'General Bautista is here. He came on the frigate.' The terror in Suarez was palpable. 'Please, hurry!'
They were taken downstairs to a long hall which had huge arched windows facing onto the harbor. The ceiling was painted white and decorated with an iron chandelier under which a throng of uniformed men awaited Sharpe's arrival. The crowd of officers reminded Sharpe of the audience that had watched Bautista attending to his duties in the Citadel at Valdivia.
Bautista, attended by Marquinez and his other aides, was again offering a display of public diligence. He was working at papers spread on a table on which rested Sharpe's sword and Harper's seven-barrel gun. The strongbox was also there. The sight of the weapons gave Sharpe a pulse of hope that perhaps they were to be released, even maybe allowed to travel home on the
Blair made urgent hushing motions as though Sharpe disturbed a sacred assembly. Captain Marquinez, as beautifully uniformed as a palace guard, frowned at Sharpe's temerity, though Bautista, at last looking up from his paperwork, seemed merely amused by Sharpe's loud voice. 'Ah, Mister Sharpe! We meet again. I trust you have not been discommoded? You're comfortable here? You find the food adequate?'
Sharpe, suspicious of Bautista's affability, said nothing. The Captain-General, plainly enjoying himself, put down his quill pen and stood up. 'This is yours?' Bautista put his hand on the strongbox.
Sharpe still said nothing, while the audience, relishing the contest that was about to begin, seemed to tense itself.
'I asked you a question, Mister Sharpe.'
'It belongs to the Countess of Mouromorto.'
'A rich woman! But why does she send her money on voyages around the world?'
'You know why,' Sharpe said.
'Do I?' Bautista opened the strongbox's lid. 'One thousand, six hundred and four guineas. Is that correct?'
'Yes,' Sharpe said defiantly, and there was a murmur of astonishment from Bautista's audience as they translated the figure into Spanish dollars. A man could live comfortably for a whole lifetime on six and a half thousand dollars.
'Why were you carrying such a sum in gold?' Bautista demanded.
Sharpe saw the trap just in time. If he had admitted that the money had been given to him for use as bribes, then the Captain-General would accuse him of attempting to corrupt Chilean officials. Sharpe shrugged. 'We didn't know what expenses we might have,' he answered vaguely.
'Expenses?' Bautista sneered. 'What expenses are involved in digging up a dead man? Shovels are so expensive in Europe?' The audience murmured with laughter, and Sharpe sensed a relief in the assembled officers. They were like men who had come to a bullfight and they wanted to see their champion draw blood from the bull, and the swift jest about the price of shovels had pleased them. Now Bautista took one of the coins from the strongbox, picked up a riding crop from the table, and walked toward Sharpe. 'Tell me, Mister Sharpe, why you came to Chile?'
'To collect the body of Don Bias,' Sharpe said, 'as you well know.'
'I heard you were groveling in General Vivar's grave like a dog,' Bautista said. 'But why carry so much gold?'
'I told you, expenses.'
'Expenses.' Bautista sneered the word, then tossed the coin to Sharpe.
Sharpe, taken by surprise, just managed to snatch the guinea coin out of the air.
'Look at it!' Bautista said. 'Tell me what you see?'
'A guinea,' Sharpe said.
'The cavalry of Saint George,' Bautista still sneered. 'Do you see that, Mister Sharpe?'
Sharpe said nothing. The guinea coin had the head of the King on one side, and on its obverse bore the mounted figure of Saint George thrusting his lance into the dragon's flank. The nickname for such coins was the Cavalry of Saint George which, during the French wars and in the form of lavish subsidies to foreign nations, had been sent to do battle against Bonaparte.
'The British Government uses such golden cavalry to foment trouble, isn't that so, Mister Sharpe?'
Again Sharpe said nothing, though he glanced toward Blair to see if the Consul planned any protest, but Blair was clearly cowed by the company and seemed oblivious of Bautista's jeering.
'Afraid to send their own men to fight wars,' Bautista sneered, 'the British pay others to do their fighting. How else did they beat Napoleon?'
He let the question hang. The audience smiled. Sharpe waited.
Bautista came close to Sharpe. 'Why are you in Chile, Mister Sharpe?'
'I told you, to collect General Vivar's body.'
'Nonsense! Nonsense! Why would the Countess of Mouro-morto send a lackey to collect her husband's body? All she needed to do was ask the army headquarters in Madrid! They would have been happy to arrange an exhumation—'
'Dona Louisa did not know her husband was dead,' Sharpe said, though it sounded horribly lame even as he said it.
'What kind of fool do you take me for?' Bautista stepped even closer to Sharpe, the riding crop twitching in his hand. His aides, not daring to move, stood frozen behind the table, while the audience watched wide-eyed. 'I know why you came here,' Bautista said softly.
'Tell me.'
'To communicate with the rebels, of course. Who else was the money for? All the world knows that the English want to see Spain defeated here.'
Sharpe sighed. 'Why would I bring money to the rebels in a Royal ship?'
'Why indeed? So no one would suspect your intentions?' Bautista was enjoying tearing Sharpe's protests to shreds. 'Who sent you, Sharpe? Your English merchant friends who think they can make more profit out of Chile if it's ruled by a rebel government?'
'The Countess of Mouromorto sent me,' Sharpe insisted.
'She's English, is she not?' Bautista responded swiftly. 'Do you find it noble to fight for trade, Sharpe? For cargoes of hide and for barrels of tallow? For the profits of men like Mister Blair?' He threw a scornful hand toward the Consul who, seemingly pleased at being noticed, bobbed his head in acknowledgment.
'I fought alongside Don Bias,' Sharpe said, 'and I fight for the same things he wanted.'
'Oh, do tell me! Please!' Bautista urged in a caustic voice.
'He hated corruption,' Sharpe said.
'Don't we all?' Bautista said with wonderfully feigned innocence.
'Don Bias believed men could live in freedom under fair government.' It was an inadequate statement of Vivar's creed, but the best Sharpe could manage.
'You mean Vivar fought for liberty!' Bautista was delighted with Sharpe's answer. 'Any fool can claim liberty as his cause. Look!' Bautista pointed at the hugely flagged American brigan-tine in the outer harbor. 'The Captain of that ship is waiting for whalers to rendezvous with him so he can take home their sperm oil and whalebone. He comes every year, and every year he brings copies of his country's declaration of independence, and he hands them out as though they're the word of God! He tells the mestizos and the criollos that they must fight for their liberty! Then, when he's got his cargo, he sails home and who do you think empties that cargo in his precious land of liberty? Slaves do! Slaves! So much for his vaunted liberty!' Bautista paused to let a rustle of agreement sound in his audience. 'Of course Vivar believed in liberty!' Bautista interrupted the murmuring. 'Vivar believed in every impracticality! He wanted God to rule the world! He believed in truth and love and pigs with wings.' The audience laughed delightedly. Captain Marquinez and one or two others even clapped at their Captain-General's wit, while Bautista, delighted with himself, smiled at Sharpe. 'And you share Vivar's beliefs, Mister Sharpe?'
'I'm a soldier,' Sharpe said stubbornly, as though that excused him from holding beliefs.
'A plain, bluff man, eh? Then so am I, so I will tell you very plainly that I believe you are telling lies. I believe you came to Chile to bring money and a message to the rebels.'
