Bernard Cornwell – 1812 10 Sharpe’s Enemy

`Yes.’

‘Strange.’

Dubreton smiled. ‘It has been used in the past by Partisans. It is a danger to us, but not to you, I would suggest.’

Sharpe tapped his own cigar ash onto the floor. He heard the laughter of the women in the next room. ‘I thought these hills were little used by ourselves, yourselves, or the partisans. Four Battalions seem a strong force to destroy one small tower.’

‘Sharpe!’ Farthingdale had lit one of his own cigars, longer and fatter than Dubreton’s. ‘If the French want to make a fool of themselves by blowing up a useless tower, then it’s none of our business.’

‘If the French want something, sir, then it’s our business to deny it them.’ Sharpe’s voice was harsh.

‘I don’t need you to tell me my duty, Major!’ Sir Augustus’ voice was angry. Dubreton watched silent. The hand touched the bandage again, ‘Colonel Dubreton had given us his word. He will withdraw when his task is done. There is no need for a useless confrontation in this valley. You may wish a fight, Major, to burnish your laurels, but my job is done. I have destroyed Pot-au-Feu, retaken our deserters, and our orders are to go home!’

Sharpe smiled. They were not Farthingdale’s orders, they had been Kinney’s orders, and now Kinney was in his grave looking westward at the hills, and Farthingdale had fallen into this command. Sharpe blew smoke at the ceiling, looked at Dubreton. ‘You will go home?’

‘Yes, Major.’

‘And you call yourselves `the Army of Portugal’, yes?’

Silence. Sharpe knew he was right. The French maintained three armies in the west of Spain; the Army of the North, the Army of the Centre, and the Army of Portugal. Dubreton’s home was across the border, his words had been deliberately misleading, though not enough to compromise his honour.

Dubreton ignored Sharpe. He looked, instead at Sir Augustus, and he put steel into his voice. ‘I have four Battalions of infantry, Sir Augustus, and can summon more within a day. I have my orders, however foolish they may seem, and I intend to carry them out. I will begin my operations at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. I leave the choice to you whether you care to obstruct them.’

Dubreton knew his man. Sir Augustus saw the odds, and saw the French bayonets coming through the war-smoke, and he folded spinelessly in front of the threat. ‘And you say we can withdraw unmolested?’

‘Our truce is extended to nine o’clock in the morning, Sir Augustus. That should give you ample time to distance yourself from Adrados.’

Farthingdale nodded. Sharpe could hardly believe what he was seeing, though he had known other officers like this, officers who had bought their way to high rank without ever seeing the enemy and who ran away the first moment they did. Farthingdale pushed at the table, scraping his chair back. ‘We will leave at dawn.’

‘Splendid!’ Dubreton raised his brandy glass. ‘I drink to such sense!’

Sharpe dropped his cigar butt on the floor. ‘Colonel Dubreton?’

‘Major?’

Sharpe had cards to play now, but in a different game, and he must play them carefully. ‘Sir Augustus had led a gallant attack today, as you can see.’

‘Indeed.’ Dubreton looked at the white bandage. Farth-ingdale’s peevish face looked suspiciously at Sharpe.

‘I’ve no doubt, sir, that the story of this morning’s attack will bring nothing but glory to Sir Augustus.’ Farthingdale’s face, in the presence of such praise, showed only more suspicion. Sharpe raised an eyebrow. ‘Sadly the despatch will have to record that Sir Augustus received an injury while leading troops into the breach.’ Sharpe leaned forward. ‘I have known times, Colonel, when such an injury caused a serious relapse during the night.’

‘We must pray that doesn’t happen, Major.’ Dubreton said.

‘And we’ll be grateful for your prayers, sir. However, if it does, then the command of the British troops will fall on my unworthy shoulders.’

‘So?’

‘And I will exercise that command.’

‘Sharpe!’ Farthingdale protested, quite rightly. ‘You take too much on yourself, Major! I have made my decision, given my word, and I will not tolerate this insult. You will accept my orders!’

‘Of course, sir. I apologize.’

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *