before the snow.
He wished she would wait till morning, but she was right, and Sharpe despised himself for needing her protection against his assignation at half past three. There would be no assignation, not this night, because he had a defence to prepare and a battle to fight in the dawn. Teresa seemed to sense his thoughts for she smiled at him, and her voice was teasing. 'I think the whore-bitch will be safe from you tonight.’I think so.
They walked slowly towards the lights in the village street and Teresa brought out a wrapped package from beneath her cloak and handed it to him. 'Open it.
Sharpe pulled the string open, undid the cloth wrapping, and there was a doll inside the parcel. He moved closer to the light, and smiled. The doll was a Rifleman. Teresa seemed worried. 'You like it?
‘It's beautiful.
'I made it for Antonia. She wanted Sharpe to like it. He held it into the light and he saw the care and trouble that had gone into the tiny uniform. The doll was just six inches high, yet the green jacket showed every piece of black piping, small loops intricate at the facings crossed by a thin, black crossbelt. The face was carved from wood. He lifted off the tiny black-peaked shako and saw black hair beneath.
'Wool. She smiled. 'I was going to give it to her for Christmas. Today. It will wait.’
’How is she?
'Lovely. Teresa took the doll back and began to wrap it with delicate care. 'Lucia looks after her. Lucia was Teresa's sister-in-law. 'She's very good with her. I suppose she has to be, we're not the best parents in the world. She shrugged.
'Tell her the doll's from me, too. He had nothing to give his daughter. She nodded. 'It's supposed to be you. She smiled. 'She can have a doll and call it Father. I'll tell her it's from you as well.
Sharpe thought of his words to Frederickson. Leave her to life. He did not want that. Antonia was his only flesh and blood, but she did not know him, nor he her, and he looked up into the mist at a blurred star and thought how selfish he was. He preferred to live on the blade-edge of danger and glory rather than raise a family in peace and security. Antonia was a child of war, and war, as Ducos had said, brought death more often than life. 'Does she speak yet?
'A few words. Teresa's voice was subdued. 'Mamma. She calls Ramon ‘Gogga’, I don't know why. She laughed, but there was little pleasure in her voice.
Antonia would speak Spanish. She had no one to call Father except her uncle, Ramon, and she was lucky in him. More fortunate in her uncle than in her father.
'Major! Major Sharpe!
The voice hailed him from the inn door, then Dubreton stepped into the street and walked towards them. 'Major?
Sharpe put a hand on Teresa's shoulder, waited till the French Colonel was close. 'My wife, M'sieu. Teresa? This is Colonel Dubreton.
Dubreton bowed to her. 'La Aguja. You're as beautiful as you are dangerous, Ma'am. He gestured towards the inn. 'It would be my pleasure to have you join us. The ladies have withdrawn, but you would be welcome, I know.
Teresa, to Sharpe's surprise, spoke politely. 'I'm tired, Colonel. I would prefer to wait for my husband in the Castle.
'Of course, Madame. Dubreton paused. 'Your husband has done me a great service, Madame, a personal service. To him I owe my wife's safety. If it is ever in my power, then I will feel honoured to repay that debt.
Teresa smiled. 'You'll forgive me if I hope it is never in your power?
'I regret we are enemies.
'You can leave Spain, then we need not be.
'To be your friend, Madame, makes the idea of losing this war bearable.
She laughed, pleased with the compliment, and to Sharpe's utter astonishment held out her hand and let the Frenchman kiss it. 'Would you call my horse, Colonel? One of your men is holding it.
Dubreton obeyed, smiling at the odd chance that had brought him so close to a woman on whose head France had a high price. La Aguja, 'the needle', fought a bitter war against his men.
Harper brought the horse, helped Teresa into the saddle, and walked back with her towards the Castle. Dubreton watched them go and took a cigar from a leather case. He offered one to Sharpe and the Rifleman, who rarely smoked, wanted one now. He waited as Dubreton blew the spark on the charred linen inside his tinder-box into a flame, then bent down to light the cigar.
The hooves of the horse faded on the brittle, frosted earth. Dubreton lit his own cigar. 'She's very beautiful, Major.
'Yes.
The cigar smoke vanished into the mist. A small breeze was blowing now, a breeze to blow cannon smoke away from the guns' muzzles. The mist would clear soon, blown into scraps, and then what? Rain or snow.
Dubreton gestured Sharpe back towards the inn. 'Your Colonel demanded your presence. Not, I think, that he needs or wants your advice, I suspect he merely wanted to deprive you of your wife's company.
'As you deprived him?
Dubreton smiled. 'My wife, who is no fool, has even suggested that the beautiful Lady Farthingdale is not all she is supposed to be.
Sharpe laughed, made no reply, and stood aside to let Dubreton duck under the lintel of the inn door. Once inside, Sharpe pulled the curtain close, and found the room stuffy with the smoke of cigars, tense with serious talk. The Battalion of wine bottles had been destroyed, replaced with brandy that only the junior officers were drinking with enjoyment. Sir Augustus Farthingdale was frowning, Ducos was smiling his secret smile.
Dubreton looked at Ducos. 'I'm afraid you just missed La Aguja, Ducos. I invited her to join us, but she pleaded tiredness.
Ducos turned the smile on Sharpe and kept it on his face as he made an obscene gesture. He made a loop with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and thrust his right forefinger repeatedly into the loop. 'La Aguja, yes? The needle. We all know what we do with needles. We thread them.
The sword came from the scabbard so fast that even Dubreton, standing at Sharpe's elbow, could not have stopped the movement. The steel glittered in the candle light, swooped as Sharpe leaned far over the table, and the tip stopped one inch from the bridge of Ducos' nose. 'Do you wish to repeat that, Major?
The room was utterly still. Sir Augustus yelped his syllable. 'Sharpe!
Ducos did not move. A tiny pulse throbbed beneath the pox-scarred cheek. 'She is a foul enemy of France.
'I asked if you cared to repeat your statement? Or give me satisfaction.
Ducos smiled. 'You're a fool, Major Sharpe, if you think I'll fight a duel with you.
'Then you're a fool to provoke one. I'm waiting for your apology.
Dubreton spoke in quick French, and Sharpe guessed he ordered the apology for Ducos shrugged then looked back to Sharpe. 'I have no words base enough for La Aguja, but for the insult to you, M'sieu, I offer you my regrets. It was said grudgingly, scornfully.
Sharpe smiled. The apology had been graceless and insufficient and he moved the sword blade, fast, and this time Ducos did react for the steel tip had grazed his left eyebrow and struck the spectacles from his nose. He reached for them and stopped. The blade blocked his hand. 'How well do you see me now, Ducos? Ducos shrugged. He looked myopic and defenceless without the two, thick lenses. 'You've had my apology, M'sieu.’
’It's difficult to thread a needle when you're half blind, Ducos. The heavy steel rapped on one lens, shattering it. 'Remember me, your enemy. The sword blade struck on the second lens and then Sharpe leaned back, reversed the sword, and thrust it home.
'Sharpe! Farthingdale looked with disbelief at the broken glasses. It would take Ducos weeks to replace them.
'Bravo, sir! Harry Price was drunk, happily drunk. Even the French officers, disliking Ducos, grinned at Sharpe and thumped the table with approval.
Dubreton walked back to his chair and looked at the outraged Sir Augustus. 'Major Sharpe showed restraint, Sir Augustus. I must apologize if one of the officers under my command is both offensive and drunk.
Ducos smouldered. There had been two insults; that he was drunk, which he was not, and that he was
