‘And we’re back there.’ Sharpe pointed towards Lisbon, thirty miles to the south.
Hogan nodded. ‘It’s simple. He’ll never break the lines, never; they’re too strong. And he can’t go round; the Navy’s there. So here he stops, and the rains start, and in a couple of months he’ll be starving and we come out again to reconquer Portugal.’
‘And on into Spain?’ Sharpe asked.
‘On into Spain.’ Hogan sighed, waved again at the huge scar of the unbelievable fortress. ‘And we ran out of money. We had to get money.’
‘And you got it.’
Hogan bowed to him. ‘Thank you. Tell me about the girl?’
Sharpe told him as they rode towards Lisbon, crossing the second and third lines that would never be used. He remembered the parting after they had left the river fortress, unchallenged, and the Light Company, clumsily mounted on the Spanish horses, had bounced after Lossow’s Germans. One French patrol had come near them, but the Germans had wheeled to meet it, their sabres drawn in one hissing movement, and the French had sheered away. They had stopped beside the Coa and Sharpe had handed Teresa the one thousand gold coins he had promised.
She had smiled at him. ‘This will be enough.’
‘Enough?’
‘For our needs. We go on fighting.’
The wind had brought the stench of burning and death into the hills and Sharpe had looked at her, at the dark, hawklike beauty.
‘You can stay with us.”
She had smiled. ‘No. But you can come back. One day.’
He had nodded at the rifle slung on her shoulder. ‘Give it to Ramon. I promised.’
She looked surprised. ‘It’s mine!’
‘No.’ He had unslung his own rifle, checked the butt-plate, that all the cleaning equipment was there, and handed it across with his ammunition pouch. ‘This is yours. With my love. I’ll get another one.’
She had smiled, shaken her head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I. We’ll meet again.’
‘I know.’ She turned her horse and waved.
‘Kill a lot of French!’ he shouted.
‘All there are!’
And she was gone, galloping with her father and his men, her men, up to the secret paths that would lead them home, to the war of the knife and ambush, and he missed her, missed her.
He smiled at Hogan. ‘You heard about Hardy?’
‘Sad. He has a brother. Did you know?’
‘No.’
Hogan nodded. ‘A Naval Lieutenant. Giles Hardy, and just like his brother. Mad as a coot.’
‘And Josefina?’
Hogan smiled, sniffed his snuff, and Sharpe waited for the sneeze. Hogan wiped away the tears. ‘She’s here. You want to see her?’
‘Yes.’
Hogan laughed. ‘She’s rather celebrated now.” He did not explain.
They rode in the lengthening shadows down the paved highway into Lisbon. It was crowded with carts, carrying building stone, and with the labourers who were making one of the great wonders of the military world, a fortress covering five hundred square miles that would stop the French in the year of 1810 and would never be used again. Sharpe admired Wellington for a clever man, because no one, utterly no one outside Lisbon, seemed to know the lines existed, and the French, their tails up, would come hallooing down the southern road. And stop.
The South Essex, shorn of its Light Company, was up north and soon, Sharpe knew, they must march to join it. One battle more, Hogan had said, with any luck and a fair wind, and then the army would march south to the safety of its Lines, and Colonel Lawford had greeted him with open arms and waved a despatch at Sharpe.
‘Reinforcements, Richard! They’re on their way! You can bring them up from Lisbon! Officers, Sergeants, two hundred and seventy men! Good news!’
The ships had still not come, beating down from Plymouth on the journey that could take seven days or seven weeks, and Sharpe was content to wait. He slid, with relief, off the horse and gave Hogan the reins.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’
The Major nodded, scribbled on a piece of paper. ‘That’s her address.’
Sharpe smiled his thanks, turned, but Hogan called after him.
‘Richard!’
‘Sir?’
‘We needed that gold. Well done.’