‘Thank you, sir.’ He glanced at the barrels going into the dark interior of the cathedral. ‘You seem well prepared.’
Cox nodded happily. ‘We are, Sharpe, we are. Filled to the gunwales and ready to go.’ He nodded at the cathedral. That’s our magazine.’
Sharpe showed his surprise and Cox laughed. ‘The best defences in Portugal and nowhere to store the ammunition. Can you imagine that? Luckily they built that cathedral to last. Walls like Windsor Castle and crypts like dungeons. Hey presto, a magazine. No, I can’t complain, Sharpe. Plenty of guns, plenty of ammunition. We should hold the Froggies up for a couple of months.’ He looked speculatively at Sharpe’s faded green jacket. ‘I could do with some prime Riflemen, though.’
Sharpe could see his Company being ordered on to the main ramparts and he swiftly changed the subject. ‘I understand I’m to report to Major Kearsey, sir.’
‘Ah! Our exploring officer! You’ll find him in the place nearest to God.’ Cox laughed.
Sharpe was puzzled. ‘I’m sorry, sir?’
‘Top of the castle, Sharpe. Can’t miss it, right by the telegraph. Your lads can get breakfast in the castle.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Sharpe climbed the winding stairs of the mast-topped turret and, as he came into the early sunlight, understood Cox’s reference to nearness to God. Beyond the wooden telegraph with its four motionless bladders, identical to the arrangement in Celorico, Sharpe saw a small man on his knees, an open Bible lying next to a telescope at his side. Sharpe coughed and the small man opened a fierce, battling eye.
‘Yes?’
‘Sharpe, sir. South Essex.”
Kearsey nodded, shut the eye, and went back to his prayers, his lips moving at double speed until he had finished. Then he took a deep breath, smiled at the sky as if his duty were done, and turned an abruptly fierce expression on Sharpe. ‘Kearsey.’ He stood up, his spurs clicking on the stones. The cavalryman was a foot shorter than Sharpe, but he seemed to compensate for his lack of height with a look of Cromwellian fervour and rectitude. ‘Pleased to meet you, Sharpe.’ His voice was gruff and he did not sound in the least pleased. ‘Heard about Talavera, of course. Well done.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Kearsey had succeeded in making the compliment sound as if it had come from a man who had personally captured two or three dozen Eagles and was encouraging an apprentice. The Major closed his Bible.
‘Do you pray, Sharpe?’
‘No, sir.’
‘A Christian?’
It seemed a strange conversation to be having on the verge of losing the whole war, but Sharpe knew of other officers like this who carried their faith to war like an extraordinary weapon.
‘I suppose so, sir.’
Kearsey snorted. ‘Don’t suppose! Either you’re washed in the blood of the Lamb or not. I’ll talk to you later about it.’
‘Yes, sir. Something to look forward to.’
Kearsey glared at Sharpe, but decided to believe him. ‘Glad you’re here, Sharpe. We can get going. You know what we’re doing?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘One day’s march to Casatejada, pick up the gold, escort it back to British lines, and send it on its way. Clear?’
‘No, sir.’
Kearsey had already started walking towards the staircase, and, hearing Sharpe’s words, he stopped abruptly, swivelled, and looked up at the Rifleman. The Major was wearing a long, black cloak, and in the first light he looked like a malevolent small bat.
‘What don’t you understand?’
‘Where the gold is, who it belongs to, how we get it out, where it’s going, do the enemy know, why us and not cavalry, and most of all, sir, what it’s going to be used for.’
‘Used for?’ Kearsey looked puzzled. ‘Used for? None of your business, Sharpe.’
‘So I understand, sir.’
Kearsey was walking back to the battlement. ‘Used for! It’s Spanish gold. They can do what they like with it. They can buy more gaudy statues for their Romish churches, if they want to, but they won’t.’ He started barking, and Sharpe realized, after a moment’s panic, that the Major was laughing. ‘They’ll buy guns, Sharpe, to kill the French.’
‘I thought the gold was for us, sir. The British.’