Lossow coughed. ‘Strange, sir?’
Cox nodded. ‘Fellow arrives today, full fig, and tells me about the gold. It was the first I knew about it. He’s got an escort for it. Spanish Colonel. He’s called Jovellanos.’
Sharpe looked at Kearsey. He knew the answer. ‘Jovellanos?’
‘El Catolico.’ Kearsey stretched for the piece of paper and held the seal up to the candle before reading the words. ‘It’s in order, sir. Genuine.’
‘How the hell can it be in order?’ Sharpe’s right hand was gripped tight into a fist. ‘He’s a bloody bandit! A crook! He wrote the damned thing himself! We have orders, sir, from the General. From Lord Wellington. That gold goes to Celorico!’
Cox, who had been friendly, scowled at Sharpe. ‘I see no need for anger, Captain Sharpe. Colonel Jovellanos is here, my guest.’
‘But, sir’ – Lossow broke in, glancing at Sharpe sympathetically – ‘Captain Sharpe speaks the truth. We were told that the gold was important. It had to go to the lord Wellington.’
Cox took a deep breath, let it out, tapped his toe on the floor. ‘God damn it, gentlemen, I am facing a siege which will begin any day now. The enemy’s guns are in sight, the placements are being dug, and you bring me this?’
Sharpe repeated doggedly, ‘We have orders, sir.’
‘So you say.’ Cox picked up the paper. ‘Is there a junta for Castile?’
Kearsey nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘And does Joaquim Jovellanos have authority from it?’
Kearsey nodded again.
‘And the gold is theirs?’
The nod again.
The paper dropped on to the table. ‘The General gave me no orders!’
Sharpe sighed. An English Brigadier in the Portuguese army faced with a Spanish Colonel, an English Captain, a German cavalryman, Spanish gold, and no orders. He had an idea.
‘Sir, is the telegraph working?’
Lossow snapped his fingers. Cox frowned at the German. ‘Yes, Captain. There’s a relay station over the river, towards Pinhel.’
‘When can the first messages be sent?’
Cox shrugged. ‘Depends on the weather. Usually an hour after dawn.’
Sharpe nodded impatiently. ‘Would you, sir, consider a message to the General requesting orders concerning the gold?’
Cox looked at him, shrugged again. ‘Of course. First thing tomorrow?’
‘Please, sir.’
Cox stood up. ‘Good! Problem solved. I’ll tell Colonel Jovellanos tomorrow and you can get a night’s sleep. I must say you look as if you need it. Good God.’ He was peering at Sharpe’s shoulder. ‘You’re hurt!’
‘It will mend, sir.’ Sharpe finished his wine; damned if politeness would stop him. And damn Wellington, too, who had held the cards too close to his chest so that Cox, a decent man, was put in this position. ‘Sir?’
Cox turned away from the doorway. ‘Sharpe?’
‘How many men in Colonel Jovellanos’s escort?’
‘Two hundred, Sharpe. God save me, I wouldn’t want to meet them in a dark street.’
Nor I, thought Sharpe. Nor I. He stood up, waited for the Commander of the garrison to leave. Where was El Catolico he wondered. Upstairs asleep? Or watching from a darkened window?
Lossow, at least, understood. ‘My men will guard tonight.’
Sharpe smiled his thanks. ‘And tomorrow?’
The German shrugged, fitted his tall, plumed busby on to his head. ‘If we cannot leave at dawn, then at dusk, my friend.’
Cox put his head back round the door. ‘I forgot! Remiss of me! You’ll stay here, gentlemen? My orderlies can find beds.’
Kearsey accepted, the two Captains pleaded they would rather be with their men, and Cox wished them a good night at the front door as if he were a host bidding a genial farewell to valued dinner guests. ‘And sleep well! The message goes first thing!’
Knowles and Harper waited outside and with them two Germans, one of them a barrel of a Sergeant who grinned when he was told that the Partisans were in the town. Lossow looked from his Sergeant to Harper.
‘A good match!’
‘I’ll bet on the Irish.’ Sharpe said the words without offence, and Lossow laughed.
‘Home. We sleep!’
Knowles had done well, unbarring a huge house that stabled the Germans’ horses, housed everyone, and on the second floor, behind a huge, polished door, was a bedroom with a feather mattress, a canopied bed, rugs, and the smell of old wood and fresh sheets. Sharpe closed the door, cutting off the sounds of his men who were sharing wine with the Germans, and looked at the girl.