He turned back to Cox. ‘I’m sorry, sir?’
‘Are you deaf, Sharpe? The gold! Where is it?’
‘Don’t know, sir. Waited here, sir. As ordered, sir.’
Cox grunted, picked up a piece of paper, looked at it, and let it drop. ‘I’ve made a decision.’
‘Yes, sir. A decision, sir.’ Sharpe had adopted his erstwhile sergeant’s manner, always useful when faced by senior officers, and especially useful when he wanted to think of other things than the immediate conversation. Cox glanced up suspiciously.
‘I’m sorry, Sharpe. I only have your word for it, and Lossow’s. The gold is Spanish, obviously Spanish, and Colonel Jovellanos is an accredited representative of the government of Spain.’ He gestured at El Catolico, who smiled and bowed. Sharpe looked at the Partisan leader in his immaculate finery.
‘Yes, sir. Accredited representative, sir!’
The bastard must be handy with a pen, he thought, and it suddenly occurred to him that one of the fat coins would make a superb seal, pressed into the red wax with the ornate coat of arms downwards. He wondered how El Catolico had obliterated the writing round the edge of the coin, but then thought how he would do it himself with a file, or by hammering the soft gold flat.
Cox sighed. ‘You will deliver the gold to Colonel Jovellanos and his men, and you will do it quickly. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir. Understood!’ He was standing ramrod straight, staring at a point just above Cox’s head.
The Brigadier sighed. ‘I don’t think it is, Captain.’ Cox sat down wearily, pulled a sheet of paper towards him, uncapped his ink, and took a fresh goose-quill. ‘At ten o’clock tomorrow morning, Captain, twenty-seventh August 1810.’ He was writing quickly, paraphrasing the formal order as the quill scratched on the paper. ‘A detachment of my troops will take charge of the bullion…’ He paused; the room listened to the scrape of the pen.’… Led by…” Cox looked round the room, found one of his officers. ‘… Colonel Barrios.’ Barrios nodded, a formal gesture. ‘You, Colonel, will deliver the gold to Colonel Jovellanos, who will be ready to leave at the north gate.’ El Catolico nodded, clicked his heels for attention. Cox looked up. ‘Colonel?’
El Catolico smiled. His voice was at its silkiest. ‘I was hoping to persuade you, sir, to allow myself and some of my men to stay and help in your gallant defence.”
Sharpe could not believe it. The bastard. He had as much intention of staying as Sharpe had of handing over the gold.
Cox smiled, blinked with pleasure. ‘That’s uncommonly decent of you, Colonel.’ He gestured at the paper. ‘Does it change anything?’
‘Only that the gold, sir, could be handed to Senor Moreno, or one of my Lieutenants.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Cox dipped the quill, scratched out some words. ‘To the Spanish contingent of Colonel Jovellanos.’ He raised an eyebrow to El Catolico. ‘I think that covers it.’
El Catolico bowed. ‘Thank you, sir.’ He shot a look of triumph at Sharpe. ‘And, sir?’ El Catolico bowed again. ‘Could the transfer be tonight?’
Sharpe held his breath, let it out slowly as Cox spoke. The Brigadier was frowning, looking at the paper.
‘Ten o’clock will do, Colonel.’ Sharpe suspected he did not want to cross out the top lines of the closely written order. Cox smiled at El Catolico, gestured at Sharpe. ‘After all, Captain Sharpe can hardly leave!’
El Catolico smiled politely. ‘As you say, sir.’
So what was the bastard playing at? Why the suggestion that he might stay on? Sharpe stared at the tall Spaniard, trying to fathom the motive. Could it be just to curry favour with Cox? Sharpe doubted it; the Spaniard was getting most of what he wanted without trying. Except that El Catolico did want one thing more. Sharpe thought of the dark hair on the pillow, the slim body on the stiff, white linen sheets. The Spaniard wanted the girl, and his revenge, and if it could not be tonight, then El Catolico would stay on till it was accomplished.
Sharpe was suddenly aware that Cox had spoken his name. ‘Sir?’
The Brigadier had pulled another sheet of paper forward. ‘At ten o’clock tomorrow morning, Captain, your Company will join my defences on the south wall.’ The pen splattered ink on the paper.