Bernard Cornwell – 1809 01 Sharpe’S Rifles

“They’re bastards, sir. Forgive me,” Sharpe blushed. “Were you in Santiago de Compostela when they arrived?”

“Their cavalry reached the northern edge of the town yesterday evening, which gave us time to make our escape. The Lord was very providential, I think.”

“Indeed, sir.”

Sergeant Williams, grinning broadly, stood to attention before Sharpe. “That’s all the holy books loaded up, sir. Want me to fetch the ladies?”

Sharpe looked at Parker. “Are you travelling on tonight, sir?”

Parker was clearly bemused by the question. “We’ll do whatever you think best, Lieutenant.”

“It’s up to you, sir.”

“Me?”

It was obvious that George Parker was as indecisive as his cousin, Sir Hyde, whose prevarication had nearly lost the battle of Copenhagen. Sharpe tried to explain what choices the family faced. “This road, sir, only goes east or west, and the French lie in both directions. I assume that now your books are safe, sir, you’ll have to choose one way or the other? They say the French behave well enough to innocent English travellers. You’ll doubtless be questioned, and there’ll be some inconvenience, but they’ll probably give you permission to travel south. Might I suggest Lisbon, sir? I’ve heard there’s still a small British garrison there, but even if the garrison’s sailed away, you should be able to find a British merchant ship.”

Parker stared worriedly at Sharpe. “And you, Lieutenant? What is your intention?”

“I can hardly depend on French forbearance, sir.” He smiled. “No, we’re going south, sir. We’d hoped to take the road from Santiago de Compostela, but since the bast – since the French are there, sir, we’ll cut across the hills.” Sharpe slapped one of the muddy wheels of the big coach. “No chance of that thing going with us, sir, so I fear you’ll have to ask French permission to cross their territory.”

Parker had been shaking his head for a few seconds. “I do assure you, Lieutenant, that my wife and I have no intention of humbling ourselves before the enemy so long as there is a viable escape for us. We shall travel south with you. And I can further assure you that there is a perfectly good southern road from this town. There!” He pointed to the bridge. “Just the other side of the river.”

Sharpe’s astonishment made him silent for a second. “There’s a road that goes south from here?”

“Precisely and exactly so? Otherwise I would hardly have dared come here for my testaments.”

“But I was told…“ Sharpe realized abruptly that there was no point in retelling Vivar’s assertion that no such southern road existed. ”Are you sure, sir?“

“I travelled it but a month ago.” Parker saw Sharpe’s hesitation. “I have a map, Lieutenant. You wish to see it?”

Sharpe followed Parker into the bookseller’s house. Mrs Parker, sitting massively by the fire, offered the greenjacket a suspicious glance.

“All the testaments are safe, my dear,” Parker said meekly, “and I wondered if we might peruse the map?”

“Louisa?” Mrs Parker demanded of her niece. “The map.”

The girl obediently crossed to a leather valise and searched among the papers. Sharpe deliberately kept his eyes away from her. Louisa Parker, from the glimpses he had already caught of her, was disturbingly pretty. She had a tall and slender grace, a brightly inquisitive face, and a clear skin unscarred by hardship or disease. A girl, Sharpe thought, to make a soldier twitch in his dreams, even if she was a God-damned Methodist.

Louisa brought the map to the table. George Parker attempted an introduction. “Louisa, my dear, you have not been named to Lieutenant…“

“Louisa!” Mrs Parker, evidently well aware of the dangers that soldiers presented to young girls, interrupted. “You will come here and sit!”

Sharpe unfolded the map in the ensuing silence.

Tt isn’t a very accurate map,“ Parker said humbly, as if he was personally responsible for its vagaries, ”but I assure you the road exists.“ He traced a thin black line which meant little to Sharpe who was still trying to find just where he was on the ill-printed sheet. ”The road meets the coastal route here, well south of Villagarcia,“ Parker continued, ”and I was hoping we might find a vessel here, at Pontevedra. I believe the Royal Navy patrols this coast and, God willing, perhaps a friendly fisherman can be persuaded to take us to one of their ships?“

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