He smiled. ‘Yes.’ If he did not, then she was dead. El Catolico would want revenge on her.
Inside the small room they pulled off dust-covers and sat in comfortable chairs. Sharpe was tired, bone-tired, and his shoulder was aching with a deep, throbbing pain. He trimmed a candle wick, waited for the flame to grow, and talked softly.
‘You all know what’s happening. We’re ordered to surrender the gold tomorrow. Captain Lossow is ordered to leave; we are ordered to stay.’
He had already told them as they searched the houses, but he wanted to go over it, to look for the flaws, because he still hoped that the decision would prove unnecessary.
Lossow stirred in his chair. ‘So it’s all over?’ He frowned, not believing his own question.
‘No. Whether Cox likes it or not, we go.’
‘And the gold?’ Teresa’s voice was steady.
‘Goes with us.’
By some strange instinct they all relaxed, as if the statement were enough. ‘The question is,’ Sharpe went on, ‘how?’
There was silence in the room. Harper looked asleep, his eyes closed, but Sharpe guessed that the Irishman was way ahead of the others. Knowles pummelled his chair-arm in frustration. ‘If only we could get a message to the General!”
‘We’re too late. Time’s run out.’
Sharpe did not expect them to provide an answer, but he wanted them to think through the steps, to know the argument, so that when he provided the solution, they would agree.
Lossow leaned forward into the candlelight. ‘Cox won’t let you go. He thinks we’re stealing the gold.’
‘He’s right.’ Teresa shrugged.
Knowles was frowning. ‘Do we break out, sir? Make a run for it?’
Sharpe thought of the granite-faced ditches, the rows of cannon, the bent tunnels in the gateways with their portcullises and grim-faced sentries.
‘No, Robert.’
Lossow grinned. ‘I know. Murder Brigadier Cox.’
Sharpe did not smile. ‘His second in command would back up his orders.’
‘Good God! I was joking!’ Lossow stared at Sharpe, suddenly convinced of the Rifleman’s seriousness.
Somewhere a dog barked, perhaps in the French camp, and Sharpe knew that if the British survived this campaign, if he did his duty this night, then it would all have to be done again. Portugal reconquered, the border fortresses retaken, the French beaten not just from Spain but from all Europe. Lossow must have mistaken his expression for despair.
The German spoke softly. ‘Have you thought of abandoning the gold?’
‘No.’ It was not true. He took a deep breath. ‘I can’t tell you why, I don’t know how, but the difference between victory and failure depends on that gold. We have to take it out.’ He nodded at Teresa. ‘She’s right. We are stealing the gold, on Wellington’s instructions, and that’s why there are no explicit orders. The Spanish’ – he shrugged apologetically at the girl – ‘God knows they’re difficult allies. Think how much worse if they had written proof of this?’ He leaned back. ‘I can only tell you what I was told. The gold is more important than men, horses, regiments, or guns. If we lose it the war is over; we’ll all go home, or more likely end up as French prisoners.’
‘And if you do take it?’ Teresa was shivering.
‘Then the British will stay in Portugal.’ He shrugged. ‘I can’t explain that, but it’s true. And if we stay in Portugal, then next year we’ll be back in Spain. The gold will go with us.’
Knowles snapped his fingers. ‘Kill El Catolico!’
Sharpe nodded. ‘We’ll probably have to. But Cox’s orders are still for the gold to go to the Spanish.’
‘So…’ Knowles was about to ask how. He shrugged instead.
Teresa stood up. ‘Is your coat upstairs?’
Sharpe nodded. ‘Cold?’ She still had only the thin white dress. He stood up as well, thinking of his fear of El Catolico. ‘I’ll come with you.’
Harper and Lossow stood, but Sharpe waved them down. ‘We’ll be all right, a minute, no more. Think about it, gentlemen.’
He led the way up the stairs, peering into the darkness, and Teresa put a hand out to him. ‘You think he’s here?’
‘I know he is.’