‘I know.’ Sharpe shrugged. ‘But I want the Hope.’
‘You’ll die.’
‘Ask Wellington for me.’
The Irishman frowned. ‘You’re just hurting in your pride, that’s all. In two months, it will be a bad dream, I promise.’
‘Maybe. I still want the Hope.’
‘You’re a stubborn, bloody fool.’
Sharpe laughed again. ‘I know. Colonel Windham says I need humility.’
‘He’s right. It’s a wonder any of us like you at all, but we do.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll talk to the General for you, but I’m making no promises. ‘ He gathered the reins into his hand. ‘Would you give me a leg up? If it’s not beneath your dignity. ‘
Sharpe grinned, heaved the Major on to his horse. ‘You’ll ask him for me?’
‘I said I’d talk to him, didn’t I? It’s not his decision, you know that. It belongs to the General of the attacking Division.’
‘But they listen to Wellington.’
‘Aye, that’s true. ‘ Hogan pulled on the reins, and then checked himself. ‘You know what tomorrow is?’
‘No.’
‘Tuesday, March the seventeenth.’
‘So?’ Sharpe shrugged.
Hogan laughed. ‘You’re a heathen; an unrepentant, doomed heathen, so you are. St Patrick’s Day. Ireland’s day. Give Sergeant Harper a bottle of rum for being a good Catholic.’
Sharpe grinned. ‘I will.’
Hogan watched the South Essex break up step as they marched over the bridge, followed by Sharpe and his raggle-taggle of women, children, servants, and mules. Hogan was saddened. He counted the tall Rifleman as a friend. Perhaps Sharpe was arrogant, but Hogan, along with all the engineering in his head, kept more than a little of Shakespeare. In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility. But this was not peace, this was a horrid campaign and tomorrow, St Patrick’s Day, the army would start digging towards Badajoz. Hogan knew that stillness and humility would not capture the fortress. Time might, but Wellington would not give them time. The General was worried that the French field armies, bigger than the British, might march to the rescue. Badajoz must be taken swiftly, paid for in blood, and the assault would come soon, too soon, perhaps even before Lent was over. Hogan did not relish the prospect. The wall could be closed up with the English dead. He had promised he would talk to Wellington, and so he would, but not as Sharpe had hoped. Hogan would do a friend’s duty. He would ask the General, if it were possible, that Sharpe’s request should be refused. He would save Sharpe’s life. It was, after all, the very least he could do for a friend.
PART THREE
St Patrick’s Day, March 17th
to
Easter Sunday, March 29th 1812
CHAPTER 12
If a man could have found a new-fangled hot air balloon and flown it over Badajoz, he would have looked down at a city shaped like the quarter segment of a cogged wheel. The castle, ancient stone on rock, was the giant axle boss. The north and east walls were spokes, leaving the axle at right angles to each other, while the south and west walls joined in a long, rough curve that was studded with seven huge cogs.
It was impossible to attack from the north. The city was built on the bank of the River Guadiana, wider at Badajoz than the Thames at Westminster, and the only approach lay across the long, ancient stone bridge. Every yard of the bridge was covered by the guns mounted on the city’s north wall while, across the river, the bridge entrance was guarded by three outlying forts. The largest, San Cristobel, could house more than two regiments. The French were sure that there could be no attack from the north.
The east wall, the other spoke, was more vulnerable. At its northern end was the castle, high and huge, a fortress that had dominated the landscape for centuries, but south of the castle, the city wall was on lower ground and faced towards a hill. The French knew the danger and, just where the castle hill dropped steeply to the lower city, they had dammed the Rivillas stream. Now the vulnerable east wall was protected by a sheet of flood water, as wide as the river to the north, and running far to the south of the city. As Hogan had said to Sharpe; only the navy could attack across the new lake, unless the dam could be blown up and the lake drained.