`Richard?’ Her voice was sleepy.
`Get dressed.’
`What is it?’
`Just get dressed!’
El Matarife spurred forward on an ugly roan horse. He looked up at the inn windows. `Vaughn!’
`Jesus!’ La Marquesa sat up. `What is it, Richard?’
`El Matarife.’
`Jesus.’
`Vaughn!’
Sharpe pushed the window open. The air was cold on his naked skin. `Matarife?’ He saw the alcalde of the town behind the horsemen, and next to him was a priest. He knew suddenly what had happened.
The Partisan leader rode close beneath the window. He stared up. His huge beard was beaded with moisture. Strapped on his back, next to a musket, was a great poleaxe, the weapon of a slaughterman. He grinned. `You see the man in the silver cloak, Major Vaughn?’
`I see him.’
`He is Pedro Pelera, my enemy. You know why today we are friends, Major Vaughn?’
Sharpe could guess. He could hear La Marquesa dressing, swearing softly under her breath. `Tell me, Matarife.’
`Because you offend our holy place, Major Vaughn. You fight the nuns, yes?’ El Matarife laughed. `You have ten minutes, Major Vaughn, to bring us La Puta Dorada.’
`And if I don’t?’
`You die anyway. If you come gently, Major, then I will kill you swiftly. If you do not? We shall come for you!’ He gestured towards his men. Sharpe knew he could not fight so many, not even by staying at the top of the ladder. They would merely blast the trapdoor with musketry. El Matarife drove the point home. `There’s no help coming, Major. Your boy fled. You have ten minutes!’
Sharpe slammed the window. `Christ!’
La Marquesa was wearing the dress she had fetched from the convent, a confection of blue silk and white lace. She was putting the jewels about her neck. `If I’m going to die I’ll die in bloody jewels.’
`I’m sorry, Helene.’
`Christ, Richard, don’t be so god-damned stupid!’ She said it with sudden, vivid anger.
He went to the back wall and thumped it, as if it might be thin enough to break through, yet he knew that the Partisans would have the inn surrounded. He swore.
`Are you going to die naked?’ Her voice was bitter. `How the hell did that bastard find me?’
Sharpe cursed himself. He should have known! He should have guessed that by breaking into the convent he would stir the whole countryside against him, and instead he had been so eager to share this bed that he had not given the danger a single thought.
He dressed swiftly, dressing as if for battle, yet he knew that it was over. This mad escapade in the hills would end in blood on a muddy street, with his death. He should have been hanged these four weeks ago, and instead he would die now. At least, he thought, it would be with a sword in his hand. `I’ll go and talk to them.’
`For Christ’s sake, why?’
`To get a promise for your safety.’
She shook her head. `You are a fool. You really believe there’s decency in the world, don’t you?’
`I can try.’ He pulled up the trapdoor. The room beneath was empty. He turned to look at her one more time and thought how splendid she was, how lovely even in anger. `Do you want my rifle?’
`To shoot myself?’
`Yes.’
`The Holy Grail isn’t that bloody precious.’ She looked at his face and shook her head. I’m sorry, Richard, I keep forgetting that you think it is. What are you going to do?’
`Fight them, of course.’
She laughed, though there was fear in the laugh. `God help you in peacetime, Richard.’
He fingered the sword hilt and hesitated. He knew he should not say it, but in ten minutes he would be dead, butchered by the Slaughterman or his men. He would take some of them with him, he would give them cause to remember fighting against a lone Rifleman. `Helene?’
She looked at him with exasperation. `Don’t say it, Richard.’
`I love you.’
`I knew you’d say it.’ She was putting the diamond earrings into her lobes. `But then you are a fool,’ She smiled sadly. `Go and fight for me, fool.’