“That is a most dangerous thing to feel for a young woman; responsibility can lead to affection, and affection thus born, I think, is not so lasting as…“ Vivar’s voice faded away. Sharpe had pulled his ragged and torn shirt over his head, and the Spaniard stared with horror at his naked back. ”Lieutenant?“
“I was flogged.” Sharpe, so used to the terrible scars, was always surprised when other people found them remarkable. “It was in India.”
“What had you done?”
“Nothing. A Sergeant didn’t like me, that’s all. The bastard lied.” Sharpe plunged his head under the frigid water, then came up gasping and dripping. He unfolded his razor and began scraping at his chin’s dark stubble. “It was a very long time ago.”
Vivar shuddered, then, sensing that Sharpe would not talk further about it, dipped his own razor in the water. “Myself, I do not think the French will kill Louisa.”
Sharpe grunted, as if to intimate that he did not really care one way or the other.
“The French, I think,” Vivar went on, “do not hate the English as much as they hate the Spanish. Besides, Louisa is a girl of great beauty, and such girls provoke men’s feelings of responsibility.” Vivar waved his razor towards Sharpe as proof of the assertion. “She also has an air of innocence which, I think, will both protect her and make de l’Eclin believe her.” He paused to scrape at the angle of his jaw. “I told her she should weep. Men always believe weeping women.”
“That could make him take her damned head off,” Sharpe said harshly.
“I would be most sorry if they did,” Vivar said slowly. “Most sorry.”
“Would you?” Sharpe, for the first time, heard the betrayal of genuine emotion in the Spaniard’s voice. He stared at Vivar, and repeated the question accusingly, “Would you?”
“Why ever should I not? Of course, I hardly know her, but she seems a most admirable young lady.” Vivar paused, evidently contemplating Louisa’s virtues, then shrugged. “It’s a pity she’s a heretic, but better to be a Methodist than an unbeliever like yourself. At least she’s halfway to heaven.”
Sharpe felt a pang of jealousy. It was evident that Bias Vivar had taken more of an interest in Louisa than he had either detected or believed possible.
“Not that it matters,” Vivar said casually. “I hope she lives. But if she dies? Then I shall pray for her soul.”
Sharpe shuddered in the cold, wondering how many souls would need prayers spoken before the next two days were done.
Vivar’s expedition trudged through a thin cold rain which pecked at the day’s dying.
They followed mountain paths that twisted over barren spurs and led through wild valleys. Once they passed a village sacked by the French. Not a building remained intact, not a person was in sight, not an animal still lived. Nor did one of Vivar’s men speak as they passed the charred beams from which the rain dripped slow.
They had started well before noon, for there were many miles to travel before dawn. Vivar’s Cazadores led. One squadron of the cavalry was mounted to patrol the land ahead of the march. Behind those picquets came the dis-mounted Cazadores, leading their horses. Behind them were the volunteers. The two priests rode just in front of Sharpe’s Riflemen who formed the rearguard. The strongbox travelled with the two priests. The precious cargo had been strapped to a macho, a mule whose vocal cords had been slit so it could not bray to warn the enemy.
Sergeant Patrick Harper was pleased to be marching to battle. The white silk stripes were bright on his ragged sleeve. “The lads are just fine, sir. My boys are delighted, so they are.”
“They’re all your boys,” Sharpe said, by which he meant that Harper’s especial responsibility extended beyond the group of Irish soldiers.
Harper nodded. “So they are, sir, and so they are.” He gave a quick glance at the marching greenjackets and was evidently satisfied that they needed no injunction to move faster. “They’ll be glad to be having a crack at the bastards, so they will.”
“Some of them must be worried?” Sharpe asked, hoping to draw Harper out about a rumoured incident earlier in the week, but the Sergeant blithely disregarded the hint.
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