‘Would you, sir?’
Forrest was offended. ‘Of course not, Sharpe. I’m English!’
‘They’re French, sir. They don’t like surrendering either.’
‘I suppose you’re right. ‘ Forrest did not really understand why the French, a nation he thought to be basically civilized, should fight so hard in such an evil cause. He could understand the Americans fighting for Republicanism; a young nation could hardly be expected to have enough sense to recognize the dangers of such a foul political code, but the French? Forrest could not understand that. It was made worse that the French were the most powerful military nation on earth, and thus had harnessed their muskets and horsemen to the spreading Republican evil, and it was Britain’s obvious duty to contain the disease. Forrest saw the war as a moral crusade, a fight for decency and order, and victory to the British would mean that the Almighty, who could not possibly be suspected of Republican sentiments, had blessed the British effort.
He had explained his beliefs once to Major Hogan and had been deeply shocked when the Engineer had dismissed his ideas. ‘My dear Forrest. You are fighting purely for trade! If Boney hadn’t closed Portugal’s harbors you’d be snug in your Chelmsford bed.’
Forrest remembered the conversation and looked at Sharpe. ‘Sharpe? Why are we fighting?’
‘Sir?’ For a moment Sharpe wondered if Forrest was proposing a surrender to the Picurina Fort. ‘Why are we fighting?’
‘Yes, Sharpe. Why do you fight? Are you against Republicanism?’
‘Me, sir? I couldn’t even spell it.’ He grinned at Forrest, saw that the Major was serious. ‘Good Lord, sir. We always fight the French. Every twenty years or so. If we didn’t they’d invade us. Then we’d all be forced to eat snails and speak French.’ He laughed at Forrest. ‘I don’t know, sir. We fight them because they’re meddlesome bastards and someone has to stamp all over them.’
Forrest sighed. He was saved trying to explain the political forces of the world to Sharpe because Colonel Windham and a group of the Battalion’s officers spotted them and joined them at the parapet. Windham was in a good mood. He looked at the British shot flailing at the remains of the French parapet and slapped a palm with a clenched fist. ‘Well done, lads! Give the bastards hell!’ He nodded civilly to Sharpe and grinned at Forrest. ‘Excellent day, Forrest, excellent. Two foxes!’
Hogan had once mentioned to Sharpe that nothing cheered up a British officer as much as a dead fox. In addition to this double cause for satisfaction Windham had more good news. He pulled a letter from his pocket and brandished it towards Forrest. ‘Letter from Mrs. Windham, Forrest. Splendid news!’
‘Good, sir.’ Forrest, like Sharpe, was wondering whether the chinless Jessica had given birth to another young Windham, but it was not to be. The Colonel opened the letter, hummed and hawed as he glanced down the first few lines, and Sharpe could tell from the expressions of Leroy and the other newcomers that Windham had already been spreading whatever the good news turned out to be.
‘Here it is! We’ve had poacher trouble, Forrest, damned bad trouble. Some rascal’s been in among the pheasants. My good lady caught him!’
‘Splendid, sir.’ Forrest tried to sound enthusiastic.
‘More than caught him! She bought a new kind of mantrap. Damned thing did so much damage that he died of the gangrene. Here we are. Mrs. Windham writes: “It so inspired the Rector that he incorporated Same into last Sunday’s sermon to the undoubted Edification of those in the Parish Unmindful of their Station!” Windham beamed at the assembled officers. Sharpe doubted if anyone in the Colonel’s parish was unmindful of their station while Mrs. Windham was so mindful of her own, but he judged it not the right moment to say so. Windham looked again at the letter. ‘Splendid man, our Rector. Rides like a trooper. Know what his text was?’
Sharpe waited for a gun to fire. ‘Numbers. Chapter thirty-two, verse twenty-three, sir?’ He spoke mildly.
The Colonel looked at him. ‘How the devil did you know?’ He seemed to suspect that the Rifleman might have been reading his post. Leroy was grinning.