Sharpe gave the same answer.
This time he let himself be hit. He had only one weapon, and he used it. He pretended to be weaker than he was. He fell to the floor, groaning, and the Sergeant disdainfully pulled him up by his jacket collar and threw him against the wall. The Sergeant smiled in victory as he turned back to Ducos.
`Why did you rescue La Marquesa?’
`I needed a woman.’
This time Ducos did not nod to the Sergeant. He seemed to sigh. He took off his spectacles again, frowned, polished them with his handkerchief, then, with a small wince, hooked the wires back on his ears. `I believe you, Major. Your appetite would run to women like Helene, and doubtless you rut her capably. Tell me, did she ask the British for help?’
`Only for a rut. It seems the French don’t do it well enough for her.’
Sharpe braced himself for the blow, but again Ducos did not give the signal. He sighed again. `I should tell you, Mr Sharpe, that Sergeant Lavin is remarkably efficient at exacting words from reluctant talkers. He usually practises his art on the Spanish, but he has long wanted an Englishman.’ Ducos’ spectacles flashed two circles of grey light. `Indeed, he has wanted an Englishman for a long, long time.’
Sergeant Lavin, hearing his name, turned his squat, hard-eyed head and looked at Sharpe with disdain.
Ducos stood up and walked round the table, picking up Sharpe’s telescope as he came. `Before you are in no state to appreciate it, Major, I have a score to settle with you. You broke my spectacles. You put me to a deal of trouble!’ Suddenly, astonishingly, Ducos sounded angry. He seemed to control it, straightening his small body and frowning. `You deliberately broke my spectacles!’
Sharpe said nothing. It was true. He had smashed Ducos’ glasses in the Gateway of God. He had done it after Ducos had insulted Teresa, Sharpe’s wife. Now Ducos held Sharpe’s telescope. `A very fine instrument, Major.’ He peered at the brass plate. `September 23rd, 1803. We called it Vendemiaire Second, Year Ten.’ Ducos, Sharpe knew, regretted the abolition of the revolutionary calendar.
Sharpe pushed himself up from the wall. `Take it, Ducos, your army’s stolen everything else in Spain.’
`Take it! Of course not. You think I’m a thief?’ He looked back at the brass plate. `The reward for one of your acts of bravery, no doubt.’ He pulled the telescope open, revealing the polished inner brass tubes. `No, Major Sharpe. I’m not going to take it. I’m simply going to pay back the insult you offered me.’
With gritted teeth and sudden frenzy, Ducos swung the telescope by its eyepiece, slamming it on the stone floor and then swinging it again and again. A fortune in finely ground glass was being smashed by the small man who went on beating it, bending the tubes, scattering thick glass fragments on the stone floor. He dropped the telescope and stamped on it, splitting the brass tubes apart, then he kicked at them viciously, skittering them about the floor until, nothing left to kick at, he stood panting. He straightened his jacket and looked with a smile of pitiful triumph at the Rifleman. `You have paid me your personal debt, Mr Sharpe. An eye for an eye, so to speak.’
Sharpe had watched the destruction of his telescope, his valued telescope that had been a gift from Wellington, with mounting anger and frustration. He could do nothing. Sergeant Lavin had watched him and the bayonets had been in his ribs. He forced his anger down and nodded at the sword. `Do it to that, Ducos.’
`No, Mr Sharpe.’ Ducos was behind the table, sitting again. `When they ask me how you died, I shall say that I offered you parole, you accepted, and that you then attacked me with the sword I had politely returned to you. My life will be saved by Sergeant Lavin.’ The Frenchman smiled. `But I truly hate violence, Mr Sharpe. Would you believe me if I said I do not wish you dead?’
`No.’
Ducos shrugged. `It’s true. You can live. You can walk out of here with your sword. We won’t exchange you, of course, you’ll spend the rest of the war in France. We might even civilise you.’ Ducos smiled at his joke and looked down at the papers. `So tell me, Mr Sharpe, or even Major Sharpe if it makes you feel better, did Helene seek British help?’