Dubreton understood. ‘They went south?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long ago?’ Sharpe told him and Dubreton’s face was mischievous. ‘We have cavalry.’
‘I’d noticed, sir.’
‘I think we could help.’
Sir Augustus, seeing things run away from his careful control, pushed his horse forward. ‘Are you suggesting the French chase our fugitives, Sharpe?’
Sharpe turned an innocent face onto the Colonel. ‘That seems to be why they’re here, sir. I can’t really see how we can stop them.’
Dubreton cut in smoothly. ‘I would suggest, Sir Augustus,
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that we fight together under a truce. We will not attempt to disturb your occupation of the Castle, the Convent or the watchtower. You, in turn, will allow us to bivouac in the village. In the meantime our cavalry will drive the fugitives back to this valley where the infantry can wait for them.’
‘His Majesty’s Army is quite capable of managing its own affairs, Colonel.’ Farthingdale was appalled at the suggestion.
‘Of course it is.’ Dubreton glanced once at the bodies, back to Sir Augustus. ‘The truth is, Sir Augustus, that our Dragoons started their sweep an hour ago.’ He smiled deprecatingly. ‘If you prefer that we should fight for the honour of capturing them then I assure you that the Emperor’s army is also quite capable of managing its own affairs.’ That was a couple of fine aces to lay on the table. Sir Augustus took refuge in questions.
‘You’ve begun? A truce, do you say?’ Dubreton smiled patiently.’
‘We have begun, Sir Augustus. Shall we say we anticipated your generous help? And why not a truce? It’s Christmas Day, there always used to be a Truce of God on such a day, so why not for us? Can I suggest till midnight tonight? Perhaps we can discuss what happens after that at dinner tonight. You will do us the honour of being our guests?’
‘Till midnight?’ Sir Augustus made it another question, buying more time for his thoughts to probe every suspicion that he had of this proposal, but Dubreton pretended to mistake the inflection.
‘Splendid! We are agreed! Till midnight, then, and you will be our guests?’
Sharpe smiled at the deftness of Dubreton’s handling of Sir Augustus. ‘I’m sure we can accept with pleasure, sir, on one condition.’
‘A condition? For dinner?’
‘That we supply the cook, sir.’
Dubreton laughed. ‘You supply the cook? You offer that to a Frenchman! You Riflemen are braver than I thought.’
Sharpe enjoyed his next words. ‘Pot-au-Feu, with our compliments.’
‘You have him?’
‘In our kitchens. If I’m eating with you tonight, then I’d rather he was in yours.’
‘Splendid, splendid!’ Dubreton looked at Sir Augustus. ‘We are agreed then, Sir Augustus?’
Farthingdale was still suspicious, far from happy, but he was being forced to take guidance from the one man who did understand the enemy and how to fight them. Sharpe. More important, Sharpe understood when not to fight. Sir Augustus inclined his handsome, thin head. ‘We are agreed, Colonel.’
‘Do I have your permission to ride to the Convent?’
Farthingdale nodded.
Dubreton spoke briefly to the cavalrymen, watched them spur towards the village, then walked his horse between Sharpe’s and Sir Augustus’ and once again the conversation dropped into French. It sounded polite, the small talk of enemies on a sunlit Christmas Day and Sharpe dropped back so that he was alongside Harper. He grinned at the big Irishman. ‘We’ve got new allies, Patrick. The French.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Harper took pride in showing no surprise. ‘Whatever you say, sir.’
CHAPTER 15
Christmas afternoon was as festive as any man could have wished. At first the Fusiliers were disbelieving, then delighted, then they had mixed happily with Dubreton’s Battalion as they formed a rough cordon that waited for the fugitives to be chased from the hills. Within an hour no Frenchman was wearing a French shako, all wore British, and men exchanged uniform buttons, liquor, food, tobacco, and sought out translators so they could exchange memories of shared battles.
A half hour after that, the first fugitives appeared. It was mostly women and children who came first, those who had little to fear from capture, and the women sought out troops of their own side and begged them for protection. Behind them there was an occasional faraway sound of a Dragoon’s carbine chivvying a laggard.