Hundreds had died, all for Simmerson's pride and the inexperience of his officers. Only Lennox and Leroy had been fit to lead, and Lennox had died. The eagle he wanted would mitigate the regiment's shame, should the feat be accomplished. Not a single golden eagle had been captured yet. And as much as Sharpe had wanted to grant Lennox his last desire, he could also taste the stability that would come with capturing the bird himself.

"I couldn't tell him no, could I? Nor could I tell him yes. Not with so many watching; not if I wanted half a chance of being on the field to do it. Simmerson tried to pin what happened on the Rifles, but a small inquiry proved us blameless. And Wellington -- sorry, ma'am, he were Wellesley at the time; still is, I suppose -- he saw fit to gazette me a Captain. But in exchange, he wanted my word that me and the lads wouldn't...chase daydreams and dying wishes."