Whether prompted by the sight of the fire or by the lateness of the hour, Jose decided to leave, and Sharpe, crouching in the shadows at the tree-line, watched as the horsemen wheeled and spurred their horses back to the east. The Company was alone.
‘Lieutenant!’
Knowles came from the fire. ‘Sir.’
‘We’re going back. Tonight.’ He watched Knowles to see if there was any reaction, but the north countryman nodded as if the news was not unexpected. Sharpe was obscurely disappointed. ‘We won’t take the wounded. Sergeant Read can take them on to Almeida. Give him three men to help and tell him to find a convoy going back over the Coa. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And we’ll split up tonight. I’ll go ahead with the Riflemen; you follow. You’ll find us in the graveyard at Casatejada.’
Knowles scratched his head. ‘You reckon the gold’s in there, sir?’
Sharpe nodded. ‘Maybe. I want to look, anyway.’ He grinned at the Lieutenant, infecting him with his enthusiasm. ‘Arrange that, Robert; then let me know if there are any problems.’
Night dropped swiftly and the darkness seemed to Sharpe to be doubly thick. The moon was hidden behind looming clouds that slowly, infinitely slowly, blotted out the stars, and a small, chill breeze, that came from the north reminded Sharpe that the weather had to break. Let it not be tonight, he thought, for rain would slow them, make the difficult journey even more hazardous, and he needed to be in Casatejada while the darkness still reigned. To his surprise, his pleasure, the news that they were not going on to Almeida seemed to excite the men. They grinned at him, muttered that he was a bastard, but there was a restlessness about the Company that spoke of a need to fulfil their job. Knowles came back, a shadow in the darkness.
‘Any problems?’
‘Only Read, sir. Wants a paper.’
Sharpe laughed. Sergeant Read was as fussy as a broody hen and doubtless thought that his small band was in more danger from their own side than from the French. If the provosts found a small group wandering away from their battalion they could assume they had found deserters and get out their long ropes. Sharpe scribbled with a pencil on a page from Knowles’s notebook, not knowing in the darkness if the words were even legible. ‘Give him that.’ Knowles did not leave and Sharpe could hear him moving restlessly. ‘What is it?’
The Lieutenant’s voice was low, worried. ‘Do you know the gold is there, sir?’
‘You know I don’t.’
There was a pause; Knowles shifted from foot to foot. ‘It’s a risk, sir.’
‘How?’ Sharpe knew that his Lieutenant was not lacking in courage.
‘I thought Major Kearsey ordered you back to the army, sir. If he comes back and finds us poking round Casatejada he won’t exactly be happy. And El Catolico won’t welcome us with open arms. And…’ His voice trailed away.
‘And what?’
‘Well, sir.’ Knowles crouched down so he was closer to Sharpe, his voice even lower. ‘Everyone knows you were in trouble with the General after those provosts, sir. If Kearsey complains about you, sir, well…’ He ran out of words again.
‘I could be in even more trouble, yes?’
‘Yes, sir. And it’s not just that.’ His words suddenly tumbled out as if he had been storing the speech for days, or even weeks. ‘We all know the gazette hasn’t come through, sir, and it’s so unfair! Just because you were once a Private they seem to be doing nothing, and the Eagle counts for nothing.’
‘No, no, no.’ Sharpe stopped the flow. He was embarrassed, touched, even surprised. ‘The army isn’t unfair, just slow.’
He did not believe that himself, but if he let himself express his real thoughts, then the bitterness would show. He remembered the elation of the moment, a year before, when the General had gazetted him a Captain, but since then there had been only silence from the Horse Guards. He wondered whether the gazette had already been refused and no one dared tell him; that had happened before and battalion commanders had made up the pay themselves. Damn the army, damn the promotion system. He looked at Knowles.