Bernard Cornwell – 1812 10 Sharpe’s Enemy

‘Six Battalions, Richard. They’re in a village three miles down the road.’ She gestured eastwards. ‘And that’s not all.’

‘Goon.’

‘Five miles beyond them there’s more. Far more. We saw five batteries of guns, maybe six. More cavalry, more infantry, and big carts. Supply carts.’

‘Jesus.’ He felt himself sobering fast in the cold air, under the impact of Teresa’s news.

The Partisans were moving, spurred by Nairn’s request, and Teresa had ridden with a dozen men north and east. With instinctive wariness she had circled towards her destination, coming at Adrados from the east, and in the Christmas dusk she had seen the French troops that were hidden in the valley and aimed like a lance towards Portugal. She guessed ten French Battalions, at least, maybe more, and Sharpe knew that those troops had not been marched into the winter hills just to subdue Pot-au-Feu.

For what, then? To conquer north Portugal, as Nairn had suggested? That seemed a paltry ambition, a feather to lay in the scale against the leaden weight of the French defeat in Russia, but what then? Why was a French corps this far north, when the real prizes would be to recapture the border fortresses of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz? If the Peer lost those towns then the campaign of 1813 would be set back by weeks, even months.

Teresa clung to his arm. ‘Why do they say they’re here?’

‘The same reason as us. To destroy Pot-au-Feu.’

‘Bastard liars.’

Sharpe shivered in the cold. He could see the fires at the watchtower and he thought of Frederickson preparing a defence, but a defence that had never been designed to beat off batteries of artillery and massed infantry.

Teresa’s face was pale in the darkness. ‘So what will you do?’

‘It’s not up to me. I’m not in command.’

‘Major?’

‘Yes?’

She laughed. ‘A Major! Are you pleased?’

He laughed. ‘Yes.’

‘Patrick’s pleased. He says you deserve it. I hope you’re not going to run away from them.’

‘Not if I can help it.’ He turned and looked at the village. ‘No. We won’t run away, but we’ll need help.’

She nodded, turning with him. ‘My men are riding for help in the morning.’ She named a half-dozen Partisan leaders who were within a day’s ride.

‘And you?’

She pulled her cloak tight about her. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Go west. Take a message to our lines. So far they don’t even know there are any French in the valley.’

She nodded. ‘And the message?’

‘That we’re holding the Gateway of God.’

She liked that, smiling in the darkness, her teeth white and even. She looked north. ‘I’ll go soon, tonight, before the snow.’

He wished she would wait till morning, but she was right, and Sharpe despised himself for needing her protection against his assignation at half past three. There would be no assignation, not this night, because he had a defence to prepare and a battle to fight in the dawn. Teresa seemed to sense his thoughts for she smiled at him, and her voice was teasing. ‘I think the whore-bitch will be safe from you tonight.’I think so.’

They walked slowly towards the lights in the village street and Teresa brought out a wrapped package from beneath her cloak and handed it to him. ‘Open it.’

Sharpe pulled the string open, undid the cloth wrapping, and there was a doll inside the parcel. He moved closer to the light, and smiled. The doll was a Rifleman. Teresa seemed worried. ‘You like it?’

`It’s beautiful.’

‘I made it for Antonia.’ She wanted Sharpe to like it. He held it into the light and he saw the care and trouble that had gone into the tiny uniform. The doll was just six inches high, yet the green jacket showed every piece of black piping, small loops intricate at the facings crossed by a thin, black crossbelt. The face was carved from wood. He lifted off the tiny black-peaked shako and saw black hair beneath.

‘Wool.’ She smiled. ‘I was going to give it to her for Christmas. Today. It will wait.’

‘How is she?’

‘Lovely.’ Teresa took the doll back and began to wrap it with delicate care. ‘Lucia looks after her.’ Lucia was Teresa’s sister-in-law. ‘She’s very good with her. I suppose she has to be, we’re not the best parents in the world.’ She shrugged.

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