Ducos turned the smile on Sharpe and kept it on his face as he made an obscene gesture. He made a loop with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and thrust his right forefinger repeatedly into the loop. ‘La Aguja, yes? The needle. We all know what we do with needles. We thread them.’
The sword came from the scabbard so fast that even Dubreton, standing at Sharpe’s elbow, could not have stopped the movement. The steel glittered in the candle light, swooped as Sharpe leaned far over the table, and the tip stopped one inch from the bridge of Ducos’ nose. ‘Do you wish to repeat that, Major?’
The room was utterly still. Sir Augustus yelped his syllable. ‘Sharpe!’
Ducos did not move. A tiny pulse throbbed beneath the pox-scarred cheek. ‘She is a foul enemy of France.’
‘I asked if you cared to repeat your statement? Or give me satisfaction.’
Ducos smiled. ‘You’re a fool, Major Sharpe, if you think I’ll fight a duel with you.’
‘Then you’re a fool to provoke one. I’m waiting for your apology.’
Dubreton spoke in quick French, and Sharpe guessed he ordered the apology for Ducos shrugged then looked back to Sharpe. ‘I have no words base enough for La Aguja, but for the insult to you, M’sieu, I offer you my regrets.’ It was said grudgingly, scornfully.
Sharpe smiled. The apology had been graceless and insufficient and he moved the sword blade, fast, and this time Ducos did react for the steel tip had grazed his left eyebrow and struck the spectacles from his nose. He reached for them and stopped. The blade blocked his hand. ‘How well do you see me now, Ducos?’ Ducos shrugged. He looked myopic and defenceless without the two, thick lenses. ‘You’ve had my apology, M’sieu.’
‘It’s difficult to thread a needle when you’re half blind, Ducos.’ The heavy steel rapped on one lens, shattering it. ‘Remember me, your enemy.’ The sword blade struck on the second lens and then Sharpe leaned back, reversed the sword, and thrust it home.
‘Sharpe!’ Farthingdale looked with disbelief at the broken glasses. It would take Ducos weeks to replace them.
‘Bravo, sir!’ Harry Price was drunk, happily drunk. Even the French officers, disliking Ducos, grinned at Sharpe and thumped the table with approval.
Dubreton walked back to his chair and looked at the outraged Sir Augustus. ‘Major Sharpe showed restraint, Sir Augustus. I must apologize if one of the officers under my command is both offensive and drunk.’
Ducos smouldered. There had been two insults; that he was drunk, which he was not, and that he was under Dubreton’s orders, which was equally untrue. A dangerous man, Sharpe knew, and a man whose emnity could stretch far into the future.
Dubreton sat, tapped ash onto a plate, and turned to Sir Augustus. ‘Do I have your decision, Sir Augustus?’
Farthingdale touched the white bandage that hid part of his silver hair. His voice was very precise. ‘You wish us to leave the valley at nine tomorrow morning, yes?’
‘Indeed.’
‘After which you have orders to destroy the watchtower?’
‘Yes.’
‘Following which you will go home.’Precisely!’ Dubreton smiled, poured brandy and offered the bottle towards Sharpe.
Sharpe shook his head. He blew out a plume of smoke. ‘Why do you want us to leave the valley before you destroy the watchtower? Couldn’t we watch from the Castle?’
Dubreton smiled, knowing the question to be as false as the information he had already given to Sir Augustus. ‘Of course you can watch.’
Farthingdale frowned at Sharpe. ‘Your interest is laudable, Major, but Colonel Dubreton has already given us good reason why it would be sensible for us to leave.’
Dubreton nodded. ‘We have another three Battalions of Infantry in the next village.’ He shrugged, and swirled the brandy in his glass. ‘They have come as a marching exercise, a hardening of young troops, and much as I appreciate your company, Major, I fear that too many troops in the valley might be explosive.’
So Dubreton was willing to reveal part of his hand, Sharpe guessed because the Colonel had realized that Farthingdale could be scared off with numbers. Sharpe leaned back. ‘You have orders to destroy the watchtower?’