himself evidently felt.
“I’m rather glad you were there too,” the General said, then took a step forward and held out his hand.
“Thank you, Mister Sharpe.”
Sharpe hesitated, astonished at the gesture, then made himself shake the General’s hand. It was only then that he noticed what Wellesley had said.
“Mister, sir?” he asked.
“It is customary in this army, Mister Sharpe, to reward uncommon bravery with uncommon promotion. Wallace tells me you desire a commission, and he has vacancies in the 74th. God knows he has too many vacancies, so if you’re agreeable, Sharpe, you can join the Colonel’s regiment as an ensign.”
For a second Sharpe did not really comprehend what was being said, then he suddenly did and he smiled. There were tears in his eyes, but he reckoned that must be because of the powder smoke that lingered in the village.
“Thank you, sir,” he said warmly, ‘thank you.”
“There, that’s done,” Wellesley said with relief.
“My congratulations, Sharpe, and my sincere thanks.” His aides were all smiling at Sharpe, not Sergeant Sharpe any longer, but Ensign Sharpe of the King’s 74th.
Captain Campbell even climbed down from his saddle and offered his hand to Sharpe who was still smiling as he shook it.
“It’ll turn out badly, of course,” Wellesley said to Campbell as he turned away.
“It always does. We promote them beyond their station and they inevitably take to drink.”
“He’s a good man, sir,” Campbell said loyally.
“I doubt that too. But he’s a good soldier, I’ll say that. He’s all yours now, Wallace, all yours!” The General pulled himself into his saddle, then turned to Simone.
“Madame? I can offer you very little but if you care to join me for supper I would be honoured. Captain Campbell will escort you.”
Campbell held his hand out to Simone. She looked at Sharpe, who nodded at her, and she shyly accepted Campbell’s arm and followed the General back up the street. Colonel Wallace paused to lean down from his horse and shake Sharpe’s hand.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to clean yourself up, Sharpe, and to get those stripes off your arm.
You might like to chop off some of that hair, while you’re about it.