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ill dropped steeply to the lower city； they had dammed the Rivillas stream。 Now the vulnerable east wall was protected by a sheet of flood water； as wide as the river to the north； and running far to the south of the city。 As Hogan had said to Sharpe； only the navy could attack across the new lake； unless the dam could be blown up and the lake drained。
Which left the huge curve of the south and west walls； a curve nearly a mile long that had no convenient river or stream to offer protection。 Instead there were the cogs on the wheel's rim； the seven vast bastions that jutted out from the city wall； each bastion the size of a small castle。 San Vincente was the most northerly； built beside the river at the angle of the north and west walls； and from the San Vincente the bastions ran south and west till they met the flooded Rivillas。 San Jose； Santiago； San Juan； San Roque； Santa Maria； and so to the Trinidad。 The saints； the mother of Christ； and the Holy Trinity； each with more than a score of guns； to protect a city。
The bastions were not the only protection to the great curve of walls。 First came the glacis； the earth slope that deflected the round shot and bounced it high over the defences； and then the huge ditch。 The drop from the glacis to the ditch bottom was nowhere less than twenty feet and； once in the ditch； the real problems began。 The bastions would flank any attack； pouring in their plunging fire； and there were ravelins in the great dry moat。 The ravelins were like great； triangular； fake walls that split an attack and； in darkness； could deceive men into thinking they had reached the real wall。 Any man who climbed a ravelin would be swept off by carefully aimed cannon。 From the ditch the walls rose fifty feet and on their wide parapets they mounted guns every five yards。
Badajoz was no mediaeval fortress hastily converted for modern warfare。 It had once been the pride of Spain； a brilliantly engineered； massively built death trap； that was now garrisoned by the finest French troops in the Peninsula。 Twice the British had failed to take the city and there seemed no reason； a year later； to suppose that a third attempt would meet with success。
The fortress had just one weakness。 To the south…east； opposite the Trinidad bastion and across the flood waters； rose the shallow San Miguel hill。 From its low； flat top a besieger could fire down on to the south…east corner of the city； and that was the single weakness。 The French knew it； and had guarded against it。 Two forts had been built to the south and east。 One； the Picurina； had been built across the new lake on the lower slopes of the San Miguel hill。 The second fort； the huge Pardaleras； was to the south and guarded the approach to any breach that might be carved by the guns on the hill。 It was not much of a weakness； but all the British had to work on and so； on St Patrick's Day； they marched to the rear of the San Miguel hill。 They knew； and the French knew； that the effort would be against the south…east corner of the city； against the Santa Maria and Trinidad bastions； and the fact that the selfsame plan had failed twice before did not matter。 From the top of the hill； where curious men gathered to look at the city； the breach made in the last siege could be clearly seen between the two bastions。 It had been repaired； in lighter coloured stone； and the new masonry seemed to mock the ing British efforts。
Sharpe stood next to Patrick Harper and stared at the walls。 'Jesus； they're big！〃 The Sergeant said nothing。 Sharpe pulled the bottle from inside his greatcoat and held it out。 'Here。 A present for St Patrick's Day。'
Harper's broad face beamed with pleasure。 'You're a grand man； sir； for an Englishman。 Would you be ordering me to save you half for St George's Day？'
Sharpe stamped his feet against the cold。 'I think I'll take that half now。'
'I thought you might。 ' Harper was glad to see Sharpe； of whom he had seen little in the past month； but there was also an embarrassment in the meeting。 The Irishman knew Sharpe needed reassurance that the Light pany missed him； and Harper thought him a fool for needing the words to be said。 Of course they missed him。 The Light pany were no different to the rest of the army。 They were failures； almost to a man； whose failings had led them to courtrooms and jails。 They were thieves； drunks； debtors； and murderers； the men Britain wanted out of sight and mind。 It was easier to empty a town jail to a recruiting party than go through the tedious business of trial； sentence and punishment。
Not all were criminals。 Some had been gulled by the Recruiting Sergeants； offered an escape from village tedium and narrow horizons。 Some had failed in love and joined the army in despair； swearing they would rather die in battle than see their sweetheart married to another man。 Many were drunkards who were terrified of a lonely shivering death in a winter ditch and joined an army that offered them clothes； boots； and a third of a pint of rum each day。 Some； a few； a very few； joined for patriotism。 Some； like Harper； joined because there was nothing but hunger at home and the army offered food and an escape。 They were； almost to a man； the failings and leavings of society and to them all the army was one big Forlorn Hope。
Yet they were the best infantry in the world。 They had not always been and； without the right leaders； would not be so again。 Harper instinctively knew that this army that faced Badajoz was a superb instrument； better than anything the great Napoleon could muster； and Harper knew why。 Because there were just enough officers like Sharpe who trusted the failures。 It started at the top； of course； with Wellington himself； and went right through the ranks to the junior officers and Sergeants； and the trick of it was very simple。 Take a man who has failed at everything； give him a final chance； show him trust； lead him to one success； and there is a sudden confidence that will lead to the next success。 Soon they will believe they are unbeatable； and bee unbeatable； but the trick was still to have officers like Sharpe who kept on offering trust。 Of course the Light pany missed him！ He had expected great things of them and trusted them to win。 Perhaps the new man would one day learn the trick； but until he did； if ever； the men would miss Sharpe。 Hell； thought Harper； they even like him。 And the fool did not realize it。 Harper shook his head to himself and offered the bottle to Sharpe。 'Here's to Ireland； sir； and death to Hakeswill。'
'I'll drink to that。 How is the bastard？'
'I'll kill him one day。 '
Sharpe gave a humorless laugh。 'You won't。 I will。'
'How the hell is he still alive？'
Sharpe shrugged。 'He says he can't be killed。 ' It was cold on the hill and Sharpe hunched his shoulders beneath the greatcoat。 'And he never turns his back。 Watch yours。'
I'm growing eyes in my bum with that bastard around。'
'What does Captain Rymer think of him？'
Harper paused； took the bottle from Sharpe； drank； and passed it back。 'God knows。 I think he's scared of him； but so are most。' He shrugged。 'The Captain's not a bad