The stone, the sudden death of the lancer, and, added to those, Sharpe's first suspicions that the French, if they had found the treasure, would not have lingered in the high valley but would have ridden fast with their booty to Ciudad Rodrigo. Now there was Harper's idea that, if El Catolico had told the truth, the grave in the churchyard had been created on a Sunday, which, by itself, was reason for suspicion. Sharpe walked on, feeling the sweat trickling down his back, and tried to remember El Catolico's words. Had he said something like 'I buried him less than a week ago'? But if Harper was right, exact about the six days? Once again his suspicion was drifting free and had nothing to pin it and justify the plan that was in his mind. Yet El Catolico was lying. He had no proof, just a certainty. He turned back to Harper.
'You think the gold is in that grave?
'There's something there, sir, and it's as sure as eternal damnation that it's no Christian burial.
'But he could have buried the man on the Saturday.
'He could, sir, he could. But there's the point that the thing is not disturbed. Strange. Again Sharpe did not follow the Irishman's reasoning. Harper grinned at him. 'Say you wanted to steal a few thousand gold coins, sir, and they were hidden in the vault. Now, would you want to share the good news with everyone that you were taking them away? Not if you have a grain of sense, sir, so you move it a short way, hidden by the walls of the burial yard, and you hide it again. In a good fresh grave.
'And if I was a French officer' — Sharpe was thinking out loud — 'the first place I would look for anything hidden — guns, food, anything — is a good fresh grave.
Harper nodded. He was no longer smiling. 'And if you found the corpse of a British officer, sir? What would you do then?
The Sergeant had gone way ahead of Sharpe's thinking and he let the idea thread itself into his suspicions. Where the hell was Hardy? If the French found a British officer in a grave they would not disturb it; they would replace the earth, even say a prayer. He whistled softly. 'But —
'I know, sir. Harper interrupted him. This was the Sergeant's theory, well thought over, and he raced ahead with it. 'There's the funny thing. They won't bury you heathen English in holy ground in case you spoil it for us good Catholics. But would you think sixteen thousand gold coins might overcome their fear of eternal perdition, sir? I'd be tempted. And you can always move the body when you dig up the gold, and with two Hail Marys you're back on the golden ladder. Harper nodded in satisfaction with his theory. 'Did you talk, sir, with the girl's father?
'Yes, but he knew nothing. Which was not true, Sharpe reflected. He had talked with Cesar Moreno, in the burnt courtyard of the widower's house, and the grey head bowed when Sharpe had asked what had happened to Captain Hardy. 'I don't know. Moreno had looked up, almost pleading with Sharpe not to go on.
'And the gold, sir?
Teresa's father had jerked away from Sharpe. 'The gold! Always the gold! I wanted it to go to Lisbon. El Catolico wants it to go by road! The French have it! If your cavalry had not blundered, Captain, it would be on its way to Cadiz. There is no gold any more.
There had been a note of desperation in the man's voice that had made Sharpe want to go on prying, to let the gentle questions release Moreno's honesty, but El Catolico, Teresa with him, had appeared at the gate and the chance had gone. Yet now Harper was offering a new thought, one that Sharpe would never have found for himself: that the grave in the walled cemetery held the treasure, and, like the mysterious old mounds in the British countryside, the body was surrounded by gold. There was another superstition attached to those mounds, one Sharpe remembered well, that each was guarded by a sleeping dragon, a dragon that would wake at the first scrape of a thieving pickaxe. The dragon would have to be risked.
Sharpe let the idea take wings, spin itself into the air, a fragile sequence of possibilities on which to suspend the hope of victory. Could the gold be in Casatejada? So easy? That the gold was in the graveyard, sitting there till the armies had moved on, and El Catolico could dig it up without fear of French patrols or zealous exploring officers. Then why had El Catolico encouraged Kearsey to stay on with the Partisans? Or, he remembered, invited Sharpe to stay with his rifles? Yet if Harper were right, if his own suspicions were right, then the grave had been dug on a Sunday, which was against the law of the Church, and in it were the gold and the body of Josefina's lover. And perhaps El Catolico had invited them to stay with the Partisans because that only lessened their suspicions, and because El Catolico had all the time in the world and was in no particular hurry to dig up the coins. It was all too fantastic, a delicate web of frail surmise, but he knew that if he did not take a decision, then all would be irrevocably lost. He laughed out loud, at the absurdity of it all, at his worries that he might cause himself trouble if he were in the wrong, as if that mattered against the outcome of the summer's campaign. Jose looked round, startled by the sudden laugh.
'Captain?
'We must take a rest. Ten minutes.
The men sat down gratefully, stripped off their packs, and lay full length on the ground. Sharpe walked back along the line to talk to the wounded men who were being helped by their comrades. He heard Batten grumbling and stopped.
'Don't worry, Batten, there's not much farther to go.
The suspicious eyes looked up at Sharpe. 'It's a hot day, sir.
'You'd complain if it was any colder. The men nearby grinned. 'Anyway, you'll be in Almeida tomorrow and back with the Battalion the day after."
He spoke loudly for the escort's benefit, and as he spoke he knew that the decision had been taken. They would not be in Almeida tomorrow, or the day after, but back in Casatejada, where there was some grave digging to do. It was the only way to allay the suspicions, but by doing it Sharpe knew he was taking on enemies that were more dangerous than the French. If the gold were there, and for a second his mind sneered away from the terrifying prospect that it was not, then the Company would have to carry it across twenty miles of hostile country, avoiding the French, but, worse than that, fighting off the Partisans, who knew the territory and how to fight it. For the moment all he could do was to convince the surly Jose that he had every intention of going straight back to the army, and Sharpe, to his men's surprise, suddenly waxed voluble and jolly.
'Boiled beef tomorrow, lads. No more vegetable stew! Army rum, your wives, the Regimental Sergeant Major, all the things you've missed. Aren't you looking forward to it? They grinned at him, happy that he was happy. 'And for us unmarried men the best women in Portugal! There were rude cheers for that and the Partisan, resting in his saddle, looked on disapprovingly.
'Your men fight for women, Captain?
Sharpe nodded cheerfully. 'And for drink. Plus a shilling a day with deductions.
Knowles walked up from the rear with his watch open. 'Ten minutes are up, sir.
'On your feet! Sharpe clapped his hands. 'Come on, lads! Let's go home. Parades, rations, and Mrs Roach to do the washing!
The men stood up in good moods, heaved on their packs, shouldered their weapons, and Sharpe saw Jose's disdainful look. He had created the impression, a fairly accurate impression, that the Light Company cared only for drink and women, and such allies were not to Jose's taste. Sharpe wanted to be despised, to be under-rated, and if the Spaniard went back to Casatejada thinking that the men of the South Essex were clumsy, crude, and hell-bent on reaching the cat-houses of Lisbon, then that suited Sharpe.
Patrick Harper, the seven-barrelled gun hitched high on his shoulder, fell into step with Sharpe once more. 'So we're going back?
Sharpe nodded. 'Not that anyone else needs to know. How did you guess?
Harper laughed. He looked shrewdly at Sharpe, as if gauging the wisdom of his answer, but he seemed to think it safe. 'Because you want the bastard's woman.
Sharpe smiled. 'And the gold, Patrick. Don't forget the gold."
They reached the Agueda at dusk, when gnats gathered in clouds over the slow northward flow of the river. Sharpe was tempted to bivouac on the eastern bank, but knew that such an action would arouse the Partisans' suspicions, so the Light Company waded the river and went half a mile into the trees that fringed the western hills. The escort did not leave but stood on the far bank watching them, and for a moment Sharpe wondered if the Spaniards suspected that the British soldiers would try to return to Casatejada in the night. He turned to a shivering Lieutenant Knowles. 'Light a fire.