"THERE used to be a third bridge over the moat, " Jacques Malan explained, "and it led to the chapel, but they pulled it down years ago. Only they left the stone pilings, see? Just under the water." Malan had not only fetched his musket, but had put on his old uniform so that now he was glorious in the blue, white and scarlet of Napoleon's old guard. Thus dressed for battle he had led Sharpe on a wide circuit through the woods so that they approached the chateau from the east, hidden from the gate-tower by the farmhouse and the chapel roof. Malan now reversed his musket and stabbed its stock down through the moat's skim of ice. «There,» he said, as the musket butt struck stone. He stepped carefully across so that he was standing in the moat with a few inches of water lapping his boots. He probed for the next piling. "There are five stones, " he told Sharpe, "Miss one, though, and you'll fall in the water."
"But what happens once we're across?" "We climb to the roof, " Malan said.
"There's a stone jutting out, see?" He pointed. "We throw a rope round it and climb." And once they were on the chapel roof, Sharpe thought, there was a window into an old attic that was filled with 800 years of junk, and the only other entrance to the attic was through a hatch high on the end wall of the bedroom and it needed a ladder to reach that hatch. Sharpe had only ever been into the attic once when he had marvelled at the collection of rubbish that Lucille's family had stowed away. There was a suit of armour up there, he remembered, and crates of mouldering clothes, ancient arrows, a crossbow, a weather-cock which had fallen off the chapel, a stuffed pike caught by Lucille's grandfather, and a rocking horse that Sharpe thought he might get down for Patrick, though he hoped the toy would not put the idea of becoming a cavalryman into the boy's head. "I'd never live that down, " he said aloud.
"Live what down?" Malan asked. He was standing on the third hidden piling, and probing for the fourth. "If Patrick becomes a cavalryman." "Mon Dieu! That would be terrible! " Malan agreed, then jumped across the last stones and on to the narrow ledge that edged the chapel. He held out his musket to help Sharpe across the last two pilings. "They sing well! " he said, listening to the two choirs of villagers. "You do this carol singing. in England, too?" "Of course we do." "But my captain said the English did not believe in God." "But they believe in getting free food and drink, " Sharpe said. "So maybe they're not mad after all, " Malan conceded. "And you have brandy in the house, monsieur?
Not that I am a drunk, of course." "I have brandy, " Sharpe said, then watched as Malan fetched a length of rope from a pocket of his guardsman's coat. "I'l1 go first, " Sharpe said. "You'll follow me! " Malan insisted, as he tossed the rope to loop it over the projecting stone. "I have done this before. You hold the musket." Malan was surprisingly nimble for a big man, though he was breathless by the time he reached the chapel roof. "I used to be able to do that in seconds, " he grumbled. "I thought you only did it once?" "Mademoiselle Lucille only saw me once, " Malan confessed. "Give me the musket barrel, monsieur, and I'11 pull you up." He caught hold of the barrel and, with an enviable ease, hauled Sharpe up on to the roof. "Now what?" he asked. "The window, " Sharpe said, pointing to the small, blackened panes of the old attic window that was set into the higher gable next to the roof on which they were precariously perched. "Break it in." "They'll hear us! " "The choirs are singing fit to burst their lungs, " Sharpe said. "Break it in. It'll be something else for you to mend." "And what makes you think I'11 be working for you, Englishman?" "Because I'11 pay you, because you like Lucille and you'd rather work for a soldier than sweat for some bastard who stayed at home while you went to war." Malan grunted, but said nothing in response. Instead he used the musket's butt to push in the window panes, then he snapped out the old rotten mullions and struggled through into the attic. Sharpe followed him, relieved to be out of the snow. "Now follow me, " he whispered, "and go gently!
This place is full of rubbish." It took a few moments to edge through the dusty, dark clutter, but at last Sharpe pushed the stuffed pike aside and crouched beside the old hatch. He put an ear to the wood, listened for a second, then angrily pulled the pistol from his coat pocket. "Let's go to war, " he told Malan, then shoved the hatch open.
LUCILLE screamed when Sergeant Challon shoved her down on to the bed. She had thought she would be safe now the villagers were outside the chateau. She suspected Richard had somehow persuaded them to be there, though what else he might have arranged she did not know, but now she feared she would never find out for Sergeant Challon had pursued her upstairs and dragged her into the bedroom. "You burned me! " he had snarled at her, then struck her round the face with his wounded hand. Lucille screamed, then froze as Challon pointed his pistol between her eyes. He smiled when he saw her fear, then he tucked the pistol under his arm and began unbuckling his belt. "Boney gave us lots of practice with the ladies, " he said. "Italian skirts, Spanish skirts, Portuguese skirts, we hauled 'em all up. So get yourself ready. I ain't a man who likes to be kept waiting." The noise of the high hatch opening made Challon look up, but he had no time to pluck the pistol from under his arm before Sharpe's boots raked down his face. Challon twisted away, falling under the impact, but before he could recover there was one hand stifling his mouth and another was holding a pistol at his neck. He was hauled to his feet and there, right in front of him, stood a sergeant of the Imperial Guard with a most unfriendly smile. "Hold him, Major, " Malan said.
Sharpe held Challon tight, Malan grinned, then kicked the dragoon between the legs. «Jesus!» Sharpe said in awe, as he let Challon fall. "He won't walk for a month! " He grinned at Lucille. "Where's Patrick?" "With Marie, next door, she gestured to the adjoining bedroom. Sharpe gave her a hand and helped her from the bed. "You know Monsieur Malan?" "I am very glad to see you, Monsieur Malan, " Lucille said fervently. "What's going on up there?" Maitre Lorcet shouted from the bottom of the stairs. He had heard the thump of Sharpe jumping on Challon, and the bigger thump as Malan followed. Sharpe opened the door. "Lorcet? This Is Major Sharpe. I've got four of your men prisoner, I've got my wife back, I've got my child, and there never was any gold. And now I'm coming down the stairs and you can have a fight if you want one, but I've no mind to kill anyone at Christmas. Put the ruby on the table, Lorcet, and unlock the door. I've got a lot of guests coming for a Christmas drink, and I want you and your scum out of here." He dragged Challon down the stairs, then locked all the intruders inside the chapel. They could repent of their sins there until morning, when Sharpe would deal with them, but for now he had more important tasks. He had to light the fire in the big hall, for the folks who had been singing to hide the noise that Sharpe and Malan made breaking into the chateau were all chilled to the bone. So he lit the fire and Jacques Malan went down to the cellar and hauled up dusty bottles that had been stored there since before the Revolution, and Sharpe, listening to the laughter, and wondering how Lucille had managed to find so much food in the house, reckoned he was staying in Normandy after all. It was Christmas, he had neighbours at last, and he was safe at home.