Sharpe's Battle

horses with their sword-wielding troopers and thus a fine British army that had thrown the French out of Portugal would die on the frontier of Spain and there would be a new bridge over the Seine in Paris and it would bear the odd name of Pont Castello Bom in commemoration of the place where Andrй Massйna, Marshal of France, would have destroyed Lord Wellington's army. 'So we shall have to beat Marshal Massйna, won't we?' Wellington said to himself, then turned to Hogan. 'When will he come, Hogan?'

'Soon, my Lord, very soon. The stores in Ciudad Rodrigo won't allow them otherwise,' Hogan answered. With the arrival of Bessiиres's men the French now had too many mouths to feed from Ciudad Rodrigo's supply depots, which meant they would have to march soon or starve.

'So how many does Massйna have now?' Wellington asked.

'He can put fifty thousand men into the field, my Lord.'

'And I can't put forty thousand against them,' Wellington said bitterly. 'One day, Hogan, London will come to believe that we can win this war and will actually send us some troops who are not mad, blind or drunk, but till then…?' He left the question unanswered. 'Any more of those damned counterfeit newspapers?'

Hogan was not surprised by the sudden change of subject. The newspapers describing the fictional atrocities in Ireland had been intended to disaffect the Irish soldiers in the British army. The ploy had failed, but only just, and both Hogan and Wellington feared that the next attempt might be more successful. And if that attempt came on the eve of Massйna's crossing of the frontier to relieve Almeida it could be disastrous. 'None, sir,' Hogan said, 'yet.'

'But you've moved the Real Companпa Irlandesa away from the frontier?'

'They should be arriving at Vilar Formoso this morning, my Lord,' Hogan said.

Wellington grimaced. 'At which juncture you will apprise Captain Sharpe of his troubles?' The General did not wait for Hogan's answer. 'Did he shoot the two prisoners, Hogan?'

'I suspect so, my Lord, yes,' Hogan answered heavily. General Valverde had reported the execution of Loup's men to the British headquarters, not in protest at the actual deed, but rather as proof that Loup's raid on the San Isidro Fort had been provoked by Captain Sharpe's irresponsibility. Valverde was riding a high moral horse and loudly proclaiming that Spanish and Portuguese lives could not be trusted to British command. The Portuguese were unlikely to worry overmuch about Valverde's allegations, but the juntain Cadiz would be only too eager for any ammunition they could use against their British allies. Valverde was already passing on a litany of other complaints, how British soldiers failed to salute when the Holy Sacraments were being carried through the streets, and how the freemasons among the British officers offended Catholic sensibilities by openly parading in their regalia, but now he had a more bitter and wounding allegation: that the British would fight to the last drop of their allies' blood and the massacre at San Isidro was his proof.

'Damn Sharpe,' Wellington said.

Damn Valverde, Hogan thought, but Britain needed Spanish goodwill more than it needed one rogue rifleman. 'I haven't talked to Sharpe, my Lord,' Hogan said, 'but I suspect he did kill the two men. I hear it was the usual thing: Loup's men had raped village women.' Hogan shrugged as if to imply that such horror was now commonplace.

'It may be the usual thing,' Wellington said acidly, 'but that hardly condones the execution of prisoners. It's my experience, Hogan, that when you promote a man from the ranks he usually takes to drink, but not in Mister Sharpe's case. No, I promote Sergeant Sharpe and he takes to conducting private wars behind my back! Loup didn't attack the San Isidro to destroy Oliveira or Kiely, Hogan, he did it to find Sharpe, which makes the loss of the caзadores all Sharpe's fault!'

'We don't know that, my Lord.'

'But the Spanish will deduce it, Hogan, and proclaim it far and wide, which makes it hard, Hogan, damned hard for us to blame Runciman. They'll say we're hiding the real culprit and that we're cavalier with allied lives.'

'We can say the allegations against Captain Sharpe are malicious and false, my Lord?'

'I thought he admitted them?' Wellington retorted sharply. 'Didn't he boast to Oliveira about executing the two rogues?'

'So I understand, my Lord,' Hogan said, 'but none of Oliveira's officers survived to testify to that admission.'

'So who can testify?'

Hogan shrugged. 'Kiely and his whore, Runciman and the priest.' Hogan tried to make the list sound trivial, then shook his head. 'Too many witnesses, I'm afraid, my Lord. Not to mention Loup himself. Valverde could well attempt to get a formal complaint from the French and we'd be hard put to ignore such a document.'

'So Sharpe has to be sacrificed?' Wellington asked.

'I fear so, my Lord.'

'God damn it, Hogan!' Wellington snapped. 'Just what the devil was going on between Sharpe and Loup?'

'I wish I knew, my Lord.'

'Aren't you supposed to know?' the General asked angrily.

Hogan soothed his tired horse. 'I've not been idle, my Lord,' he said with a touch of tetchiness. 'I don't know all that happened between Sharpe and Loup, but what does seem to be happening is a concerted effort to sow discord in this army. There's a new man come south from Paris, a man called Ducos, who seems to be cleverer than the usual rogues. He's the fellow behind this scheme of counterfeit newspapers. And I'll guess, my Lord, that there are more of those newspapers on the way, designed to arrive here just before the French themselves.'

'Then stop them!' Wellington demanded.

'I can and shall stop them,' Hogan said confidently. 'We know it's Kiely's whore who brings them over the frontier, but our problem is finding the man who distributes them in our army, and that man is the real danger, my Lord. One of our correspondents in Paris warns us that the French have a new agent in Portugal, a man of whom they expect great things. I would dearly like to find him before he fulfils those expectations. I'm rather hoping the whore will lead us to him.'

'You're sure about the woman?'

'Quite sure,' Hogan said firmly. His sources in Madrid were explicit, but he knew better than to mention their names aloud. 'Sadly we don't know who this new man in Portugal is, but given time, my Lord, and a touch of carelessness on the part of Kiely's whore, we'll find him.'

Wellington grunted. A rumble in the sky announced the passage of a French roundshot, but the General did not even look up to see where the shot might fall. 'Damn all this fuss, Hogan, and damn Kiely and his damned men, and damn Sharpe too. Is Runciman trussed for the sacrifice?'

'He's in Vilar Formoso, my Lord.'

The General nodded. 'Then truss Sharpe too. Put him to administrative duties, Hogan, and warn him that his conduct will be the subject of a court of inquiry. Then inform General Valverde that we're pursuing the matter. You know what to say.' Wellington pulled out a pocket watch and clicked its lid open. An expression of distaste showed on his thin face. 'I suppose, if I'm here, that I'll have to visit Erskine. Or do you think the madman is still in bed?'

'I'm sure his aides will have apprised Sir William of your presence, my Lord, and I can't think he'd be flattered if you were to ignore him.'

'Touchier than a virgin in a barracks room. And mad as well. Just the man, Hogan, to conduct Sharpe and Runciman's court of inquiry. Let us see, Hogan, whether Sir William is experiencing a lucid interval and can thus understand what verdict is required of him. We must sacrifice one good officer and one bad officer to draw Valverde's fangs. God damn it, Hogan, God damn it, but needs must when the devil drives. Poor Sharpe.' His Lordship gave one backward glance at the town of Almeida, then led his entourage towards the besieging force's headquarters.

While Hogan worried about the narrow bridge at Castello Bom, about Sharpe and, even more, about a mysterious enemy come into Portugal to sow discord.

The house with the smoking chimney lay where the street opened into the small plaza before the church, and it was in there that the howling had begun. Sharpe, who had been rising to his feet, had crouched instantly back into the shadows as a gate beside the house creaked open.