Sharpe's Battle Part 24

"Can't be very much," Kiely said. "Over-age captain like you, Sharpe? Couple of dollars maybe? Bag of salt?"

Oliveira glanced at Kiely and the glance expressed disapproval of his

Lordship's drunken gibes. The Colonel sucked on a cigar, then blew smoke across the fire. "I have doubled the sentries, Captain," he said to Sharpe,

"and if this Loup does come to claim your head then we'll give him a fight."

"When he comes, sir," Sharpe insisted, "can I suggest, with respect, sir, that you get your men into the gatehouse?"

"You don't give up, do you, Sharpe?" Kiely interrupted. Before the Portuguese battalion's arrival Sharpe had asked Kiely to move the whole Real Compania

Irlandesa into the gatehouse, a request that Kiely had peremptorily turned down. "No one's going to attack us here," Kiely now said, reiterating his earlier argument, "and anyway, if they do, we should fight the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds from the ramparts, not the gatehouse."

"We can't fight from the ramparts-" Sharpe began.

"Don't tell me where we can fight! G.o.d d.a.m.n you!" Kiely shouted, startling

Juanita. "You're a jumped-up corporal, Sharpe, not a b.l.o.o.d.y general. If the

French come, d.a.m.n it, I'll fight them how I like and beat them how I like and

I won't need your help!"

The outburst embarra.s.sed the a.s.sembled officers. Father Sarsfield frowned as though he was looking for some emollient words, but it was Oliveira who finally broke the awkward silence. "If they come, Captain Sharpe," he said gravely, "I shall seek the refuge you advise. And thank you for your advice."

Oliveira nodded his dismissal.

"Good night, sir," Sharpe said, then walked away.

"Ten guineas to the price on your head says Loup won't come, Sharpe!" Kiely called after the rifleman. "What is it? Lost your d.a.m.n nerve? Don't want to take a wager like a gentleman?" Kiely and Juanita laughed. Sharpe tried to ignore them.

Tom Garrard had followed Sharpe. "I'm sorry, d.i.c.k," Garrard said and then, after a pause, "Did you really shoot two c.r.a.pauds?"

"Aye."

"Good for you. But I wouldn't tell too many people about it."

"I know, I know," Sharpe said, then shook his head. "b.l.o.o.d.y Kiely."

"His woman's a rare one though," Garrard said. "Reminds me of that girl you took up with at Gawilghur. You remember her?"

"This one's a b.i.t.c.h, that's the difference," Sharpe said. G.o.d, he thought, but his temper was being abraded to a raw b.l.o.o.d.y edge. "I'm sorry, Tom," he said,

"it's like fighting with wet powder, trying to shake sense into this b.l.o.o.d.y place."

"Join the Portuguese, d.i.c.k," Garrard said. "Good as gold they are and no b.l.o.o.d.y over-born b.u.g.g.e.rs like Kiely making life hard." He offered Sharpe a cigar. The two men bent their heads over Garrard's tinderbox and, when the charred linen caught the spark to flare bright, Sharpe saw a picture chased into the inner side of the lid.

"Hold it there, Tom," he said, stopping his friend from closing the lid. He stared at the picture for a few seconds. I'd forgotten those boxes," Sharpe said. The tinderboxes were made of a cheap metal that had to be protected from rust by gun oil, but Garrard had somehow kept this box safe for twelve years.

There had once been scores like it, all made by a tinsmith in captured

Seringapatam and all with explicit pictures etched crudely into the lids.

Garrard's box showed a British soldier on top of a long-legged girl whose back was arched in apparent ecstasy. "b.u.g.g.e.r might have taken his hat off first,"

Sharpe said.

Garrard laughed and snapped the box shut to preserve the linen. "Still got yours?"

Sharpe shook his head. "It was stolen off me years ago, Tom. I reckon it was that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Hakeswill that had it. Remember him? He was a thieving sod."

"Jesus G.o.d," Garrard said, "I'd half forgotten the b.a.s.t.a.r.d." He drew on the cigar, then shook his head in wonder. "Who'd ever believe it, d.i.c.k? You and me captains? And I can remember when you were broken down from corporal for farting on church parade."

"They were good days, Tom," Sharpe said.

"Only because they're a long way back. Nothing like distant memory for putting green leaves on a bare life, d.i.c.k."

Sharpe held the smoke in his mouth, then breathed out. "Let's hope it's a long life, Tom. Let's hope Loup isn't halfway here already. It would be a d.a.m.ned pity for you all to come up here for an exercise only to be slaughtered by

Loup's brigade."

"We're not really here for an exercise," Garrard said. There was a long awkward silence. "Can you keep a secret?" Garrard asked eventually. The two men had reached a dark open s.p.a.ce, out of earshot of any of the bivouacked cacadores. "We didn't come here by accident, Richard," Garrard admitted. "We were sent."

Sharpe heard footfalls on the nearest rampart where a Portuguese officer made his rounds. A challenge rang out and was answered. It was comforting to hear such military efficiency. "By Wellington?" Sharpe asked.

Garrard shrugged. "I suppose so. His Lordship doesn't talk to me, but not much happens in this army without Nosey's say-so."

"So why did he send you?"

"Because he doesn't trust your Spanish Irishmen, that's why. There have been some odd stories going round the army these last few days. Stories of English troops burning Irish priests and raping Irish women, and-"

"I've heard the tales," Sharpe interrupted, "and they're not true. h.e.l.l, I even sent a captain down to the camps today and he found out for himself."

Captain Donaju, returning from the army's cantonments with Father Sarsfield, had possessed enough grace to apologize to Sharpe. Wherever Donaju and

Sarsfield had visited and whoever they had asked, even men fresh out of

Ireland, they could find no confirmation of the stories printed in the

American newspaper. "No one can believe the stories!" Sharpe now protested to

Garrard.

"But true or not," Garrard said, "the stories worry someone high up, and they think the stories are coming from your men. So we've been sent to keep an eye on you."

"Guard us, you mean?" Sharpe asked bitterly.

"Keep an eye on you," Garrard said again. "No one's really sure what we're supposed to do except stay here until their Lordships make up their mind what to do. Oliveira thinks your lads will probably be sent to Cadiz. Not you,