There was a brief silence. Wellington snorted. ‘After food, I suppose?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘And round the town?’
Another piece of paper. ‘A loose ring, my lord. Mostly to the south where the artillery park is building. We know of just two battalions of foot and, of course, cavalry patrols.’
‘They’re slow, Hogan, slow!’
‘Yes, sir.’
Hogan waited. If the French were slow, all to the good, and the reports that filtered back from Partisans and exploring officers suggested that Massena was having problems assembling his transport, his siege materials, and, above all, his rations. There was also a rumour that he was with his mistress and reluctant to leave the comfort of her bedroom for the discomforts of the campaign. The General put his hand back on the map.
‘Nothing from the KGL?’
‘Nothing, sir.’
‘Damn, damn, damn.’ The words were spoken softly, almost reflectively.
He picked up a letter, postmarked London, and read it aloud, though Hogan suspected the words were known by heart.
‘”I write in confidence, trusting to your discretion that however precarious the position of the army it is matched by our own. An opposition rampant, a press malignant, an ailing monarch, and there can be no hopes for a further draft of monies before the autumn. We put our faith in your exertions.”‘ He put down the letter, dismissing the new government’s fears, and looked at the map. ‘I wonder where he is?’
It was not like the General, Hogan reflected, to articulate his worries. ‘If I know him, my lord, and I do, then I suspect he will be avoiding Almeida. Coming the direct way.’
‘He’d be better off in Almeida.’
‘He would, my lord, but no one could expect that. And in two days…’ Hogan shrugged. In two days the enemy would lock up the town as effectively as the countryside.
The General frowned, drummed the table with his fingers. ‘Do I warn Cox?’
The question was asked of himself, not Hogan, but the Irishman knew what was in Wellington’s mind. The fewer people who knew of the gold, the better. The Spanish government, in impotent obscurity at Cadiz, would assume the gold to have been captured by the French when the armies collapsed in the north, and if they were to discover that their allies, the British, had purloined it? No. The General’s fingers slapped down in finality; he would not burden Almeida’s commander with another problem.
‘If Sharpe is alive, Hogan, we’ll assume he does what you say. Avoid Almeida.’ He dismissed the problem, looked up at the Irishman. ‘How does the work go?’
‘Well, my lord, excellently. But…’
‘I know. The money. Can it wait a week?’
‘Ten days.’
Wellington’s eyebrows went up in mock surprise. ‘Some good news. Let’s hope for more.’
He passed on to other business, to a General Order that limited field officers’ leave in Lisbon to just twenty-four hours. If they couldn’t find a woman in that time, the General claimed, they might as well not stay on and look. There would be only one exception. The blue eyes looked at Hogan.
‘If that damned rogue gets back, give him a month.’
The damned rogue, with a hurting shoulder and a seething sense of frustration, was riding a horse into the intricate defences of Almeida. Lossow rode beside him.
‘I’m sorry, Sharpe. We had no choice!’
‘I know. I know.’
It was true, too, however grudgingly he admitted it. Every move was headed off by damned Frenchmen who seemed to be everywhere. They had been chased twice, lost a German trooper, and in the end, exhausted and hunted, they turned for the safety of the town. Sharpe had wanted to lay up in the country, travel in darkness, but the French were alerted and he knew that there was no sense in being chased ragged round the east bank of the Coa.
Straw torches, soaked in resin, flamed and smoked in the tunnelled gateway, casting lurid shadows on the Portuguese infantry who had dragged open the huge doors and now watched the tired men ride and walk into the town. The insides of Sharpe’s legs were sore; he hated riding horses, but Lossow had insisted. The gold was all on horseback, carried by the Germans, and Sharpe looked at them, all alert, and then at Lossow.