Sharpe's Gold

CHAPTER 15

'Sir, sir! A hand was shaking his shoulder and Sharpe opened his eyes, to see grey daylight on grey walls. 'Sir?

'All right! The girl was waking as well, the eyes blinking in surprise before she remembered where she was. He smiled at her. 'Stay here.

He crawled out of the space beneath the stairs, past the soldier who had wakened him, and went over to the gaping hole in the south wall of the tower. Dawn was like a grey mist on the countryside, blurring the trees, the grassland across the river, but he could see white flecks on the water surface where there had been none the evening before. The water level was sinking fast and the rocks which marked the ford of San Anton were foaming the river surface. They could cross today, and he lifted his eyes to stare into the western hills as if hoping to see a friendly patrol. He remembered the guns going south the day before and he paused, motionless, in the broken gap to listen for the crumping sound of the giant, iron siege guns. Silence. The siege of Almeida had not yet started.

'Sir! Lieutenant Knowles stood in the tower doorway.

'Lieutenant?

'Visitors, sir. Coming down the valley.

Sharpe grunted, scrambled to his feet, and strapped on his huge sword as he followed Knowles into the courtyard. There was a fire blazing, surrounded by men, and Sharpe looked at them.

'Do you have tea?

One of them promised to bring him a cup and he joined Knowles on the raised rampart that formed the south-eastern corner of San Anton's courtyard. He looked into the valley, up past the stream where the girl had lain beneath his body and the French lancers had first been seen.

'We're bloody popular this morning.

A line of horsemen was riding on the track from Casatejada, El Catolico's men, in force, and among them Kearsey's blue coat. Sharpe spat over the rampart into the stream far below.

'Keep them out, Robert. Don't let anyone, even the Major, inside the walls.

His uniform was damp and uncomfortable and he unstrapped his sword and belts, and stripped naked.

'Get that fire bigger! Use the thorns!

Rifleman Jenkins draped Sharpe's clothes on stones near the blaze and Sharpe stood shivering, a mug of tea held in his hands, and stared at the two hundred horsemen who were aiming for the oak groves where El Catolico and his men had spent the night. Sharpe looked up at the sky, saw the ragged clouds and knew that the storm had passed. Soon it would be hot, under a shadowless blue, and he wondered how much water the Company had.

'Sergeant McGovern!

'Sir?

'Take six men down to the river with all the canteens. Fill them up."

McGovern looked at Knowles, back to Sharpe. 'We've already done it, sir. The Lieutenant sent us down."

'Oh. He looked at Knowles and growled an apology. 'No one interfered with you?

Knowles shook his head. 'It's as you said, sir. They're guarding the ford, not the castle.

'Any food?

Knowles sighed. He had half hoped, against all experience, that Sharpe's morning temper would have been moderated by Teresa. 'Just hard tack, sir. And not much of that.

Sharpe swore, flung the dregs of tea far out towards the oak trees that sheltered El Catolico's men.

'Right! All weapons cleaned! He ignored the grumbles, turned and leaned against the rampart. Everyone was better for some sleep, a few hours between sentry duty, but there had not been time or opportunity in the night for the Company to check their weapons. The night had gone quietly. Some time after midnight the rain had stopped, though the wind still blew cold, and Harper had got a small fire going in the shelter of the broken tower, burning the thorn bushes that grew like weeds in the old courtyard. Teresa had been right. The fortress was approached by a single precipitous track, easy to defend, and El Catolico had left them in peace.

Scraps of wispy cloud cleared away from the rising sun, shadows stretched over the courtyard, and a touch of warmth came which soon would bake the earth dry and sap the Company of its small energy. Sharpe leaned over the rampart. The spate was well over, the water sinking, and the rocks,that marked the ford had broken the surface and collected ragged bundles of twigs and debris that the sudden flood had scoured from the banks. He saw Kearsey leave the oak grove and head his borrowed horse towards the path which led to the castle.

Sharpe pulled on his clothes, still damp, and nodded towards the tower. 'Keep the girl inside, Robert. Knowles nodded. Sharpe was pulling on a damp boot that refused to go over his heel bone. 'Damn! It slipped on. 'I'll meet the Major outside. Inspect the weapons and get ready to move.

'Already? Knowles seemed surprised.

'Can't stay here forever. Sharpe buttoned his jacket, picked up his sword. I'll go and give Major Kearsey the good news.

Sharpe walked briskly down the slope and waved cheerfully at Kearsey. 'Morning, sir! A nice one!

Kearsey reined his horse, stared down at Sharpe with unfriendly eyes. 'What have you done, Sharpe?

Sharpe stared up at the small Major who was silhouetted by the sun. He had expected anger, but not at him: he had expected Kearsey to be disillusioned at the Partisans and instead the Major's opening words, spoken with a suppressed rage, were spat at Sharpe. He replied quietly.

'I've brought the gold, sir, nearly all of it, as I was ordered.

Kearsey nodded impatiently, as if it were the answer he expected. 'You kidnapped the girl, locked up our allies; you have disobeyed my orders; you have turned men who fought for us into men who simply want to kill you. He paused, taking breath, but Sharpe interrupted.

'And the men who killed Captain Hardy?

Kearsey seemed to slump on his pommel. He stared at Sharpe.

'What?

'El Catolico killed him. Stabbed him in the back. He's buried beneath a manure-heap in the village. Teresa had told him the story during the night. 'He found El Catolico moving the gold. It seems he made a protest. So they killed him. You were saying, sir?

Kearsey shook his head. 'How do you know?

For an instant Sharpe was about to tell him, and then remembered that no one, outside the Company, knew that Teresa was no longer a prisoner. 'I was told, sir.

Kearsey was not prepared to give up. He shook his head, as if trying to clear a bad dream. 'But you stole the gold!

'I obeyed orders, sir.

'Whose orders? I am the ranking officer!

Sharpe suddenly felt sorry for the Major. Kearsey had found the gold, told Wellington, and had never been told of the General's plans. Sharpe felt in his pocket, found the square of paper, and hoped that the rain had not soaked through the folds. It had, but the writing was still legible. He handed it up to Kearsey.

'There, sir.

Kearsey read it, his anger growing. 'It says nothing!

'It orders all officers to assist me, sir. All.

But Kearsey was not listening. He waved the scrap of damp paper towards Sharpe. 'It says nothing about the gold! Nothing! You could have kept this for months!

Sharpe laughed. 'It hardly would mention gold, would it, sir? I mean, suppose the Spanish saw the orders; suppose they guessed what the General intended to do with the gold?

Kearsey looked at him. 'You know?

Sharpe nodded. 'It's not going to Cadiz, sir. He said it as gently as he could.

Kearsey's reaction was extraordinary. For a few seconds he sat motionless, his eyes screwed tight, and then he tore the paper into shreds, violent gesture after violent gesture.

'God damn it, Sharpe!

'What? Sharpe had tried to save the paper, but too late.

Kearsey suddenly realized he had sworn. Remorse and anger fought on his face. Anger won. 'I have worked. God knows I have worked to help the Spanish and the British to work together. And I am rewarded by this! He held the scraps of paper up and then, with a sudden jerk, scattered them into the wind. 'Are we to steal the gold, Sharpe?

'Yes, sir. That's about the long and short of it.

'We can't. Kearsey was pleading.

'Whose side are you on? Sharpe made the question brutal.

For an instant he thought that Kearsey's rage would come back, would explode into a blow aimed at the Rifleman, but Kearsey controlled it, and when he spoke his words were low and measured.

'We have honour, Sharpe. That is our private strength, our honour. We're soldiers, you and I. We cannot expect riches, or dignity, or continual victory. We will die, probably, in battle, or in a fever ward, and no one will remember us, so all that is left is honour. Do you understand?

It was strange, standing in the growing warmth of the sun, and listening to the words that were wrenched from the centre of Kearsey's soul. He must have been disappointed, Sharpe thought, somewhere in his life. Perhaps he was lonely, spurned by the officers' mess, or perhaps once in his life the small man had been turned down by a woman he loved and now, growing old in his honour, he had found a job he loved. Kearsey loved Spain, and the Spanish, and the task of riding alone behind the enemy lines like a Christian who kept the faith in a world of heretics and persecution. Sharpe spoke gently.

'The General spoke to me, sir. He wants the gold. Without it the war is lost. If that's stealing, then we're stealing it. I assume that you will help us?

Kearsey seemed not to hear. He was staring over Sharpe's head at the tower of the castillo and he muttered something so low that Sharpe could not hear the words.

'Pardon, sir?

Kearsey's eyes flicked to the Rifleman. 'What shall it profit a man, Sharpe, if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?

Sharpe sighed. 'I doubt if we're losing our soul, sir. And anyway, do you think that El Catolico planned to give the gold to Cadiz?

Kearsey slumped on his saddle as if he knew that Sharpe had spoken the truth. 'No. The Major spoke softly. 'I suppose not. I suppose he wanted to keep it. But he would have used it to fight the French, Sharpe!

'So will we, sir.

'Yes. But it's Spanish gold, and we're not Spaniards. He jerked himself upright and looked somewhat ruefully at the scraps of Sharpe's torn orders. 'We will take the gold to Wellington, Captain. But under my orders. You must release the girl, do you understand? I will not be a party to these threats, to this underhand procedure."

'No, sir.

Kearsey looked at him, uncertain whether Sharpe was agreeing with him. 'You do understand, Sharpe?

'I understand, sir. Sharpe turned and stared at the castillo and then across the Agueda to the far hills where the French patrols were still waiting and where the siege guns would be inching their way to the fortress walls of Almeida.

'I presume the girl has not been harmed?

'No, sir, she has not. Sharpe's patience was at an end. If El Catolico thought, for one second, that the girl was safe, then his men would fall on the Light Company and Sharpe would face a death more painful than the imagination could invent. He looked up at Kearsey. 'In ten minutes, Major, I am going to cut off one of her ears. Only halfway, so it will mend, but if any of those murderous bastards with El Catolico tries to interfere with our crossing of the ford, then the whole ear will be sliced off. And the other ear, and her eyes, and her tongue, and do you understand me, sir? We are leaving, with the gold, and the girl is our passport and I'm not giving her up. Tell her father, tell El Catolico, that if they want the gold they can collect it with a toothless, blind, deaf, ugly, and dumb girl. Understand!

Sharpe's anger battered at the Major, drove him two steps down the slope. 'I am ordering you, Sharpe…

'You're ordering nothing, sir. You tore up my orders! We are going. So tell them, Major! Tell them! You hear the scream in ten minutes!

He turned away, his anger deafening him to Kearsey's words, and climbed into the stockade of the fort. His men saw his face and said nothing, but turned away and watched as the small, blue-uniformed Major rode his horse back to the Partisans.

Kearsey delivered the message, shaking with rage, and watched, with Cesar Moreno beside him, the high, silent fort. El Catolico was with them and swore his vengeance on Sharpe. The Major touched his sleeve.

'He won't do it. Believe me. He won't.

Kearsey squinted up at the Castillo, at the silhouettes of the sentries. There was something more on his mind, something that he could not keep in, and he turned to the tall Spaniard. 'Captain Hardy. He stopped.

El Catolico soothed his horse, looked at Kearsey. 'What about him?

Kearsey was embarrassed. 'Sharpe says you killed him.

El Catolico laughed. 'He would say anything. He spat on to the ground. 'You are the only officer we can trust, Major. Not people like Sharpe. He has no proof, does he? He asked the question confidently.

Kearsey shook his head. 'No.

'He just wants to turn you against us. No, Major, Captain Hardy was captured. Ask Cesar.

He gestured at Teresa's father, whose face was tortured with worry. The Major shook his head, felt a sense of relief, a feeling that was shattered by the sound that came from the ruined tower of the Castillo. The scream seemed to linger in the oak grove. It rose to an unbearable pitch and then wavered down to a thin, sobbing desperation that chilled every man. Cesar Moreno spurred forward with a dozen men, his face set with a determination they had forgotten, but a sentry on the ramparts gave a signal to the tower and the scream came again, higher this time, like the sound of the Frenchmen whose lives they had stripped, inch by inch, with their long knives. Teresa's father reined in, knowing he was beaten, swearing that for every blade that was laid to his daughter Sharpe would suffer a hundred.

El Catolico had killed northerners before, Frenchmen, and some had taken three moons to die and every second they had known their own pain. Sharpe, El Catolico promised himself, would plead for such a death.

After the sobbing, the noise of boots on stone, came shouted orders, and the Company marched out with fixed bayonets on shouldered guns, and in the lead was the Captain holding a rifle sling looped round the neck of Teresa Moreno. The Partisans growled, looked at the father, at El Catolico, but dared not move. Teresa was crying, her face half hidden by her hands, but every man could see the white bandage, torn from the bottom of her dress, and they could see the bright blood which stained the cloth. Sharpe was holding a gleaming, saw-backed bayonet at her head and if she stumbled he pulled at the sling round her throat. Kearsey felt a terrible shame as he watched the Rifle Officer shield himself from El Catolico's guns with the girl's body, and as the Company, in a silence that seemed as if it could explode at any instant in a dreadful violence, marched past the poised horsemen, Cesar Moreno gazed at the blood-soaked bandage, at the spots of blood on his daughter's dress, and he promised himself the luxury of this English Captain's death. Kearsey touched his arm.

'I'm sorry.

'It does not matter. I will catch them and kill them. Cesar Moreno watched the faces of the Company and he thought they looked shocked, as if their Captain had dragged them into new depths of horror. 'I will kill him.

Kearsey nodded. 'I'm sorry.

Moreno looked at him. 'It was not your doing, Major. He nodded at where the Light Company were beginning their crossing, the lightly loaded men forming a human dam to help the gold-carriers to cross. 'Go in peace.

Sharpe crossed last, holding the girl and feeling the long weeds snatch at his legs and try to drag him under. The water level was low but the current still strong, and it was awkward with one arm round Teresa's neck, but they made it and were pulled on to the far bank by Patrick Harper, who nodded back over the river.

'Felt sorry for her father, sir.

'He'll find out she wasn't touched.

'Aye, that's true. The Major's coming.

'Let him.

They set off across the grassland, in the heat of the morning, their boots leaving a wide swath through the pale stalks and with the Partisans never far behind. Harper walked with Sharpe and Teresa and he looked over the girl's head at his Captain.

'How's the arm, sir?

'It's fine. Sharpe had cut open his left forearm for the blood with which to soak Teresa's bandage.

Harper nodded ahead, to the Company. 'Should have cut open Private Batten. It's all he's good for.

Sharpe grinned. The thought had occurred to him, but he had rejected it as petty. 'I'll survive. You'd better tell the lads that the girl's not harmed. Quietly.

'I’ll do that.

Harper went ahead. The men were silent, shocked, because Sharpe had let them believe he was working the great blade on the girl. If they had known the truth they would have marched past El Catolico with grinning faces, suppressed glee, and the whole thing would have been lost. Sharpe looked at the Partisans, to the side and behind, and then at Teresa.

'You must keep pretending.

She nodded, looked up at him. 'You keep your promise?

'I promise. We have a bargain.

It was a good one, too, he decided, and he admired Teresa for its terms. At least, now, he knew why she was on his side, and there was only one regret: he knew they would not be together long, that the bargain called for them to be far apart, but the war would be long and, who knew, perhaps he would meet her again.

At midday the Company climbed a steep ridge that ran directly west, towards their goal, and Sharpe led the way up its steep, razor-stoned flank with a sense of relief. The Partisans could not take their horses up the slope and their figures grew smaller and smaller as the Company laboured upwards. The men carrying the gold needed frequent rests, lying and panting beneath the sun, but each hour took them nearer the Coa, and for a time Sharpe dared to hope that they had shaken off El Catolico and his men. The spine of the ridge was a bare, rocky place and littered with small bones left by wolves and vultures. Sharpe had the feeling of walking in a place where no man ever trod, a place that was commanded by the beasts, and all round them the hills crouched in the searing, aching sun, and nothing moved except for the Company crawling along the high crest, and Sharpe felt as if the world had ended and they had been forgotten. Ahead he could see the hazed hills that led to the river, to safety, and he forced the Company on. Patrick Harper, carrying two packs of gold, nodded at the western hills to their front.

'Are the French there, sir?

Sharpe shrugged. 'Probably.

The Sergeant looked round their high, sun-bleached path. 'I hope they're not watching for us.

'Better than being down with the Partisans. But he knew Harper was right. If the French were patrolling the hills, and they must be, then the Company would be visible for miles, Sharpe made his own gold-filled pack more comfortable on his shoulder. 'We'll keep going west in the night. He looked at his tired men. 'Just this one effort, Sergeant, just this one.

It was not to be. At dusk, as the westering sun dazzled them, the ridge dropped away and Sharpe saw they had been cheated. The ridge was like an island, separated from the other hills by a wide, convoluted valley, and in its shadows, far below, he could see the tiny dots that were El Catolico's men. He stopped the Company, let them rest, and stared down.

'Damn. Damn. Damn. He spoke quietly. The Partisans had ridden an easy path, either side of the ridge, and the Company had slogged its useless toil over the baking rocks, the edged stones, the scorpion-infested ridge. On the far side of the valley the hills rose again and he looked at the bouldered slope they would have to climb, but he knew that before they could go on they must cross the valley. It was a perfect place for an ambush. Like an indented sea-coast the valley had hidden spurs, deep shadows; even, to the north, some scrubby trees. Once they were on the valley's grassed floor they would be terribly vulnerable, unable to see what lurked behind the spurs of the hill, in the dead folds of ground. Sharpe stared into the shadowed depth and then at his exhausted Company with their battered weapons and heavy packs.

'We cross at dawn.

'Yes, sir. Harper looked down. 'The Major's coming, sir.

Kearsey had abandoned his horse and, his blue uniform melding with the shadows, was climbing the slope towards the Company. Sharpe grunted.

'He can say a prayer for us. He looked at the valley. A prayer, maybe, would not be a bad thing.