Sharpe

Major Munro:
[reading letter to Wellington] From his most Catholic Majesty, King Ferdinand, my Lord, I've taken the precaution of reading it. Shall I read it for you now? [Wellington nods] Um. His most Catholic Majesty....

Wellesley:
Yes, yes, yes, get on with it.

Major Munro:
In a spirit of regal cooperation with his royal cousin England, and in his great desire to drive the French invader from the the sacred soil of Spain has directed the Royal Irish Company of His Majesty's Household Guard under the command of Lord Kiley, to place themselves under the command of Field Marshal, the Lord Wellington. Sir.

Wellesley:
Copied to Horse Guards, I presume.

Major Munro:
Copied to the Prince Regent himself, my Lord.

Wellesley:
Can we intercept it?

Major Munro:
No sir, it's been gone these two weeks. You'll no doubt be flattered by the gesture.

Wellesley:
Yes. Which means that we're stuck with 'em.

Major Munro:
I'm sure they'll prove decorative.

Wellesley:
I don't need decorative! I need an extra battalion of trained foot with full equipment to throw against the French. Are they all Irish?

Major Munro:
Most of them are Spanish-born these days, but they have to be descended from Irish exiles.

Wellesley:
Put them to latrine-digging.

Major Munro:
My lord, if we employ the King's Household Guard on menial tasks, it will be construed as an insult to our Spanish allies, as well as to His most Catholic Majesty.

Wellesley:
Damn His most Catholic Majesty! And damn this Lord Kiley. I know the Irish peerage. Irish Catholic exiles. You're paid to advise me Munro, so earn your damn pay.

Major Munro:
I fear we must welcome Lord Kiley and his men, even while we mistrust them. It seems to me that we must do our best to make them feel...uncomfortable.

Wellesley:
Drive them out? How?

Major Munro:
Bivouac them close to the French lines, so that those who wish to desert will find it easy. We'll get them a liason officer, of course, someone senior enough to sooth Kiley's feathers. But why not give them a drill-master, too?

Wellesley:
I doubt Lord Kiley would like a certain major of our acquaintance.

Major Munro:
Ach, I cannot think they'll take to each other, my Lord, no.

Wellesley:
Good! Then give the puppets Richard Sharpe!! [laughing]