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.