Bernard Cornwell – 1812 10 Sharpe’s Enemy

There was a straw torch in the bracket outside the door and Sharpe took it and led the way into the great hall where Pot-au-Feu had reigned in shabby state. The balcony extended to the hall and Sharpe walked onto it and ordered the two soldiers who stood there with lit pipes to make themselves scarce. He lay the torch on the balustrade and turned to look at the white face of the cavalry Colonel. ‘I think we understand each other, Sir Augustus. You have committed His Majesty’s troops to rescue a Portuguese whore.’

‘No, Sharpe!’

‘Then pray tell me what we did do?’

The fight was gone from Farthingdale, but he was not surrendering. His hands flapped weakly. ‘We came to destroy Pot-au-Feu, to rescue all the hostages!’

‘A whore, Colonel. A whore I knew three years ago, and I knew her well. How is Duarte, her husband?’

‘Sharpe!’

‘Do you want a list of others who’ve been there, Colonel? In that nice house with the orange trees? Or shall I simply send a letter to one of the English papers? They’d like the story of how we stormed a Convent to rescue the whore Sir Augustus Farthingdale claimed was his wife.’

Sir Augustus was trapped, caught fast. He had played with fire and the flames had burned him. Sharpe glanced into the hall to make sure no one was near. ‘We have to stop them, here, Sir Augustus, and I don’t think you’re the man to do it. Have you ever defended against a French attack?’

The head shook miserably. ‘No.’

‘The drums never stop, Colonel, at least not until you’ve beaten the bastards and they take a hell of a lot of beating. I’ll tell you now. We can’t hold all three buildings, we don’t have the men, so I’ll give up the Convent first. They’ll put guns in there, and once they’ve taken the watchtower, which they will, they’ll put guns up there as well. It’s like being in a meat grinder, Colonel. The bastards are turning the handle and all you can do is hope the bloody blades don’t touch you. Do you want to conduct this defence?’

‘Sharpe?’ It was a plea.

‘No. You can leave here with your reputation intact, Colonel, and you can take the whore with you. I’ll say nothing. You say that your wound is hurting you, making you faint, and you hand the command to me. Do you understand? Then, at dawn, you’ll go. I’ll give you four men as an escort, but you go.’

‘This is blackmail, Sharpe!’

‘Yes it is. And it’s war as well. Now what do you want? Me to say nothing? Or shall I tell your pretty tale all about the army?’

Farthingdale accepted, as Sharpe had known he would. There was no pleasure in humiliating the man, and none at all in jeopardizing Josefina’s wealth. The thin, handsome face looked pitiably at Sharpe. ‘You’ll say nothing?’

‘On my honour.’

Clouds had spread far to the south, shrouding the moon, thickening the promise of rain or snow. Sharpe waited as Sir Augustus went back to his room to make his announcement, an announcement that regretted his health, that said he and Lady Farthingdale were moving to the Convent, that Major

Sharpe was in command. In command. A month ago he had led twenty-eight men, tonight he had near eight hundred with Gilliland’s men. Some men took responsibility whether it was offered or not.

He walked back into the room when Sir Augustus and Josefina had left and he was greeted by a babble of voices. Most of the officers were confused, awed by the turn in their fortunes, fearing that Sharpe had drawn them all a very short straw, and they clamoured for detail, for explanation, and Sharpe cut through the noise.

‘Quiet!’

He took the papers from the clerk’s desk, the orders for withdrawal, and he tossed them onto the fire. They watched, some seeing their hopes burning in the fire.

‘Our task, gentlemen, is to hold this pass for at least forty-eight hours. This is how it will be done.’ He brooked no questions, no discussion, not even when he ordered a bemused Lieutenant Price to have Patrick Harper capture as many live birds as he could.