Knowles had evidently lost his way, strayed hopelessly in the dark, and the young Lieutenant’s face was exasperated and tired as the red-jacketed men straggled into the village. He stopped when he saw the gold, and then turned to Sharpe again. His expression went to one of joy.
‘I don’t believe it.’
Sharpe picked up one of the coins and casually tossed it to him. ‘Spanish gold.’
‘Good God!’ The newcomers pressed round the Lieutenant, leaned over and fingered the coin. Knowles looked up. ‘You found it!’
Sharpe nodded at Harper. ‘Harps did.’
‘Harps!’ Knowles used the Sergeant’s nickname quite unconsciously. ‘How the devil did you do it?’
‘Easy, sir. Easy!’
Harper launched himself on the retelling of his exploit. Sharpe had heard it four or five times already, but this was the Sergeant’s achievement, and he must hear it again. Harper had been in the bushes, as Sharpe had told him, and listening to the sound of his Captain scrabbling at the grave. ‘Noisy! I thought he’d woken the dead, so I did, scratch, and all the time the light coming up.’ Then there had been noises, footsteps from the village. Harper nodded at Sharpe. ‘I knew he hadn’t heard a thing, still scratching away like the graveyard had fleas, so he was, and I thought I ‘m not going to move. The bastards might know about the Captain, but I was hidden away and better off there.’ He pointed at El Catolico, who stared back expressionless. ‘Then your man there comes round here, all on his own. Buttoning up his trousers, he was, and he peeks through the gate. So, I thought, going to jump on the Captain, are you? I was about to do a wee bit of jumping myself, but then he turns round, draws out his fancy sword, and pokes the bloody manure! So I knew then, sure enough, and when the bastard has gone off I poked in there myself.’ He grinned broadly, seemed to wait for applause, and Knowles laughed.
‘But how did you know?’
Sharpe interrupted. ‘This is the clever bit. Honest Sergeant Harper at work.’
Harper grinned, happy to bask in the approbation. ‘Would you ever have seen a pickpocket at work, sir?’ Knowles shook his head, muttered something about moving in different circles, and Harper’s grin grew even wider. ‘It’s like this, sir, so it is. There are two of you, right? One brashes against a wealthy man in the street, jostles him, you know how it is? You don’t hurt the man, but you wobble him off balance. So what does he do? He thinks you may have lifted his money so he immediately puts a hand on his pocket to see if it’s there. So your other man’s watching, sees which pocket he pats, and it’s as good as picked!’ He jerked, a thumb at the Partisan leader. ‘Silly bastard falls right into it. Hears that the Captain’s disturbing the worms so he can’t resist sneaking round to make sure that the stuff is still safe! And here it is!’
Knowles laughed. ‘How does a simple Irish lad from Donegal know about pickpockets?’
Harper raised a sage eyebrow. ‘We learn a lot of things in Tangaveane, sir. It’s surprising, sir, so it is, what you learn at your mammy’s knee.’
Sharpe walked over to the strewn manure. ‘How many more bags?’
Harper brushed his hands together. ‘That’s it, sir. Sixty-three bags; can’t see any more.’
Sharpe looked at his ebullient Sergeant. He was covered in dung, animal and human, his clothes slimy with liquid. He grinned.
‘Go and wash, Patrick. And well done.’
Harper clapped his hands. ‘Right, lads! Clean up time!’
Sharpe walked back to the gold and picked up another coin from the bag he had opened. It was a thick coin, he guessed weighing near to an ounce, and on one side was the arms of Spain, surmounted by a crown, and with a legend chased round its perimeter. He read it aloud, working his way slowly through the syllables. ‘”Initium sapientiae timor domini.” Do you know what that means, Lieutenant?’
Knowles looked at his coin and shook his head. Rifleman Tongue, the educated one, chimed in with a translation.