There was a buzz of questions. The Lieutenant, glorious in the silvered Dragoon uniform, sounded bored. “The General requests that we keep posted, sir. But we’re not expecting the French to do anything.”
He rode away leaving the officers puzzled. Sharpe made his way towards Forrest to find out what he had missed, when he saw a familiar figure riding hard down the track. He walked into the road and held up a hand. It was Lieutenant Colonel Lawford and he was furious. He saw Sharpe, reined in, and swore.
“Bloody hell, Richard! Bloody, bloody, bloody hell! Bloody Spanish!”
“What’s happened?”
Lawford could barely contain his anger. “The bloody Spanish refused to wake up! Can you believe it?”
Other officers drew round. Lawford took off his hat and wiped his forehead; he had deep circles under his eyes. “We get up at two o’clock in the bloody morning to save their bloody country and they can’t be bothered to get out of bed!” Lawford looked round as though hoping to see a Spaniard on whom to vent his seething fury. “We rode over there at six. Cuesta’s in his bloody coach lying on bloody cushions and says his army is too tired to fight! Can you believe it? We had them. Like that!” He pinched a finger and thumb together. “We would have murdered them this morning! We could have wiped Victor off the map. But no. It’s manana, manana, tomorrow and tomorrow! There won’t be a bloody tomorrow! Victor’s no fool, he’ll march today. Damn, damn, damn.” The Honourable William Lawford stared down at Sharpe. “You know what happens now?”
“No.”
Lawford pointed towards the east. “Jourdan’s over there, with Joseph Bonaparte. They’ll join up with Victor, then we’ll have twice as many to fight. Twice as many! And there are rumours that Souk has scraped an army together and is coming from the north. God! The chance we lost today! You know what I think?” Sharpe shook his head. “I think the bastard wouldn’t fight because it’s Sunday. He’s got priests mumbling prayers round his bloody bed on wheels. Bloody Catholics! And there’s still no bloody food!”
Sharpe felt the tiredness course through him. “What do we do now?”
“Now? We bloody wait. Cuesta says we’ll attack tomor-row. We won’t because the French won’t be there.” Lawford dropped his shoulders and let out a sigh. “Do you know where Hill is?”
Sharpe pointed along the track and Lawford rode on. Damn the Spaniards, thought Sharpe, damn everything. He was officer of the day and he would have to organise the picquets, inspect the lines, scrape together some supplies from the Commissary, who would have none. He would not be able to see Josefina. There would be no battle, no Eagle, not even a taste of garlic sausage. Damn.
CHAPTER 17
“I saw a man today. ,
“Yes?” Sharpe looked over at Josefina. She was sitting naked on the bed with her knees drawn up and trying to file her toe-nails on the edge of his sword. She was laughing at her attempts, and then she dropped the blade and looked at him. “He was lovely. A blue coat with white bits here.” She brushed her breasts with her hands. “And lots of gold lace.”
“On a horse?”
She nodded. “And there was a bag hanging down. ,
“His sabretache. And a curved sword?” She nodded again and Sharpe grinned at her. “Sounds like the Prince of Wales Dragoons. Very rich.”
“How do you know?”
“All cavalrymen are rich. Unintelligent, but rich.”
She cocked her head in her characteristic gesture and frowned slightly. “Unintelligent?”
“All cavalry officers are. The horse has all the brains and they have all the money.”
“Ah, well.” She shrugged her bare shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. I have enough brains for two.” She looked at him and grinned. “You’re jealous.”
“Yes.” He had picked up her penchant for honesty. She nodded seriously.
“I’m bored, Richard.”
“I know.”
“Not with you.” She looked up from her toe-nails and stared at him gravely. “You’re good for me. But we’ve been here a week and nothing is happening.”
Sharpe leaned forward and tugged his boots up over the overalls. “Don’t worry. Something will happen tomorrow.”