bloody cart aside, but hurry! Sharpe pointed to the ox cart that blocked the main gate of the Castle. Gilliland was still gaping at him. 'For Christ's sake, move!
Sharpe looked at the artillerymen spread up the valley towards the village. He cupped his hands. 'Gunners!
He chivvied them, snapped at them, turned horses himself, and gradually the sense of urgency communicated itself to the men who had thought Christmas Day a day of rest. 'Move, you bastards! It's not a bloody funeral! Whip it up, man! Move!
He was not fearing an attack by French cavalry. He guessed that the men on the keep had seen the advance scouts of a French force that had been sent to do what he had done last night; rescue the hostages. Now the three horsemen seen in the dawn made sense; they had been a patrol who had discovered that the work had been done for them, and doubtless the French now hoped to recover their own hostages under a flag of truce, but Sharpe still did not want them to see the strange carts and portable forge of the Rocket Troop. Perhaps he was right, and there would be no fight, or perhaps he was wrong. In which case the rockets, bundled inside their special cases on the long carts, would be the one surprise he could spring in this high valley. 'Move it! Even if the French did see the carts they would have no idea of their purpose, but Sharpe wanted to take no chances. They would know there was something odd at the western end of the valley, and that something would give them caution. Surprise would be diluted.
Sharpe ran with the leading cart and bellowed at Fusiliers. 'Clear that gate! Hurry!
Frederickson, reliable Frederickson, pushed past the men struggling with the cart. 'Lancers, sir. Green uniforms, red facings. There's only a dozen.’Green and red?
'Imperial Guard, I think. Germans. Sharpe looked towards the village, but could see nothing. The valley floor fell beyond Adrados before turning right, turning south, and if he could not see them then they could not see the odd carts that were at last moving behind him into the Castle courtyard. German lancers. Men recruited from the duchies and small kingdoms that had allied themselves to Napoleon. There were far more Germans fighting against the Emperor than for him, but they were alike in one thing; they fought as well as any man on a battlefield. Sharpe looked for Gilliland. 'Hide your men in the stable, d'you hear me? Hide them!
'Yes, sir. Gilliland was appalled by the sudden urgency. His war, till now, had been a patient matter of angles and theories; suddenly death was just beyond the horizon.
'Where's your Company? Sharpe turned back to the Rifle Captain.
'On their way, sir. Frederickson nodded towards the Riflemen threading the thorn bushes. 'Ten minutes and they'll all be there.
'I've ordered a Company of Fusiliers up there as well. I'll send another. Just make sure of one thing.
‘Sir?
'Your Commission dates before theirs.
Frederickson grinned. 'Yes, sir. Whichever Captain had been promoted to the rank first would be in charge of the watchtower garrison, and Sharpe had no wish for this one-eyed fighter to be under anyone's command but his own. Frederickson would lie for him.
'And William? It was the first time he had used his Christian name.
'Try Bill, sir.
'Assume we'll have to fight eventually. That means you'll be holding that hill.
'Yes, sir. Sweet William went happily away with the promise not just of a fight, but his very dwn personal fight. Some officers hated responsibility, but the best welcomed it, wanted it, and would take it whether it was offered or not.
Now there were a dozen things for Sharpe to do. A second Company had to be despatched to the watchtower, Riflemen must be sent to the Convent, ammunition must be taken from Gilliland's carts and distributed as ready magazines about all the positions. He found Cross's bugler, then two Ensigns of the Fusiliers, and made them into his own messengers, and all the while fools came to him with problems they could have solved without his help. How was food to be taken to the watchtower? What about the packs left in the Convent? The rope that took water from the well in the keep was broken, and Sharpe snapped, cajoled, decided, and all the time watched the village for the first sight of the enemy horsemen.
Sergeant Harper, stolid and calm, walked to where Sharpe stood on the rubble of the mined wall and in one hand he carried a hunk of bread topped with meat and in the other a skin of wine. 'Lunch, sir. Bit late.
'Have you eaten?
'Yes, sir.
God, he was hungry! It was cold lamb and the butter on the bread was fresh and he bit into it and it tasted like heaven. A Fusilier Sergeant approached and wanted to know if the Castle gate should be blocked again, and Sharpe said no, but to keep the cart close, and then another man asked if they could bury Kinney in the very mouth of the pass where the grave would look for ever out to the green and brown hills of Portugal, and Sharpe said yes, and still the French cavalry loitered out of sight. Frederickson's men were at the tower, thank God, and Brooker had two Fusilier Companies following him, and Sharpe watched as a third Company set out for the Convent and he began to relax. A start had been made. The wine was cold and harsh.
He walked into the Castle courtyard and ordered the low wall pulled down and the stones used to block the stairway beside the stables that led to the western ramparts. He finished the lamb, licking the crumbs and grease from his hand, and then there was an imperious shout from the Castle gateway.
'Sharpe! Major Sharpe!
Sir Augustus Farthingdale, Josefina mounted sidesaddle beside him, standing his horse in the archway.
Sir Augustus bloody Farthingdale, looking for all the world as if he was riding in London's Hyde Park. The only discrepancy was a clean white bandage that showed beneath his hat on his right temple. He was summoning Sharpe with jerks of his riding crop. 'Sharpe!
Sharpe walked to the low wall. 'Sir?
'Sharpe. My lady wife would like to see a rocket fired. Be so good as to arrange it.
'That won't be possible, sir.
Sir Augustus was not a man who liked to be crossed, and certainly not by an inferior officer in front of the love of his life. 'I think I gave an order, Mr Sharpe. I expect it to be obeyed.
Sharpe put his right foot on the wall and the wineskin hung from the hand resting on the knee. 'If I demonstrated a rocket for Lady Farthingdale, sir, then I am also demonstrating it to the French troops in the village.
Josefina squeaked, looking excited, Sir Augustus stared at Sharpe as though the Rifle officer was mad. 'The what?
'French troops, sir. In the village. Sharpe looked at the ramparts of the keep and shouted. 'What d'you see?
A Rifleman, from Cross's Company, bellowed back. 'Two squadrons Lancers, sir! Battalion of Infantry in sight now, sir!
Infantry now! Sharpe twisted to look at the village, but still no French had pushed through the houses and come in sight. Farthingdale moved his horse forward, the hooves loud on the cobbles. 'Why the devil wasn't I told, Sharpe?
'No one knew where you were, sir.
'God damn it, man, I was with the doctor!
'Nothing serious I trust, sir?
Josefina smiled at Sharpe. 'Sir Augustus was hit by a stone, Major. In the explosion. And Sir Augustus, Sharpe thought, had insisted on the doctor's attention when there were eviscerated, screaming men who needed it far more.
'God damn it, Sharpe! Why are they in the village?
The question, Sharpe decided, really meant why had the French been allowed to reach the village; to which there was an obvious answer, an answer that even the author of 'Practical Instructions to the Young Officer in the Art of Warfare with Special Reference to the Engagements now Proceeding in Spain' should have known. The French were in the village because there were not enough troops to hold watchtower, Castle, and Convent, and still fight the French further east. Sharpe chose to read a different meaning into Sir Augustus's petulant enquiry. 'I imagine they've come for the same reason we came, sir. To rescue their hostages.
