They all looked pleased, bashful and pleased, and Sharpe nudged a Sergeant beside him. ‘Three cheers for her Ladyship?’
‘Oh yes, sir, of course, sir.’ The Sergeant beamed at the men. ‘Three cheers for her Ladyship! Hip, hip, hip!’
‘Hooray!’ They bellowed it twice more, startling the cat on the roof tiles, and Josefina acknowledged it graciously. She nodded to them all, finishing with Sharpe and he could have sworn that she gave him a wink as her head inclined.
He went back to the flag, grinning. It was a morning of surprises. A Christmas tree for Christmas day, Josefina for Sir Augustus Farthingdale, and in the east three horsemen to trouble Christmas morning. The shadows in the pass resolved themselves into a skirmish line that climbed towards the Gateway of God, the Companies in column behind it. Sharpe looked up at the flag and his instinct still told him that trouble was in the windless air, that this Christmas held other surprises yet to come.
CHAPTER 11
Lieutenant Colonel Kinney sent his Fusiliers in open order for the last few yards of the scramble uphill. There was still a possibility that Pot-au-Feu might open fire with his captured Spanish guns, though the prisoners taken in the night swore that two of the cannon were in the watchtower while the third remaining in the deserters’ hands was mounted on the east wall of the Castle and unable to bear on the pass. Kinney nevertheless took no chances.
Sharpe experienced a sudden regret because he was no longer the senior officer in the Gateway of God. Kinney now outranked him, Sir Augustus Farthingdale too, and Sharpe presumed that the single Major of the Fusiliers was also his superior. Kinney slid from his horse at the Convent gate and held a hand out to Sharpe, ignoring the salute. ‘Well done, Major, well done!’
Kinney was generous in his praise, embarrassingly so, effusive about the difficulties of a night march, a silent approach, and an assault on a building that incurred no serious casualties among the attackers. Sharpe introduced Frederickson, Cross and Price, and Kinney spread his praise liberally among them all. Sir Augustus Farthingdale was less forthcoming. He dismounted stiffly, helped by his servant, and twitched the silk scarf that was tucked into the high collar of his cavalry cloak. Beneath the cloak he slapped a riding crop against his boots. ‘Sharpe!’
‘Sir.’
‘So you were successful!’
‘Happily yes, sir.’
Farthingdale grunted, sounding far from happy. His aquiline nose was red from the cold, the mouth more peevish than usual. The crop still slapped against the leather. ‘Well done, Sharpe. Well done.’ He managed to make the praise sound grudging. ‘Lady Farthingdale well, is she?’
‘Perfectly, sir. I’m sure she’ll be relieved to see you.’
‘Yes.’ Farthingdale fidgeted, his eyes looking without interest at the Castle and the village. ‘So what are, you waiting for, Sharpe? Take me to her.’
‘Of course, sir. I’m sorry, sir. Lieutenant Price?’ Sharpe nominated Price as Sir Augustus’ guide to his ‘bride’. Sir Augustus turned at the Convent steps, removed the bicorne hat from his sleek silver hair, and nodded at Kinney. ‘Carry on, Kinney!’
‘Does the man think I’m planning to go to sleep?’ The comment was made loud enough for Sharpe to hear. Kinney had obviously had a difficult time with Sir Augustus during the long night march and now the Welshman kicked at a stone, sending it skittering against the Convent wall. ‘God damn it, Sharpe, but she must be a remarkable woman to bring Sir Augustus all this way?’
Sharpe smiled. ‘She’s a beauty, sir.’
Kinney looked east where his Battalion were forming up well out of canister range from Castle or watchtower. ‘What do we do now, eh?’ The question was not aimed at Sharpe. ‘Let’s clear the beggars out of the village, then look at the Castle.’
‘The watchtower, sir?’
Kinney turned towards it. The two guns in the watch-tower, if they existed, could fire into the flank of any attack made on the fallen east wall of the Castle. If there was to be a fight at the Castle, then the watchtower would have to be taken first. Kinney scratched his cheek. ‘You think the buggers will fight?’