Sharpe's Gold

CHAPTER 19

Her finger pressed on the scars of the flogging. 'Who did it?

'A man called Morris, and a Sergeant. Hakeswill.

'Why?

He shrugged. 'They lied.

'You kill them?

'Not yet.

She nodded slowly. 'You will?

'I will. It was not yet dawn, but the sky had the grey luminance that came before first light, and Sharpe wanted to be at the telegraph early. He was reluctant to move, to lose the warm body, but others were stirring in the house and a cockerel, exploding into sound in the courtyard, jerked him upright. He lay back again, taking five more minutes, and pulled Teresa close.

'Did Hardy want you?

She smiled, said something in Spanish, and he assumed she was asking if he was jealous.

'No.

She wagged her head, seemed to shrug. 'Yes. He wanted me.

'And did you?

She laughed. 'No. Joaquim was too close.

Joaquim, damned Joaquim Jovellanos, El Catolico, Colonel and crook. The girl had told him, when they were lying hot and sweaty in the wide bed, of her father, of El Catolico, of the business of staying alive in the mountains when the enemy is everywhere and there is no law and no government. Her father, she said, was good, but weak.

'Weak? Sharpe had winced as he propped himself on an elbow.

'He was strong. Teresa still had problems with English and she shrugged helplessly.

Sharpe helped her. 'And El Catolico?

She smiled, pushed hair away from her eyes. 'He wants everything. My father's men, land, money, me. He's strong.

Somewhere a door scraped on old hinges, boots crossed a yard, and Sharpe knew it was time to be up.

'And you?

Her hand felt his scars. 'We will fight. Ramon, me, Father. Joaquim only thinks of what happens afterwards.

'Afterwards?

'When there is peace.

'And you? Her hair had the smell of a woman and his hand rested on the long, muscled waist.

'I want to kill Frenchmen.

'You will.

'I know.

Now, looking at the sudden smile, he wished that she was not going. He could, he decided, be happy with this woman, but he laughed inside as he remembered he had thought the same of Josefina.

'What are you smiling for?

'Nothing.

He swung his legs out of bed, pulled up his crumpled clothes and put them on the bed. She pulled the jacket towards her, opened the pocket.

'What's this? A silver locket lay in her hand.

'A locket.

She hit him. 'I know. She opened it and, inside, saw the gold-haired girl with the generous mouth. 'Who's that?"

'Jealous?

She seemed to understand and laughed. 'Who is she?

'Jane Gibbons.

She imitated him. 'Jane Gibbons. Who is she? Is she waiting for you?

'No. I've never met her.

She looked at the face in the miniature painting. 'She's pretty. Never?

'Never.

'Why do you have it?

'I knew her brother.

'Ah. Friendship made sense to her. 'Is he dead?

'Yes.

'The French? She said the word with her customary spite.

'No.

She looked exasperated at his answers. 'Was he a soldier?

'Yes.

'Then how did he die?

Sharpe pulled on the French overalls. 'I killed him.

'You?

Sharpe paused. 'No. The Sergeant killed him. I killed the other one.

'What other one? She sat up, flinched as he pulled back the curtain.

Across the street was a church with ornate stonework and a laddered bell-tower. The soldier in Sharpe automatically understood that the church roof must have a platform for the ladder, a possible firing position.

'They were enemies. They hurt a friend.

She understood the half truth. 'A woman?

He nodded. 'Not mine. Another half truth, but by the time the two Lieutenants had died, Josefina had already found Hardy.

She laughed. 'You're a good man, Richard.

'I know.

He grinned at her, picked up the locket and pushed it back into his pocket. Why had he kept it? Because Gibbons's sister was so beautiful? Or was it now his talisman, his magic charm against the killing lance and El Catolico's rapier? Teresa helped him with the jacket buttons.

'You'll come back?

'I'll be back. The soldiers are here; you're safe.

She leaned off the bed, pulled up the rifle. 'I'm safe.

He left her in the bedroom, feeling his loss, and went down to where the kitchen fire was blazing and Lossow was drinking beer from an earthenware bottle. The German Captain grinned at Sharpe.

'A good night, my friend?"

Knowles winced, Harper looked at the ceiling, but Sharpe growled something approximately polite and crossed to the fire. 'Tea?

'Here, sir. Harper pushed a mug over the table. 'Just wet it.

A dozen men of the Company were in the kitchen, and some Germans, and they were sawing with knives at the new bread and looking surprised because there were pots of butter, fresh butter, on the table. Sharpe scraped his boot on the hearth and his men looked up.

'The girl. He wondered if he sounded embarrassed, but the men seemed not to mind. 'Look after her till I get back.

They nodded, grinned at him, and he was suddenly immensely proud of them. She would be safe with them, scoundrels though they were, just as a King's ransom in gold was safe with them. He had never thought of it, not in detail, but it occurred to Sharpe that most officers would never have trusted their men with the gold. They would have feared desertion; that the temptation of so much money would be simply too much, but Sharpe had never been worried. These were his men, his Company, and he trusted his life with their skills, so why not gold, or a girl?

Robert Knowles cleared his throat. 'When will you be back, sir?

'Three hours. An hour till the message could be sent, an hour for the reply to come, and then another hour unpicking the details with Cox. 'Keep an eye out for El Catolico. He's here. Keep a guard, Robert, all the time, and don't let anyone in, no one.

The men grinned at him, laughed as they thought what they could do to anyone who interfered with them, and Lossow clapped his hands together.

'We surprise the Spanish, yes? They think they have the gold? But they don't know about the telegraph. Ah! The wonders of modern war.

It was cold in the street, the sky still dark grey, but as Sharpe, Lossow, and Harper mounted the final steps to the rampart of the castle they could see the eastern sky blazing with the coming sun. The telegraph was unmanned, the sheep bladders tied to the mast, and in the cruel, grey light it reminded Sharpe of a gallows. The wind slapped the ropes in a forlorn tattoo against the mast.

The sun shattered the remnants of night, dazzled over the eastern hills, and streaked its bleak, early light into the countryside round Almeida. As if in salute there was a blare of bugles, shouts from the walls, and Lossow clapped Sharpe's good shoulder and pointed south.

'Look!

The bugles had responded to the first formal move of the siege. The waiting was over, and through his undamaged telescope Sharpe saw that the dawn light had revealed a mound of fresh earth that had been thrown up a thousand yards from the fortifications. It was the first French battery and, even as Sharpe watched, he saw the tiny figures of men throwing up more earth and battening great fascines to the crest of the mound. It had been years since he had carried a fascine to war, a great wicker cylinder that was filled with soil and provided an instant battlement to protect men and guns from enemy artillery. The Portuguese gunners had seen the fresh earthworks and were running along the town wall.

Lossow pounded his fist on the ramparts. 'Fire! You bastards!

A Portuguese gun team on the town defences seemed to hear him, for there was the flat crack of a cannon, and through the glass, Sharpe saw an eruption of earth where the roundshot struck the ground just in front of the French battery. The ball must have bounced right over the top and he knew the Portuguese gunners would be satisfied. After another two firings their gun barrel would be hot and the shot would carry farther and he listened for the next shot, saw it fall a little beyond the first, and watched as the French soldiers hurried to take cover.

'Next one.

He let the telescope lie where it was and straightened up. Over the roofs of the town he could see the smoke of the cannon drifting in the breeze, saw another smudge as the Portuguese fired again, and then, a second later, heard the crash and watched the fascines blow apart.

'Bravo! Lossow clapped his hands. 'That's held them up for five minutes!

Sharpe picked up the telescope and panned it to the south. There were few Frenchmen visible — the new battery, an encampment half a mile beyond that, and a few figures on horseback riding the circuit well beyond the range of the defenders' guns. The close siege had not started yet, the careful digging of the zigzag trenches that would bring the infantry to striking distance of the breach that the French would hope to blast through the walls with battery after battery of huge, iron siege guns. And all the time the howitzers, untouchable in their deep pits, would lob their bombs into the town day after day. He looked westward, to the road that led to the Coa, and beyond one earthen barricade there was no real attempt by the French to seal it off. That would come in a day or two, when the siege proper began, and he handed the glass to Lossow.

'We can do it.

The German looked at the road, smiled. 'It will be a pleasure.

There were footsteps on the circular stone stairway and the young midshipman, holding a thick sandwich, emerged on to the ramparts and looked startled to see the waiting men. He put his sandwich in his mouth, saluted, rescued his sandwich.

'Morning, sir.

He put down the pile of books he was carrying in his other hand.

'Morning. Sharpe guessed the boy was no older than fifteen. 'When do you start sending?

'When the messages get here, sir.

Sharpe pointed to the books. 'What's that?

'Lessons, sir. Principles of navigation. I've got to pass the exam soon, sir, even though I'm not at sea.

'You should join the Rifles, lad. Harper picked up the book. 'We don't stuff your head with mathematics.

Sharpe looked westwards. 'Where's the relay station?

The boy pointed north-west. 'Between the two hills, sir. It's over the river, on a church.

Sharpe pointed the glass, held it steady by jamming it next to the telegraph's mast and, far away, like a speck of dust, he could see the tiny telegraph station. 'How the hell do you read it?

'With this, sir. The boy unlocked a trunk that was part of the mast's foundation and dragged out an iron tripod that carried a telescope twice the size of Sharpe's. Lossow laughed.

'Thank you, Captain, Sharpe said dryly. He liked Lossow, but was not sure about the man's sense of humour. Harper seemed to enjoy it.

In the Plaza, in front of the cathedral, Sharpe watched the foreshortened shapes of two officers walking towards the castle.

'Are those your messages?

The midshipman leaned over. 'Yes, sir. Captain Charles usually brings them.

As Sharpe watched he saw three men rolling a keg of powder from the cathedral, across the Plaza, and towards the warren of streets. He guessed that the guns on the wall kept very little ready powder, fearing a spark and an explosion that would save the French weeks of work, and the soldiers would be busy taking the black powder from the cathedral and delivering it to the gunners who sweated on the defences. He was glad he would not be here for the siege, for the helpless feeling of watching the earthworks creep closer, the siege guns firing slowly, but with massive, hammering force.

'Good morning! You must be Sharpe! Captain Charles, a Portuguese officer beside him, sounded cheerful. He looked at the midshipman. 'Morning, Jeremy. Sleep well?

'Yes, sir. The midshipman had put up the telescope and trained it on the far mast. 'Hold on, sir.

He looked through the glass for a second, then leaped to the mast, untied the bladder ropes, and hauled on them one at a time so that the black bags shot up to the pulley at the cross-trees and fell down again.

'What was that? Sharpe asked.

'Just saying good morning, sir. The midshipman left three bladders down, the other raised. 'That says we're transmitting, sir, he added helpfully.

Sharpe looked through the big telescope. The far tower, much closer now, had two black dots level and halfway up the mast, presumably the signal that said they were ready to receive a message.

'Here you are, Jeremy. Charles handed over the first sheet and the boy leaped to the ropes, tugged and dropped them, sometimes looking at the sheet Captain Charles had given him, but mostly doing it from memory. Cox's Staff Captain jerked a thumb at the midshipman. 'Busy little blighter, eh? Used to be two of them, but the other got the pox. Died on us.

Sharpe looked over the midshipman's shoulder at the sheet of paper and read 48726, 91858, 38197.

'Code, Captain Charles boomed at him. 'Jolly clever, yes?

'What does it say?

The Staff Captain, gold lace at his cuffs, touched his nose. 'Can't say, dear chap. Top secret. Probably says the Brigadier has run out of rum; please send supply urgent. Something like that.

'Isn't that the gold message?

'Gold? Don't know about that. Only three messages this morning. That one tells the General that the 68th Regiment of the Line are outside since yesterday. This one's the daily report on available shot, and the last one's about the French battery.

'Christ Almighty! Sharpe started towards the stairs, but Lossow touched his arm.

'I'll go. The German was serious. 'You stay.

Harper stood beside Lossow. 'You should stay here, sir. You don't know what the Spanish are up to.

Lossow smiled. 'You see? Outvoted.

He ran down the stairs and Sharpe turned back to Captain Charles.

'What the hell's happening at headquarters?

Charles sniffed, handed the second piece of paper to the midshipman. 'Affairs of state. I don't know. Your Major, the Spanish Colonel, and it's all arm-waving and table-thumping. Not my style, dear boy. Oh, I say! That is clever! He was staring to the south.

Sharpe turned, picked up the telescope, and trained it on the French battery. Nothing was happening; the fascines still lay splayed apart and split open, and there were not even men attempting to repair the damage.

'What is it? he asked.

'Over there. Charles was pointing farther to the right. 'A second battery, hidden. We bang away at a heap of earth and the clever devils sneak the real battery into place. Jolly clever.

It was clever. Sharpe saw French soldiers dragging away branches that had cloaked the excavation of a battery that, judging from the activity around it, was ready to open fire. He could see how well protected it was, by yards of earth, mounted fascines, and trenches for the gunners to use when under fire. The siege gun, hidden by shadows, could harass the defenders' guns as the French built their works forward until the breaching batteries were in place and the two forces, attackers and defenders, got down to work in earnest. The battery was built on the edge of dead ground and Sharpe knew that there would be infantry there, well protected from the Portuguese batteries, ready to repel an attack on the harassing battery.

Charles rubbed his hands. 'Things will hot up soon. They've been slow.

Harper looked at the elegant Captain. 'How long can you hold out, sir?

Captain Charles beamed at him. 'Forever, Sergeant! Or at least as long as the ammunition lasts! Once that's gone we'll just have to throw rocks. That was evidently a joke, for he laughed. 'But there are tons of powder in the cathedral. And the Portuguese are good! By Jove, they're good!

Sharpe stared at the new battery, and as he looked he saw a cloud of smoke grow at an incredible speed just in front of the earthwork. The smoke was lanced with red flame and, hardly visible, more of an impression than something he really saw, there was a pencil trace in the sky. He knew what it was, the sight of the shot arcing directly towards them.

'Down!

'What is it? Charles looked at him, but as he did the castle literally shook, the stones of the huge keep seemed to waver and crack, and mixed with the reverberating crash of falling masonry came the thunder of the siege gun.

'Good Lord! Charles was still standing. 'Good Lord above! A ranging shot!

Sharpe leaned over the ramparts. Some stones had fallen into the moat, dust hung in the air, and frightened birds, nesting in the crevices, flew out into the startled air.

'Bloody good shooting, Harper growled.

The sound of the replying batteries was thinner than that of the giant gun, but more frequent. It took a long time to reload a siege gun. Sharpe, through the telescope, watched as the smoke of the discharge cleared and the Portuguese balls crashed into the redoubt, but to no apparent damage. The hard-packed earth soaked up the cannonade, and the aperture, just wide enough for its purpose, was plugged with fascines as the artillerymen sponged out and rammed home the huge missile. He kept watching, saw the fascines pulled back.

'Here it comes.

This time he kept his eyes in the air above the gun and saw the pencil-line clearly as the huge iron ball rose and fell in its flat trajectory.

'For what we are about to receive, Charles said, and the tower shook again, less violently, and the crash and the rumble mixed with the dust and the squawking birds. Charles brushed at his immaculate uniform. 'Distinctly unfriendly.

'Has it occurred to you that they're after the telegraph? Sharpe said.

'Good Lord. You could be right. He turned to the midshipman. 'Hurry along, sailor!

A shout from the stairway and Lossow appeared, covered in dust, grinning and holding a piece of paper. 'The message.

Sharpe grabbed the boy. 'Stop everything. Send that!

'But, sir! The midshipman saw Sharpe's face, decided not to argue.

'Hurry!

Captain Charles looked annoyed but reluctant to interfere, and watched as the boy clattered the ropes up and down.

'I'm just cancelling the last message, sir. Then I'll send yours.

Another shot boomed overhead, sounding like a giant barrel being rolled fast across floorboards. It left a wind behind it, hot and violent, and Harper glanced at Sharpe and raised his eyebrows. Lossow looked at the battery, at the rolling cloud of dirty smoke, and pursed his lips.

'They've got the range.

'The boy's doing his best, Sharpe said irritably. 'What was the delay?

'Damned politics. Lossow spread his hands. 'The Spanish insisted on the message saying that the gold was Spanish. They insisted on protesting that they did not want British help. Cox is angry, Kearsey's saying his prayers, and your Spanish friends are sharpening their swords. Ah! At last.

The black, tarred sheep bladders leaped up on the ropes, quivered for a second, and fell. The boy danced between the halliards, hauling away number by number, the obscene black bags vibrating in the breeze as they jerked up and down.

'Sir? Harper was watching the battery. 'Sir!

'Down!

The ball, twenty-four pounds of iron, struck only a glancing blow on one of the crosstrees. The telegraph was well made, jointed and bolted, and as the French ball spun off into the unknown it ripped itself completely from its base like a tree torn bodily by a hurricane. The boy, holding on to a rope, was spun into the air, screaming until another halliard whiplashed round his neck and tore his head horribly from his shoulders. His blood sprayed the four men falling backwards, and then the mast, still unbroken, pounded back on to the ramparts, killing Charles instantly, broke itself in a great fracture, bounced like a falling cane, and stopped still.

'Sweet Jesus. Harper stood up, 'Are you all right, sir?

'Yes. Sharpe's shoulder hurt like the devil. 'Where's the boy?

The Sergeant pointed to the head. 'Rest of him's over the wall, sir. Poor wee thing.

Lossow swore in German, stood up, flinched as he put his weight on his left leg. Sharpe looked at him. 'Are you — hurt?

'Just a bruise. Lossow saw the midshipman's head. 'Good God. He knelt by Charles, felt for a pulse, and opened one of the Captain's eyelids. 'Dead, poor fellow.

Harper looked over the ramparts, at the drifting smoke. 'Just four shots. That's good shooting. There was a reluctant respect in his voice.

Lossow stood up, wiped blood from his hands. 'We must get out of here!

Sharpe turned to him. 'We must persuade Cox to let us out.

'Ja. Not easy, my friend.

Harper kicked the fallen beam. 'Perhaps they can rig another telegraph, sir?

Sharpe shrugged. 'And who works it? Maybe, I don't know. He glanced at the battery, its embrasure plugged, and he knew that the French gunners would be celebrating. They deserved it. He doubted if the gun would fire again, not today; the iron barrels had a limited life and the gun had achieved its purpose. 'Come on. Let's see Cox.

'You don't sound hopeful, my friend?

Sharpe turned round, blood flecking his uniform, and his face grim. 'We'll get out. With or without him, we'll get out.