over with; he wants to get out before the French seal this place tight.
'Then he wants to leave tomorrow.
Knowles shrugged. 'Perhaps he won't come, sir. He's getting the gold, isn't he?
Sharpe grinned. 'He thinks so. He glanced at Teresa. 'No, he'll come. He grinned at the girl. 'Major Kearsey thinks you should go back.
She raised her eyebrows, said nothing. Before Sharpe had left Cox's headquarters Kearsey had taken him aside, pleaded that Teresa should be returned to her father. Sharpe had nodded. 'Send her father at ten o'clock tomorrow, sir. Now he watched her. 'What do you want to do?
She looked at him, almost with a challenge. 'What will you do?
Sharpe's men, and some of the Germans, were listening to the conversation. Sharpe jerked his head at the door. 'Come into the small room. We'll talk.
Harper took a jug of wine, Lossow and Knowles their curiosity. The girl followed them. She paused outside the small sitting-room door and put cool fingers on his hand. 'Are you going to win, Richard?
He smiled. 'Yes. If he did not, then she was dead. El Catolico would want revenge on her.
Inside the small room they pulled off dust-covers and sat in comfortable chairs. Sharpe was tired, bone- tired, and his shoulder was aching with a deep, throbbing pain. He trimmed a candle wick, waited for the flame to grow, and talked softly.
'You all know what's happening. We're ordered to surrender the gold tomorrow. Captain Lossow is ordered to leave; we are ordered to stay.
He had already told them as they searched the houses, but he wanted to go over it, to look for the flaws, because he still hoped that the decision would prove unnecessary.
Lossow stirred in his chair. 'So it's all over? He frowned, not believing his own question.
'No. Whether Cox likes it or not, we go.
'And the gold? Teresa's voice was steady.
'Goes with us.
By some strange instinct they all relaxed, as if the statement were enough. 'The question is, Sharpe went on, 'how?
There was silence in the room. Harper looked asleep, his eyes closed, but Sharpe guessed that the Irishman was way ahead of the others. Knowles pummelled his chair-arm in frustration. 'If only we could get a message to the General!'
'We're too late. Time's run out.
Sharpe did not expect them to provide an answer, but he wanted them to think through the steps, to know the argument, so that when he provided the solution, they would agree.
Lossow leaned forward into the candlelight. 'Cox won't let you go. He thinks we're stealing the gold.
'He's right. Teresa shrugged.
Knowles was frowning. 'Do we break out, sir? Make a run for it?
Sharpe thought of the granite-faced ditches, the rows of cannon, the bent tunnels in the gateways with their portcullises and grim-faced sentries.
'No, Robert.
Lossow grinned. 'I know. Murder Brigadier Cox.
Sharpe did not smile. 'His second in command would back up his orders.
'Good God! I was joking! Lossow stared at Sharpe, suddenly convinced of the Rifleman's seriousness.
Somewhere a dog barked, perhaps in the French camp, and Sharpe knew that if the British survived this campaign, if he did his duty this night, then it would all have to be done again. Portugal reconquered, the border fortresses retaken, the French beaten not just from Spain but from all Europe. Lossow must have mistaken his expression for despair.
The German spoke softly. 'Have you thought of abandoning the gold?
'No. It was not true. He took a deep breath. 'I can't tell you why, I don't know how, but the difference between victory and failure depends on that gold. We have to take it out. He nodded at Teresa. 'She's right. We are stealing the gold, on Wellington's instructions, and that's why there are no explicit orders. The Spanish' — he shrugged apologetically at the girl — 'God knows they're difficult allies. Think how much worse if they had written proof of this? He leaned back. 'I can only tell you what I was told. The gold is more important than men, horses, regiments, or guns. If we lose it the war is over; we'll all go home, or more likely end up as French prisoners.
'And if you do take it? Teresa was shivering.
'Then the British will stay in Portugal. He shrugged. 'I can't explain that, but it's true. And if we stay in Portugal, then next year we'll be back in Spain. The gold will go with us.
Knowles snapped his fingers. 'Kill El Catolico!
Sharpe nodded. 'We'll probably have to. But Cox's orders are still for the gold to go to the Spanish.
'So… Knowles was about to ask how. He shrugged instead.
Teresa stood up. 'Is your coat upstairs?
Sharpe nodded. 'Cold? She still had only the thin white dress. He stood up as well, thinking of his fear of El Catolico. 'I'll come with you.
Harper and Lossow stood, but Sharpe waved them down. 'We'll be all right, a minute, no more. Think about it, gentlemen.
He led the way up the stairs, peering into the darkness, and Teresa put a hand out to him. 'You think he's here?
'I know he is.
It seemed ridiculous; the house had been searched and researched, sentries put on balconies and roof, yet all Sharpe's instincts said that El Catolico would come for his revenge this night. Revenge, the Spanish said, was a dish best eaten cold, but for El Catolico it was a dish that should be taken quickly before Sharpe was locked up in the siege. And Sharpe had no doubt that El Catolico wanted revenge, not for the gold but for the insult to his manhood, and the Rifleman drew his sword as they went into the candlelit room with its canopied bed and wide cupboards.
Teresa found Sharpe's coat, put it round her shoulders. 'See? It's safe.
'Go downstairs. Tell them I'll be two minutes.
She raised her eyebrows at him, looked puzzled, but he pushed her through the door and watched as she went back to the small room. Sharpe could feel the hairs rise on his neck, the prickling of the blood beneath the skin, the old signs that the enemy was near, and he sat on the bed and pulled off his heavy boots so he could move silently. He wanted El Catolico to be near, to get this thing over, so that he could concentrate on what must be done tomorrow. He thought of the Spaniard's flickering rapier, the careless skill, but it must be faced, be beaten, or else in the morning he would be constantly looking behind him, worrying about the girl, and he padded across the boards and blew out the candles. The sword was monstrously heavy: a butcher's blade, the Spaniard had called it.
He opened the curtains and stood on the balcony. On the next balcony a sentry stirred; above him, between the pitches of the roof, he could hear the mutterings of two Germans. It had to be this night! El Catolico would not let the insult go, would not want to be immured in Almeida as the French sapped their way forward. But how? Nothing stirred in the street; the houses and church across the road were dark and shuttered; only the. glow of the French campfires lit the southern sky beyond the walls where he was supposed to stand guard tomorrow. The tower of the church was silhouetted by the red glow, its two heavily counterweighted bells sheened by the distant fires. And there was no ladder! There had been that morning, he knew. He tried to be sure, and remembered opening the curtains, turning away from Teresa's nakedness and seeing the bells with the metal ladder that was leaning against the tower. Then he had turned back, but he was sure the ladder had been there.
So why take the ladder? He looked left and right, at the sentries on the balconies. Of course! Knowles, with his sense of decency, had placed no sentry on this balcony, on every balcony in the street except this one, so that no member of the Company should be forced to listen to the unmarried exploits of Captain Sharpe. And El Catolico was no fool. It was a hundred to one that the unguarded balcony would be the one to assault, and the ladder would reach from the church roof, with its convenient platform, across the street, and while muskets from the church took care of the sentries, El Catolico and his best men would be across the iron rungs, through the curtains,
