'A fire? Knowles looked astonished. 'But the French —
'I know. Light it. A big one.
The men were enthusiastic. Those who had the wicked saw-backed bayonets attacked cork-oak branches, others gathered kindling, and within minutes the blue wood-smoke rose like a wavering signal in the evening sky. Patrick Harper, standing in dripping shirt-tails and holding his sodden trousers to the fire, cocked an inquisitive look towards his Captain as if suggesting that the blaze was dangerous. It was deliberately so, because seeing it would further convince the Partisans of the ineptness of the British infantry. Any man who lit a fire in countryside patrolled by the enemy could not expect to live long.
Whether prompted by the sight of the fire or by the lateness of the hour, Jose decided to leave, and Sharpe, crouching in the shadows at the tree-line, watched as the horsemen wheeled and spurred their horses back to the east. The Company was alone.
'Lieutenant!
Knowles came from the fire. 'Sir.
'We're going back. Tonight. He watched Knowles to see if there was any reaction, but the north countryman nodded as if the news was not unexpected. Sharpe was obscurely disappointed. 'We won't take the wounded. Sergeant Read can take them on to Almeida. Give him three men to help and tell him to find a convoy going back over the Coa. Understand?
'Yes, sir.
'And we'll split up tonight. I'll go ahead with the Riflemen; you follow. You'll find us in the graveyard at Casatejada.
Knowles scratched his head. 'You reckon the gold's in there, sir?
Sharpe nodded. 'Maybe. I want to look, anyway. He grinned at the Lieutenant, infecting him with his enthusiasm. 'Arrange that, Robert; then let me know if there are any problems.
Night dropped swiftly and the darkness seemed to Sharpe to be doubly thick. The moon was hidden behind looming clouds that slowly, infinitely slowly, blotted out the stars, and a small, chill breeze, that came from the north reminded Sharpe that the weather had to break. Let it not be tonight, he thought, for rain would slow them, make the difficult journey even more hazardous, and he needed to be in Casatejada while the darkness still reigned. To his surprise, his pleasure, the news that they were not going on to Almeida seemed to excite the men. They grinned at him, muttered that he was a bastard, but there was a restlessness about the Company that spoke of a need to fulfil their job. Knowles came back, a shadow in the darkness.
'Any problems?
'Only Read, sir. Wants a paper.
Sharpe laughed. Sergeant Read was as fussy as a broody hen and doubtless thought that his small band was in more danger from their own side than from the French. If the provosts found a small group wandering away from their battalion they could assume they had found deserters and get out their long ropes. Sharpe scribbled with a pencil on a page from Knowles's notebook, not knowing in the darkness if the words were even legible. 'Give him that. Knowles did not leave and Sharpe could hear him moving restlessly. 'What is it?
The Lieutenant's voice was low, worried. 'Do you know the gold is there, sir?
'You know I don't.
There was a pause; Knowles shifted from foot to foot. 'It's a risk, sir.
'How? Sharpe knew that his Lieutenant was not lacking in courage.
'I thought Major Kearsey ordered you back to the army, sir. If he comes back and finds us poking round Casatejada he won't exactly be happy. And El Catolico won't welcome us with open arms. And… His voice trailed away.
'And what?
'Well, sir. Knowles crouched down so he was closer to Sharpe, his voice even lower. 'Everyone knows you were in trouble with the General after those provosts, sir. If Kearsey complains about you, sir, well… He ran out of words again.
'I could be in even more trouble, yes?
'Yes, sir. And it's not just that. His words suddenly tumbled out as if he had been storing the speech for days, or even weeks. 'We all know the gazette hasn't come through, sir, and it's so unfair! Just because you were once a Private they seem to be doing nothing, and the Eagle counts for nothing.
'No, no, no. Sharpe stopped the flow. He was embarrassed, touched, even surprised. 'The army isn't unfair, just slow.
He did not believe that himself, but if he let himself express his real thoughts, then the bitterness would show. He remembered the elation of the moment, a year before, when the General had gazetted him a Captain, but since then there had been only silence from the Horse Guards. He wondered whether the gazette had already been refused and no one dared tell him; that had happened before and battalion commanders had made up the pay themselves. Damn the army, damn the promotion system. He looked at Knowles.
'How long have you been a Lieutenant?
'Two years and nine months, sir. Sharpe was hardly surprised that the answer was given so fully and so quickly. Most Lieutenants counted the days till they had three years' seniority. 'So you'll be a Captain by Christmas?
Knowles sounded embarrassed. 'My father's paying, sir. He promised me the money after Talavera.
'You deserve it. Sharpe felt the pang of jealousy. He could never afford fifteen hundred pounds for a Captaincy, and Knowles was lucky in his father. Sharpe laughed, disguising his mood. 'If my gazette fails, Robert, then by Christmas we'll have changed places! He stood up, looked across the dark valley. 'Time to go. God knows how we find the way. But good luck.
A thousand miles away, north and east, a small man with an untidy hank of hair and an insatiable appetite for work looked at the pile of papers he had dealt with and grunted approvingly as he re-read the last paragraphs of the latest despatch from Marshal Andre Massena. He wondered if the Marshal, whom he himself had made into the Prince of Essling, was losing his touch. The British army was so small — the newspapers from London said a mere twenty-three thousand with twenty-two thousand Portuguese allies — while the French armies were so big, and Massena seemed to be taking the devil of a long time. But the despatch said that he was going forward, into Portugal, and soon the British would have their backs to the sea and would face nothing but terror, shame, and defeat. The small man yawned. He knew everything that happened in his huge Empire, even that the Prince of Essling had taken a young woman to the war to keep his bed warm at night, but he would be forgiven. A man needed that, especially as the years went on, and victory forgave all. He laughed out loud, startling a servant and flickering the candles, as he remembered a secret agent's report that said Massena's mistress was disguised in Hussar uniform. But what did that matter? The Empire was safe and the small man went to his bed, to his Princess, in utter ignorance of the Company that marched through his territory in the hope of giving him many sleepless nights in the months to come.
CHAPTER 12
It was a nightmare journey and only Hagman's instincts, honed by years of poaching dark countryside, took the Riflemen safely back over the paths where they had been escorted earlier in the day. Sharpe wondered how Knowles, with the larger number of men, was surviving, but there were poachers not unlike Hagman in the Redcoats and there was no point in worrying. The Riflemen made good time, cursing through the rocks, stumbling on the streambeds, going faster than the less well-trained men of the South Essex could travel. The Rifles were the elite of the army, the best trained, the best equipped, the finest infantry of an army which boasted the best foot soldiers in the world, but none of their training, their vaunted self-reliance, had prepared them for the job of sneaking into Casatejada under the noses of suspicious Partisans.
Perversely the moon made an appearance as the green-jacketed men reached the final crest before the village. It sailed clear of the ragged cloud-edge and showed the village, innocent and silent, in the centre of the valley. The men dropped to the ground, pushed their rifles forward, but nothing moved in the moonlight except the barley rippling in the breeze and the maize clattering on its long stalks. Sharpe stared at the village, reliving the hopelessness of trying to get near it unseen, and tonight there would be no hope of persuading its defenders to light fires, dazzle themselves, and thus give the attackers an advantage. He stood up. 'Come on.