‘There he is, sir!’ The bugler pointed.
A Rifleman had burst out of the thorns where the stream ran into the valley. He glanced right at the French, saw he was in no danger, and sprinted towards the Castle. He was fit, whoever he was, running with Rifle and pouches, jumping the trench and coming to Sharpe. The man was breathing too hard to speak, but just held out a folded piece of paper. His breath made thick clouds in front of his face and he just managed to pant out the one word. ‘Sir!’
There was a strange drawing of a wild boar on the paper that Sharpe did not understand, a drawing over which a message had been scrawled in dark pencil. ‘You remember the F. Counter-attack at Salamanca? I can see it. Behind village. Ten Guineas says it’s Coming Your Way. Skirmishers All to the West. 8 Batt’s. Thought you promised me a fight! 2 F. Officers came too close. Bang bang. S.W.’ Sharpe laughed. Sweet William.
Eight Battalions? Dear God! And Sharpe had just sent half his Riflemen and a fifth of his muskets off into the thorns. Suppose the French attacked both positions? Suppose they cut Frederickson off from the Castle? He turned. ‘Ensign!’
‘Sir?’
‘My compliments to Mr Brooker, and he’s to come back as fast as he can! Captain Cross as well.’
The Ensign ran.
‘Gawd, sir!’ The bugler was staring at the village.
And so he should, by God. The Battalion that had moved south had done so to make way for the troops that were to assault the Castle, troops who spilled out into the valley, shepherded by mounted officers, troops who blackened the eastern end of the pasture land.
‘Oh God!’
‘Sir?’ The bugler was worried.
Sharpe was smiling, his head shaking in disbelief. ‘Lambs to the bloody slaughter, lad. Oh God, oh God, oh God!’ He turned. ‘Captain Gilliland!’
‘Sir?’ Gilliland came out from the shadow of the Gate-tower, out into the chill breeze.
‘Do you see that, Captain?’
Gilliland looked at the village, his face registeringdisbelief and shock. ‘Sir?’
‘Here beginneth the first lesson, Captain.’ Gilliland did not understand Sharpe’s sudden pleasure. ‘You’re going to see a French column, Captain. It’s the biggest bloody target in the world, and you’re going to tear it into shreds. Do you hear me, man?’ Sharpe was grinning with delight, the cold forgotten. ‘We’re going to murder them! Get your troughs out!’
Thank God for the Prince of Wales. Thank God for fat Prinny and his mad father, and thank God for Colonel Congreve, and thank God for a French General who was doing what any other soldier would do in his place. Sharpe grinned at the bugler. ‘You’re lucky to be here, lad! You’re lucky to see this!’
‘I am, sir?’
Sharpe stood on the rubble, the wind stirring his black hair, and a thought crossed his mind that perhaps the French planned to punch through the gap between Castle and Convent, but he could cope with that. The rockets could be swung round to face north as easily as they faced east, and he watched the cumbersome dressing of the French ranks in front of the village and he noticed how the centre line of the first rank was well to the road’s right, and he knew they were coming for him. He glanced at the watchtower. That growing mass would be a tempting target for Frederickson’s gun, but Sharpe had given orders that the gun was only to be used for the hill’s defence. Frederickson would have to bide his time.
He looked for the other Ensign who carried his messages, and he ordered three Companies of Fusiliers into the courtyard with all the remaining Rifles. The only problem now was the French skirmishers, a veritable cloud of them, and they must be kept decently back from the trench. He walked forward to the puny excavation.
Thirty yards were usable, and in those thirty yards Gilliland’s men were carving fifteen troughs in the parapet, troughs that aimed straight ahead, and Sharpe changed the angle so they covered the centre of the valley. He crouched behind the troughs, seeing where the rockets would go if they went in a straight line, and he saw where they would bisect the line of the attack just fifty yards ahead. He nodded. ‘Perfect!’