The courtyard gradually filled with officers from the dozen Battalions bivouacked in the village. The heat of the day mellowed into a warm, clear evening, and the stars came out like the camp fires of a limitless army seen far away. From the main room of the inn came the sound of music and cheering as the officers egged on the Spanish dancers to twitch their skirts higher.
Sharpe pushed his way through the crowded room and glimpsed Simmerson and his cronies sitting playing cards at a corner table. Gibbons was there, he was now perma-nently attached to Simmerson’s staff, and the unpleasant Lieutenant Berry. For a second Sharpe thought about the girl. He had seen her once or twice since the return from the bridge and felt a surge of jealousy. He pushed the thought away; the officers of the Battalion were split enough as it was. There were Simmerson’s supporters, who toadied to the Colonel and assured him that the loss of the colour had been no fault of his, and there were those who had publicly supported Sharpe. It was an uncomfort-able situation but there was nothing to be done about it. He passed out of the room into the courtyard and found Forrest, Leroy, and a group of Subalterns sitting beneath one of the cypress trees. Forrest made room for him on the bench.
“Don’t you ever take that rifle off?”
“And have it stolen?” Sharpe asked. “I’d be charged for it.”
Forrest smiled. “Have you paid for the stocks yet?”
“Not yet.” Sharpe grimaced. “But now I’m officially on the Battalion’s payroll, I suppose it will be deducted from my pay, whenever that arrives.”
Forrest pushed a wine bottle towards him. “Don’t let it worry you. Tonight the wine’s on me.”
There was an ironic cheer from the officers round the table. Unconsciously Sharpe felt the leather bag round his neck. It was heavier by six gold pieces, thanks to the dead on the field at Valdelacasa. He drank some wine.
“It’s filthy!”
“There’s a rumour,” Leroy said drily. “I hear that when they tread the grapes they don’t bother to get out of the wine-press to relieve themselves.”
There was a moment’s silence and then a chorus of disgusted voices. Forrest looked dubiously into his cup. “I don’t believe it.”
“In India,” Sharpe said, “some natives believe it very healthy to drink their own urine.”
Forrest looked owlishly at him. “That cannot be true.”
Leroy intervened. “Perfectly true, Major, I’ve seen them do it. A cupful a day. Cheers!”
Everyone round the table protested but Sharpe and Leroy stuck to their story. The conversation stayed with India, of battles and sieges, of strange animals, of the palaces that contained unimaginable wealth. More wine was ordered and food brought from the kitchens, not the pork that smelt so tantalisingly from the lines but a stew that seemed to consist mainly of vegetables. It still felt good to be sitting there. Sharpe stretched his legs under the table and leaned back against the cypress trunk letting the tiredness of the day flow through him. Over the sound of talk and laughter he could hear the thousands of insects that chattered and clicked through the Spanish night. Later he would walk over the stream and visit his company, and he let his thoughts wander, not too many miles away, to where he knew a group of French officers would be sitting just like this and where their men would be cooking on fires like the ones across the stream. And somewhere, perhaps propped in the corner of a room in an inn just like this one, would be the Eagle. A hand hit him on the back.
“So they’ve made you a Captain! This army has no standards!” It was Hogan. Sharpe had not seen him since the day they marched back from the bridge. He stood up and took the Engineer’s hand. Hogan beamed at him. “I’m delighted! Shocked, of course, but delighted. Congratula-tions!”
Sharpe blushed and shrugged. “Where have you been?”
“Oh, looking at things.” Sharpe knew that Hogan had been reconnoitring for Wellesley, coming back with news of which bridges could take the weight of heavy artillery, which roads were wide enough for the army to use. The Captain had obviously been forward to Oropesa and perhaps beyond. Forrest invited him to sit and asked for news.