'Keep looking! The man was probably right. Three French cavalrymen from Pot-au-Feu's band were merely scouting the valley to the east and south. Pot-au-Feu surely was leaving. Sharpe turned to Josefina. 'Time to go. Work to do. He held out his hand and helped her up. She looked at him with a hint of worry.
'Richard?
'Yes. He presumed she was worried about the possibility of French troops in the high valley.
'Are you glad to see me?
'Josefina. He smiled. 'Yes, of course.
They walked along the flat space between the parapet and the tiles, Riflemen making way for them and giving Josefina admiring looks. Sharpe stopped beneath the spread flag and stared westward into the shadows of the pass where the mist was shredding itself into decaying wisps. There was a slight movement among the grey rocks far down, a movement scarcely visible, but enough to prompt a shout from another sentry.
'Sir!
'I've seen them, thank you!
The Fusiliers were in sight. Sharpe looked from them up to the beaded, frail flag and he wondered why the instinct persisted that he might yet have to fight for it. He pushed the thought away, handed Josefina to the head of the ramp, and raised his voice so that the Riflemen could hear him. 'Your husband will be here within the hour, Milady.
'Thank you, Major Sharpe. She bowed slightly towards him then, in a superb gesture, waved an arm around the whole Convent, a gesture that embraced all the watching Riflemen. She raised her voice. 'And thank you to all of you. Thank you!
They all looked pleased, bashful and pleased, and Sharpe nudged a Sergeant beside him. 'Three cheers for her Ladyship?
'Oh yes, sir, of course, sir. The Sergeant beamed at the men. 'Three cheers for her Ladyship! Hip, hip, hip!
'Hooray! They bellowed it twice more, startling the cat on the roof tiles, and Josefina acknowledged it graciously. She nodded to them all, finishing with Sharpe and he could have sworn that she gave him a wink as her head inclined.
He went back to the flag, grinning. It was a morning of surprises. A Christmas tree for Christmas day, Josefina for Sir Augustus Farthingdale, and in the east three horsemen to trouble Christmas morning. The shadows in the pass resolved themselves into a skirmish line that climbed towards the Gateway of God, the Companies in column behind it. Sharpe looked up at the flag and his instinct still told him that trouble was in the windless air, that this Christmas held other surprises yet to come.
CHAPTER 11
Lieutenant Colonel Kinney sent his Fusiliers in open order for the last few yards of the scramble uphill. There was still a possibility that Pot-au-Feu might open fire with his captured Spanish guns, though the prisoners taken in the night swore that two of the cannon were in the watchtower while the third remaining in the deserters' hands was mounted on the east wall of the Castle and unable to bear on the pass. Kinney nevertheless took no chances.
Sharpe experienced a sudden regret because he was no longer the senior officer in the Gateway of God. Kinney now outranked him, Sir Augustus Farthingdale too, and Sharpe presumed that the single Major of the Fusiliers was also his superior. Kinney slid from his horse at the Convent gate and held a hand out to Sharpe, ignoring the salute. 'Well done, Major, well done!
Kinney was generous in his praise, embarrassingly so, effusive about the difficulties of a night march, a silent approach, and an assault on a building that incurred no serious casualties among the attackers. Sharpe introduced Frederickson, Cross and Price, and Kinney spread his praise liberally among them all. Sir Augustus Farthingdale was less forthcoming. He dismounted stiffly, helped by his servant, and twitched the silk scarf that was tucked into the high collar of his cavalry cloak. Beneath the cloak he slapped a riding crop against his boots. 'Sharpe!’
’Sir.
'So you were successful!’
’Happily yes, sir.
Farthingdale grunted, sounding far from happy. His aquiline nose was red from the cold, the mouth more peevish than usual. The crop still slapped against the leather. 'Well done, Sharpe. Well done. He managed to make the praise sound grudging. 'Lady Farthingdale well, is she?
'Perfectly, sir. I'm sure she'll be relieved to see you.
'Yes. Farthingdale fidgeted, his eyes looking without interest at the Castle and the village. 'So what are, you waiting for, Sharpe? Take me to her.
'Of course, sir. I'm sorry, sir. Lieutenant Price? Sharpe nominated Price as Sir Augustus' guide to his 'bride'. Sir Augustus turned at the Convent steps, removed the bicorne hat from his sleek silver hair, and nodded at Kinney. 'Carry on, Kinney!
'Does the man think I'm planning to go to sleep? The comment was made loud enough for Sharpe to hear. Kinney had obviously had a difficult time with Sir Augustus during the long night march and now the Welshman kicked at a stone, sending it skittering against the Convent wall. 'God damn it, Sharpe, but she must be a remarkable woman to bring Sir Augustus all this way?
Sharpe smiled. 'She's a beauty, sir.
Kinney looked east where his Battalion were forming up well out of canister range from Castle or watchtower. 'What do we do now, eh? The question was not aimed at Sharpe. 'Let's clear the beggars out of the village, then look at the Castle.
'The watchtower, sir?
Kinney turned towards it. The two guns in the watch-tower, if they existed, could fire into the flank of any attack made on the fallen east wall of the Castle. If there was to be a fight at the Castle, then the watchtower would have to be taken first. Kinney scratched his cheek. 'You think the buggers will fight?
'They haven't run away, sir.
Pot-au-Feu must know that his escapades were over. His hostages were gone, the Convent was taken, and now a Battalion of British infantry was in his valley. The sensible thing, Sharpe thought, was for the deserters to run again, to flee eastwards or northwards, but they had stayed. Pot-au-Feu's troops were visible on the Castle ramparts and in the earthworks at the foot of the watchtower. Kinney shook his head. 'Why have they stayed, Sharpe?
'Must think he can beat us, sir.
'Then the man must be disabused. Kinney dwelt lovingly on the last word. 'I don't fancy any of my men dying today, Major. It would be a terrible tragedy on Christmas Day. He sniffed. 'I'll roust the village with bayonets, then I'll have a chat with our man at the Castle to see if he wants to surrender. If he wants to do it the hard way… He looked at the watchtower. 'I'd be grateful, in that case, for the loan of a Rifle Company, Major.
It was kind of Kinney to wrap an order in such politeness. 'Of course, sir.
'Let's hope it won't come to that. By then young Gilliland should have arrived. The Rocket Troop was an hour behind the 113th, delayed by a loosened wheel-rim. Kinney smiled. 'Two of those fireworks up their backsides might persuade them to throw themselves on our tender mercies. Kinney called for his horse, grunted as he pulled his considerable weight into the saddle, then grinned down on Sharpe. 'They probably haven't run, Sharpe, because they're all blind drunk. Well then! To work! To work! He gathered his reins, then stopped, staring over Sharpe's head. 'My word! My word!
Josefina was in the Convent gateway, being handed down by a Sir Augustus Farthingdale who looked quite different. The peevishness was gone, replaced by a simpering attention to the gorgeous woman who dazzled Kinney with her smile. There was a wealth of pride in Farthingdale's voice, the pride of possession. 'Colonel Kinney? The honour of meeting my lady wife? My dear, this is Colonel Kinney.
Kinney removed his hat. 'Milady. We would have marched halfway round the globe to rescue you.
