‘Price, sir.’
‘What is it?’
‘Someone to see you, sir. Downstairs.’
Sharpe swore. ‘Who?’
‘Major Hogan, sir?” Price made it a question, as if Sharpe might not recognize the name.
‘Good God! I’m on my way down!’
Teresa watched as he pulled on long boots and buckled the sword. ‘Is this the Hogan we send papers to?’
‘Yes. You’ll like him.’ He felt her dress, it was still damp. ‘You’ll come down?’
She nodded. ‘Soon.’
The main room of the inn was noisy, good natured, and boisterous. Sharpe pushed his way through the officers and saw Hogan, dripping wet, by the serving hatch. The Irish Major held out a hand in welcome, but gestured first at the officers. ‘They’re in good spirits.’
‘They think Badajoz will be easy.’
‘Oh.’ Hogan raised his eyebrows, then made room for Sharpe on the bench. ‘I hear you’re a father.’
‘Does anybody not know?’
‘Don’t be ashamed. It’s a fine thing, so it is. Wine?’
Sharpe nodded. ‘How are you?”
‘Cold, wet, busy. Yourself?’
‘Dry, warm and lazy. What’s the news?’
Hogan poured wine and took out his snuffbox. ‘The French are dithering like wet hens. They’re not trying to retake Ciudad Rodrigo, and they’re not sending troops to the south, instead they’re all sending letters to each other, blaming each other.’ Hogan raised his glass. ‘Your health, Richard, your family’s health.’
Sharp blushed self-consciously, but raised his glass. He watched Hogan take a vast pinch of snuff. ‘What are you doing here?’
The Major’s eyes watered, his mouth opened, and he sneezed fit to extinguish a chandelier. ‘Mary, Moses and Martha, but that’s powerful muck! Badajoz, Richard, always Badajoz. I’m taking a wee look and then reporting back to the Peer.’ He wiped his moustache. ‘Mind you, I don’t expect it to have changed much from the last year.’
‘And?’ Sharpe knew Hogan had been present at both failures to take Badajoz in 1811.
Hogan shrugged. ‘It’s a bastard, Richard, a real bastard. The walls are like the Tower of London, so they are, and you can add Windsor Castle up on that hill over the river. They’ve got ditches that can swallow an army.’ The Irishman shook his head. ‘I would not be hopeful.’
‘As bad as that?’
‘Who knows?’ Hogan swallowed wine. ‘It’s a big place, so it is, and they can’t defend every inch of those walls. I suppose the Peer will put in several attacks at once, I don’t know.’
Wellington probably would attack the walls in several different places, just as he had put three attacks on to Ciudad Rodrigo in the one night, but several attacks at once did not guarantee success. Old soldiers, men who had fought with Wellington in India, knew that he did not like siege work. The Peer was frugal with his men in battles, fought for their health between campaigns, but would throw them like random grapeshot at the walls of a fortress to shorten a siege. Sharpe shrugged. ‘It has to be done.’
‘As the virgin said.’ Hogan grinned. ‘What news of you?’
‘Not much.’ Sharpe traced the letter ‘A’ in spilt wine on the table, then scrubbed it out. ‘Recruits are joining us at Elvas. Two hundred men and officers, so we’re told, but no news of a Colonel. Have you heard?’
Hogan spat out an olive pip. ‘Not a word. I’ll bet you two cases of wine to one, that you’ll get one before the siege.’
‘Which starts when?’
Hogan thought about it, juggling an olive in his hand. ‘Three weeks? The guns are coming round by sea. Everything’s moving.’
Sharpe looked through the small window by the back door at the rain which was pelting down, ‘You’ll need better weather.’
Hogan shrugged. ‘It can’t rain for ever.’
“That’s what Noah’s brother said.’
Hogan smiled. ‘Aye, but at least he was spared shoveling elephant dung for forty days.’
Sharpe grinned. The Battalion would soon be shoveling mud, digging forward to the great fortress and, as he thought of Badajoz, his expression changed. Hogan saw the worry.
‘What’s the problem?’
Sharpe shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
‘Would it be that gazette, now?’
Sharpe gave a minute shrug. ‘I suppose so.’
‘They’re fool’s gold, sure enough, but they can’t take it away from you, not now.’