Sharpe's Gold

CHAPTER 20

Light, like carved silver, slashed the cathedral's gloom, slanted across the crouching grey pillars, splintered o(T brass and paint, drowned the votive candles that burned before the statues, inched its way over the broad, worn flagstones as the sun moved higher, and Sharpe waited. A priest, lost in the depths of the choir, mumbled beyond the window light, and Sharpe saw Harper cross himself.

'What day is it?

'Sunday, sir.

'Is that Mass?

'Yes, sir.

'You want to go?

'It'll wait.

Lossow's heels clicked in the side aisle; he came from behind a pillar, blinked in the sunlight. 'Where is he? He disappeared again.

Christ, thought Sharpe, Christ and a thousand deaths. Damn the bloody French, damn the bloody gunner, and he might as well have stayed in the warm bed with his arms round the girl. Footsteps sounded in the doorway and he swivelled anxiously, but it was only a squad of bare-headed Portuguese soldiers, muskets slung, who dipped their fingers in the holy water and clattered up the aisle to the priest and his service.

Cox had not been at his headquarters; he was on the ramparts, they were told. So the three had hurried there and Cox had gone. Now he was said to be visiting the magazine, so they waited, and the light shaped the dust into silver bars and the muffled responses got lost somewhere in the high stone ceiling, and still Cox had not arrived. Sharpe slammed his scabbard on the floor, hurting his shoulder, so he cursed again.

'Amen to that, sir. Harper had infinitely more patience.

Sharpe felt ashamed. This was Harper's religion. 'I'm sorry.

The Irishman grinned. 'Wouldn't worry, sir. It doesn't offend me and if it offends Him then He's plenty of opportunity to punish you.

I'm in love with her, Sharpe thought, God damn and blast it. And if they were delayed another night, that would mean another night, and if it were a week, another week, but they had to move, and soon, for within two days the French would tie Almeida in a ring of earthworks and infantry. But leaving Almeida meant leaving her, and he hacked down again with the scabbard so that Lossow reappeared.

'What is it?

'Nothing.

Just one more night, he thought, and he lifted his eyes up to the huge rood that hung in the grey shadows. Is that so much to ask? Just one more night, and we can leave at dawn tomorrow. Dawn is the time to say goodbye, not dusk, and just one more night? There was the creak of the cathedral door, the rattle of heels, and Cox came in with a crowd of officers.

Sharpe stood up. 'Sir!

Cox appeared not to hear him and headed straight over the floor towards the crypt steps, the chatter of his officers smothering the muted drone of the Mass at the far end of the cathedral.

'Lossow! Sharpe called. 'Come on!

Portuguese soldiers stopped them at the top of the steps and stood silently as they pulled felt slippers over their boots. Sharpe fumbled with the drawstrings, his left arm stiff, but then the slippers were on and the three men, their heels protected against sparking on stone, went down into the crypt. The light was dim and only a handful of lanterns, their horn panes dulling the candle flames, flickered on block-like tombs. There was no sign of Cox or his officers, but at the far end a leather curtain swayed in a doorway.

'Come on. Sharpe led them to the curtain, forced its stiff weight aside, and gasped.

'Good God. Lossow paused at the head of a short flight of steps that dropped into a dark cavern. 'Good God.

The lower crypt was jammed with barrels, piled to the low, arched ceiling, row after row of them, reaching back into a gloom that was relieved only by an occasional horn lantern, double-shielded, and to right and left were further aisles, and when Sharpe turned, at the foot of the stairs, he saw that the steps came down in the middle of the room and the gigantic quantity of powder in front was mirrored behind. He whistled softly.

'This way.

Cox had disappeared down the aisle and they hurried after, looking at the rotund barrels above them, awed by the sheer destructive power of the gunpowder that had been stacked in the deep vault. Captain Charles, before he died, had said that Almeida could last as long as its powder, and that could be months, Sharpe thought, and then he tried to imagine a French shell smashing through the stonework and sparking the barrels. It could not happen. The floors were too thick, but all the same he looked up and was glad to see the broad buttresses, hugely strong, that arched beneath a floor that could have resisted a thousand French shells, and then still be strong.

Cox was at the very end of the vault, listening to a Portuguese officer, and the conversation was urgent. It was part in Portuguese, part in English, and Sharpe could hear enough to understand the problem. Water was seeping into the crypt, not much, but enough to have soaked two bales of musket ammunition that were stored there. Cox swung round.

'Who put it here? There was silence. 'We must move it! He dropped into Portuguese, then saw Sharpe. 'Captain!

'Sir?

'In my headquarters! Wait for me there!

'Sir…

Cox whirled angrily. 'I have enough problems, Sharpe! Damned ammunition stored in the wrong place! It shouldn't be here anyway! Put it upstairs! He went back into Portuguese, waved his arms, pointed upstairs.

Harper touched Sharpe's elbow. 'Come on, sir.

Sharpe turned, but Cox called him again. 'Captain!

'Sir?

'Where is the gold? The faces of the Portuguese officers seemed to be accusing Sharpe.

'In our quarters, sir.

'Wrong place, Sharpe, wrong place. I'll send men and it will be put in my headquarters."

'Sir! But Lossow grabbed him, took him away, and Cox turned back to the damp walls and the problem of moving thousands of rounds of musket cartridges up to the cathedral floor.

Sharpe resisted the German's pull. 'I will not give up the gold.

'I know, I know. Listen, my friend. You go to the headquarters and I will go back. I promise you, no one will touch the gold. No one.

Lossow's face was deep in shadow, but by the tone of his voice Sharpe knew the gold was safe. He turned to Harper. 'Go with him. On my orders no one, but no one, is to go near that gold. You understand?

'Yes, sir. You'll be careful in the street?

'They're full of soldiers. I'll be fine. Now go.

The two went ahead. Sharpe called after them. 'Patrick?

'Sir?

'Look after the girl.

The big Irishman nodded. 'You know I will, sir.

The cathedral bells reverberated with noon, the sun was almost directly overhead, and Sharpe walked slowly across the main Plaza behind two men pushing a barrel of gunpowder. The big French gun, as he had thought, had done its job and was silent, but out there, beyond the spreading ramparts and beyond the killing-ground, the French would be digging their trenches, making new batteries, and the oxen would be hauling the giant guns towards the siege. Almeida was about to become the war, the point of effort, and when it fell, there was nothing between Massena and the sea, except the gold, and suddenly Sharpe stopped, utterly still, and stared at the Portuguese soldiers who came and went by the cathedral. The gold, Hogan had said, was more important than men or horses. The General, Sharpe remembered, had spoken of delaying the enemy, bringing him to battle, but none of that effort would save Portugal. Only the gold. He looked at the castle, with its granite masonry and the stump of the telegraph jutting a brief shadow over the battlement, and then at the cathedral with its carved saints, and despite the sun, the blistering heat, he felt cold. Was it more important than this? Than a town and its defenders? Out there, beyond the houses, were all the paraphernalia of a scientific defence. The great grey defences of this town, the star-shape of glacis and covered way, of town ditch and counter-guard, of bastion and battery, and he shivered. He was not afraid of decisions; they were his job and he despised men who feared to make them. But in the sudden moment, in the middle of the great Plaza, he felt the fear.

He waited through the long afternoon, listening to the bells of Sunday, the last peaceful day Almeida would know in a long time, and still Cox did not come. Once, he heard a Portuguese battery open fire, but there was no reply, and the town slumbered again, waiting for its moment. The door opened and Sharpe, half asleep in the big chair, started to his feet. Teresa's father stood there with half a smile. He closed the door silently.

'She was never harmed?

'No.

The man laughed. 'You are clever.

'She was clever.

Cesar Moreno nodded. 'She is. Like her mother. He sounded sad, and Sharpe felt sorrow for him. The man looked up. 'Why did she side with you?

Sharpe shook his head. 'She didn't. She's against the French.

'Ah, the passion of youth. He came nearer, walking slowly. 'I hear your men won't release the gold? Sharpe shrugged and the Spaniard followed the gesture with a smile. 'Do you despise me?

'No.

'I'm an old man, given sudden power. I'm not like Sanchez. He stopped, thinking about the great Partisan of Castile. 'He's young; he loves it all. I just want peace. He smiled as if embarrassed by the words.

'Can you buy it?

'What a foolish question. Of course! We haven't given up, you know.

'We?

'El Catolico and I. He shrugged, traced a finger through the dust on the table.

It occurred to Sharpe that El Catolico may not have given up, but Cesar Moreno, the widower and father, was making sure he had supporters on both sides.

The old man looked at him. 'Did you sleep with her?

'Yes.

He smiled again, a little ruefully, and wiped the dust off his hand. 'Many men would envy you. Sharpe made no reply and Moreno looked at him fiercely. 'She'll not come to any harm, will she. It was not a question; he knew.

'Not from me.

'Ah. Walk carefully, Captain Sharpe. He's better with the sword than you.

'I will walk carefully.

The Spaniard turned, looked at the varnished pictures on the wall that told of happier times, plumper days, and said quietly, 'He won't let you take the gold. You know that?

'He?

'Brigadier Cox.

'I didn't know.

Moreno turned back. 'It is a pleasure to watch you, Captain. We all knew Kearsey was a fool, a pleasant fool, but not what do you say — movement? In the head?

'I know what you mean.

'Then you came and we thought the English had sent a strong fool after an intelligent fool. You fooled us! He laughed. It was difficult to make jokes in a strange language. 'No, he won't let you. Cox is an honourable man, like Kearsey, and they know the gold is ours. How will you beat that, friend?

'Watch me. Sharpe smiled.

'I will. And my daughter?

'She'll come back to you. Very soon.

'And that makes you sad?

Sharpe nodded and Moreno gave Sharpe a shrewd look that reminded the Rifleman that once this man had been powerful. Could be again.

Moreno's voice was gentle. 'Perhaps one day?

'But you hope not.

Teresa's father nodded and smiled. 'I hope not, but she is headstrong. I watched her, from the day I betrothed her to El Catolico, and knew one day she would spit in my face, and his. She waited her moment, like you.

'And now he waits his?

'Yes. Go carefully. He went to the door, waved a hand. 'We will meet again.

Sharpe sat down, poured a glass of wine, and shook his head. He was tired, to the bone, and his shoulder ached and he wondered if his left arm would ever move free again, and the shadows lengthened on the carpet till he slept, not hearing the evening gun, or the door opening.

'Sharpe!

God Almighty! He jerked upright. 'Sir?

Cox strode over the floor, trailing staff officers and paper. 'What the devil's happening, Sharpe?

'Happening, sir?

'Your men won't release the gold!

Kearsey came through the door and with him, magnificently uniformed, a Spanish Colonel. It took Sharpe a few seconds, seconds of focusing on the gold lace, the looping silver, to realize it was El Catolico. The face had not changed. The powerful eyes, the slight glint of humour, the face of an enemy.

He turned back to Cox. 'I'm sorry, sir?

'Are you deaf, Sharpe? The gold! Where is it?

'Don't know, sir. Waited here, sir. As ordered, sir.

Cox grunted, picked up a piece of paper, looked at it, and let it drop. 'I've made a decision.

'Yes, sir. A decision, sir. Sharpe had adopted his erstwhile sergeant's manner, always useful when faced by senior officers, and especially useful when he wanted to think of other things than the immediate conversation. Cox glanced up suspiciously.

'I'm sorry, Sharpe. I only have your word for it, and Lossow's. The gold is Spanish, obviously Spanish, and Colonel Jovellanos is an accredited representative of the government of Spain. He gestured at El Catolico, who smiled and bowed. Sharpe looked at the Partisan leader in his immaculate finery.

'Yes, sir. Accredited representative, sir!

The bastard must be handy with a pen, he thought, and it suddenly occurred to him that one of the fat coins would make a superb seal, pressed into the red wax with the ornate coat of arms downwards. He wondered how El Catolico had obliterated the writing round the edge of the coin, but then thought how he would do it himself with a file, or by hammering the soft gold flat.

Cox sighed. 'You will deliver the gold to Colonel Jovellanos and his men, and you will do it quickly. Is that understood?

'Yes, sir. Understood! He was standing ramrod straight, staring at a point just above Cox's head.

The Brigadier sighed. 'I don't think it is, Captain. Cox sat down wearily, pulled a sheet of paper towards him, uncapped his ink, and took a fresh goose-quill. 'At ten o'clock tomorrow morning, Captain, twenty-seventh August 1810. He was writing quickly, paraphrasing the formal order as the quill scratched on the paper. 'A detachment of my troops will take charge of the bullion… He paused; the room listened to the scrape of the pen. … Led by…" Cox looked round the room, found one of his officers. … Colonel Barrios. Barrios nodded, a formal gesture. 'You, Colonel, will deliver the gold to Colonel Jovellanos, who will be ready to leave at the north gate. El Catolico nodded, clicked his heels for attention. Cox looked up. 'Colonel?

El Catolico smiled. His voice was at its silkiest. 'I was hoping to persuade you, sir, to allow myself and some of my men to stay and help in your gallant defence."

Sharpe could not believe it. The bastard. He had as much intention of staying as Sharpe had of handing over the gold.

Cox smiled, blinked with pleasure. 'That's uncommonly decent of you, Colonel. He gestured at the paper. 'Does it change anything?

'Only that the gold, sir, could be handed to Senor Moreno, or one of my Lieutenants.

'Of course, of course. Cox dipped the quill, scratched out some words. 'To the Spanish contingent of Colonel Jovellanos. He raised an eyebrow to El Catolico. 'I think that covers it.

El Catolico bowed. 'Thank you, sir. He shot a look of triumph at Sharpe. 'And, sir? El Catolico bowed again. 'Could the transfer be tonight?

Sharpe held his breath, let it out slowly as Cox spoke. The Brigadier was frowning, looking at the paper.

'Ten o'clock will do, Colonel. Sharpe suspected he did not want to cross out the top lines of the closely written order. Cox smiled at El Catolico, gestured at Sharpe. 'After all, Captain Sharpe can hardly leave!

El Catolico smiled politely. 'As you say, sir.

So what was the bastard playing at? Why the suggestion that he might stay on? Sharpe stared at the tall Spaniard, trying to fathom the motive. Could it be just to curry favour with Cox? Sharpe doubted it; the Spaniard was getting most of what he wanted without trying. Except that El Catolico did want one thing more. Sharpe thought of the dark hair on the pillow, the slim body on the stiff, white linen sheets. The Spaniard wanted the girl, and his revenge, and if it could not be tonight, then El Catolico would stay on till it was accomplished.

Sharpe was suddenly aware that Cox had spoken his name. 'Sir?

The Brigadier had pulled another sheet of paper forward. 'At ten o'clock tomorrow morning, Captain, your Company will join my defences on the south wall. The pen splattered ink on the paper.

'Pardon, sir?

Cox looked up from the paper, irritated. 'You heard me, Sharpe! You join the garrison. Captain Lossow leaves. I don't need cavalry, but you stay. No infantry can hope to escape now. Understand?

God in heaven! 'Yes, sir.

The cathedral clock began chiming. Kearsey put a hand on Sharpe's elbow. 'I'm sorry, Sharpe.

Sharpe nodded, listening to the bell. He was oblivious of Kearsey's concern, of El Catolico's triumph, of Cox's preoccupation. Ten o'clock, and all not well. The decision had been forced on him, but it was still his decision. The last echo of the last note died flatly away, and Sharpe wondered if any bell would ever ring, ever again, in the grey-starred, ill-starred fortress town.