straight sword and, unusual for a Colonel, a cavalry carbine rested in his saddle's bucket holster. A fighting Regiment, the Dragoons, hardened by chasing elusive Partisans through a hostile countryside, and Sharpe saw the Frenchman's disdain when he looked at the fastidious Sir Augustus. Behind the officers the Lancer picked at the knot of the white cloth.
Dubreton smiled at Sharpe. 'I owe you thanks.’
’No, sir.
'But I do. He looked at Harper, modestly holding back, and raised his voice. 'I'm glad to see you well, Sergeant!’
’Thank you, sir. Kind of you. And your Sergeant?’
’Bigeard's in the village. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you. Farthingdale interrupted in French, his voice implying annoyance at the civilities. Dubreton's replies were in English. 'We came, Sir Augustus, on the same mission as yourselves. May I express our pleasure at your success, my personal thanks, and my regrets that you have suffered casualties? The stripped bodies of the dead waited white and cold beside the deepening graves.
Sir Augustus stayed talking in French, Sharpe suspected to exclude him from the discussion, while Dubreton, perhaps wishing the opposite, obstinately made his replies in English. The patrol Sharpe had half glimpsed in the dawn had been Dubreton's scouts, brave men who had volunteered to ride into the valley pretending to be deserters and who would have somehow escaped back before nightfall to guide the rescue party into the valley. They had seen the Riflemen, seen the flag hoisted, and had prudently withdrawn. 'They were disappointed, Sir Augustus!
The Frenchwomen were to be handed over immediately, that Sharpe gathered from Dubreton's words, and then the conversation grew sticky and awkward because Sir Augustus was not able to answer the Frenchman's questions about the whereabouts of the French deserters. Farthingdale was forced to turn to Sharpe for help. Sharpe smiled ruefully. 'I'm afraid many escaped.
'I'm sure you did everything possible, Major. Dubreton said it tactfully.
Sharpe glanced at the two other Colonels. Two Regiments of Cavalry? It seemed a lot for this rescue attempt, but their presence had given him another idea. The Dragoon Colonel was looking at Sharpe's great sword that hung beside the cavalry sabre that was attached to his borrowed saddle. Sharpe grinned. 'Our weakness, Colonel, was in cavalry. We chased them out of the Castle, but we can't do much about rounding them up in the hills. He looked southwards. 'Not, I think, that they'll have got very far.
Dubreton understood. 'They went south?
'Yes.
'How long ago? Sharpe told him and Dubreton's face was mischievous. 'We have cavalry.
'I'd noticed, sir.
'I think we could help.
Sir Augustus, seeing things run away from his careful control, pushed his horse forward. 'Are you suggesting the French chase our fugitives, Sharpe?
Sharpe turned an innocent face onto the Colonel. 'That seems to be why they're here, sir. I can't really see how we can stop them.
Dubreton cut in smoothly. 'I would suggest, Sir Augustus, that we fight together under a truce. We will not attempt to disturb your occupation of the Castle, the Convent or the watchtower. You, in turn, will allow us to bivouac in the village. In the meantime our cavalry will drive the fugitives back to this valley where the infantry can wait for them.
'His Majesty's Army is quite capable of managing its own affairs, Colonel. Farthingdale was appalled at the suggestion.
'Of course it is. Dubreton glanced once at the bodies, back to Sir Augustus. 'The truth is, Sir Augustus, that our Dragoons started their sweep an hour ago. He smiled deprecatingly. 'If you prefer that we should fight for the honour of capturing them then I assure you that the Emperor's army is also quite capable of managing its own affairs. That was a couple of fine aces to lay on the table. Sir Augustus took refuge in questions.
'You've begun? A truce, do you say? Dubreton smiled patiently.
’We have begun, Sir Augustus. Shall we say we anticipated your generous help? And why not a truce? It's Christmas Day, there always used to be a Truce of God on such a day, so why not for us? Can I suggest till midnight tonight? Perhaps we can discuss what happens after that at dinner tonight. You will do us the honour of being our guests?
'Till midnight? Sir Augustus made it another question, buying more time for his thoughts to probe every suspicion that he had of this proposal, but Dubreton pretended to mistake the inflection.
'Splendid! We are agreed! Till midnight, then, and you will be our guests?
Sharpe smiled at the deftness of Dubreton's handling of Sir Augustus. 'I'm sure we can accept with pleasure, sir, on one condition.
'A condition? For dinner?’
’That we supply the cook, sir.
Dubreton laughed. 'You supply the cook? You offer that to a Frenchman! You Riflemen are braver than I thought.
Sharpe enjoyed his next words. 'Pot-au-Feu, with our compliments.
'You have him?
'In our kitchens. If I'm eating with you tonight, then I'd rather he was in yours.
'Splendid, splendid! Dubreton looked at Sir Augustus. 'We are agreed then, Sir Augustus?
Farthingdale was still suspicious, far from happy, but he was being forced to take guidance from the one man who did understand the enemy and how to fight them. Sharpe. More important, Sharpe understood when not to fight. Sir Augustus inclined his handsome, thin head. 'We are agreed, Colonel.
'Do I have your permission to ride to the Convent?
Farthingdale nodded.
Dubreton spoke briefly to the cavalrymen, watched them spur towards the village, then walked his horse between Sharpe's and Sir Augustus' and once again the conversation dropped into French. It sounded polite, the small talk of enemies on a sunlit Christmas Day and Sharpe dropped back so that he was alongside Harper. He grinned at the big Irishman. 'We've got new allies, Patrick. The French.
'Yes, sir. Harper took pride in showing no surprise. 'Whatever you say, sir.
CHAPTER 15
Christmas afternoon was as festive as any man could have wished. At first the Fusiliers were disbelieving, then delighted, then they had mixed happily with Dubreton's Battalion as they formed a rough cordon that waited for the fugitives to be chased from the hills. Within an hour no Frenchman was wearing a French shako, all wore British, and men exchanged uniform buttons, liquor, food, tobacco, and sought out translators so they could exchange memories of shared battles.
A half hour after that, the first fugitives appeared. It was mostly women and children who came first, those who had little to fear from capture, and the women sought out troops of their own side and begged them for protection. Behind them there was an occasional faraway sound of a Dragoon's carbine chivvying a laggard.
Sharpe missed it all. For the first forty-five minutes he was with Harper in the Convent. It was impossible to move the gun without the French seeing their efforts, so Sharpe abandoned his hopes of mounting it in the Convent gateway. Instead he explored the cellars, climbing into a dirty, damp space beneath the floors of the chapel and store-rooms, and then he left Harper and a work party busy with materials captured from Pot-au-Feu. Sharpe would prepare a surprise or two in case they were needed.
Then he cut over the field, between the fraternising troops, and guided the horse slowly along one of the twisting paths that climbed to the watchtower. The thorns were thick, good protection, but the hill was far from the support of any troops in the Castle. Frederickson waved to him from the tower's summit as Sharpe dismounted, gave the reins to a Rifleman, I then stood for a few seconds and looked at the position. It was good.
