break into my boathouse!’ she said in a grating voice. ‘You assault my servant! If the world were respectable you would be whipped. My husband would have whipped you.’
‘Your husband, ma’am?’
‘He was the Marquis de Cardenas and he had the misfortune to be ambassador to the Court of St James for eleven sad years. We lived in London. A horrid city. A vile city. Why did you attack my gardener?’
‘Because he attacked me, ma’am.’
‘He says not.’
‘If the world were a respectable place, ma’am, then an officer’s word would be preferred to a servant’s.’
‘You impudent puppy! I feed you, I shelter you, and you reward me with barbarism and lies. Now you wish to steal my son’s boat?’
‘Borrow it, ma’am.’
‘You can’t,’ she snapped. ‘It belongs to my son.’
‘He’s here, ma’am?’
‘He is not, nor should you be. What you will do is march away from here once the doctor has seen your brigadier. You may take the crutches, nothing else.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ she mimicked him, ‘so humble.’ A bell sounded deep in the house and she turned away. ‘El médico,’ she muttered.
Private Geoghegan appeared then, running up from the kitchen garden. ‘Sir,’ he panted, ‘there are men there.’
‘Men where?’
‘Boathouse, sir. A dozen of them. All got guns. I think they came from the town, sir. Sergeant Noolan told me to tell you and ask what’s to be done, sir?’
‘They’re guarding the boat?’
‘That’s it, sir, that’s just what they’re doing. They’re stopping us getting to the boathouse, sir. Just that, sir. Jesus, what was that?’
The brigadier had given a sudden yelp, presumably as the doctor explored the makeshift splint. ‘Tell Sergeant Noolan,’ Sharpe said, ‘that he’s to do nothing. Just watch the men and make sure they don’t take the boat away.’
‘Not to take the boat away, sir. And if they try?’
‘You bloody stop them. You fix swords,’ he paused, then corrected himself because only the rifles talked about fixing swords, ‘you fix bayonets and you walk slowly towards them and you point the bayonets at their crotches and they’ll run.’
‘Aye, sir, yes, sir.’ Geoghegan grinned. ‘But really, sir, we’re to do nothing else?’
‘It’s usually best.’
‘Oh, the poor man!’ Geoghegan glanced at the door. ‘And if he’d left it alone it would have been fine. Thank you, sir.’
Sharpe swore silently when Geoghegan was gone. It had all seemed so simple when he had discovered the boat, but he should have known nothing was ever that easy. And if the marquesa had summoned men from the town then there was a chance of bloodshed, and though Sharpe had no doubt that his soldiers would brush the townsmen away he also feared that he would take two or three more casualties. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said aloud, and, because there was nothing else to do, went back to the kitchen and rousted Harris from the table. ‘You’re to stand outside the brigadier’s room,’ he told him, ‘and let me know when the doctor’s finished.’
He went up to the tower where Harper still stood guard. ‘Nothing moving, sir,’ Harper said, ‘except I thought I saw a horseman up there a half-hour ago,’ he pointed to the northern heights, ‘but he’s gone.’
‘I thought I saw the same thing.’
‘He’s not there now, sir.’
‘We’re just waiting for the doctor to finish with the brigadier,’ Sharpe said, ‘then we’ll go.’ He said nothing about the men guarding the boathouse. He would deal with them when the time came. ‘That’s a sour old bitch who lives here,’ he said.
‘The marquesa?’
‘A shrivelled old bitch. She bloody hit me!’
‘There’s some good in the woman then?’ Harper suggested, and when Sharpe glowered, hurried on. ‘It’s funny, though, isn’t it, that the Frogs haven’t ruined this place? I mean there’s food enough here for a battalion! And their foraging parties must have found this place months ago.’
‘She’s made her peace with the bloody Frogs,’ Sharpe said. ‘She probably sells them food and they leave her alone. She’s not on our side, that’s for sure. She hates us.’
‘So has she told the Crapauds we’re here?’
‘That worries me,’ Sharpe said. ‘She might have told them because she’s a wicked old bitch, that’s what she is.’ He gazed down the road. Something felt wrong. Everything was too peaceful. Perhaps, he thought, it was the news that the marquesa was trying to protect the boat that had unsettled him, and the thought of a boat reminded him of what Sergeant Noolan had told the brigadier that morning. The French had crossed the river. Either they had fashioned a usable boat out of one of the undamaged pontoons, or else they had kept a boat in Fort Josephine, but if the French had a boat, any boat, then this road was not their only approach. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said softly.
‘What, sir?’
‘They’re coming downriver.’
‘There’s that fellow again,’ Slattery said, pointing to the northern hill where, silhouetted against the sky, the horseman had reappeared. The man was standing in his stirrups now and waving his arms extravagantly.
‘Let’s go!’ Sharpe said.
The horseman must have been watching them all day, but his job was not just to watch, but to tell Colonel Vandal when the forces on the river were close to the house. Then the rest of the 8th would advance. Trapped, Sharpe thought. Some Frenchmen were coming by boat, others by road, and he was between them and then he was running down the crumbling staircase and shouting for the rest of his men who were lolling outside the kitchen to get down to the river. ‘We’ll fetch the brigadier!’ he told Harper.
The marquesa was in the brigadier’s room, watching as the doctor wrapped a bandage about a new splint that replaced Sharpe’s makeshift contraption. She saw the alarm on Sharpe’s face and gave a cackle. ‘So the French are coming,’ she taunted him, ‘the French are coming.’
‘We’re going, sir,’ Sharpe said, ignoring her.
‘He can’t finish this?’ The brigadier gestured at the half-wrapped bandage.
‘We’re going!’ Sharpe insisted. ‘Sergeant!’
Harper pushed the doctor aside and lifted the brigadier. ‘My sabre!’ the brigadier protested. ‘The crutches!’
‘Out!’ Sharpe ordered.
