‘Sharpe! Who’s that?’
‘Peters, sir. Thank God you’re here. ‘
He saw the man’s shape, crouched beneath a bush beside the water. He went close. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Don’t know, sir. Captain went forward, sir. ‘ Peters pointed towards the dam. ‘That was ten minutes ago, sir. Left me here. Do you think they’ve gone, sir?’
‘No. Stay here. ‘ He patted the man’s shoulder. ‘They’ll come back this way. You’ll be all right.’
Rymer and the sappers could not be far away, being remarkably silent, and Sharpe waded up the stream, the water up to his knees, and waited for a challenge. It came twenty yards from the dam, just beneath the fort, where small trees arched up over the Rivillas. ‘Who goes there?’
‘Sharpe!’ He whispered. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Hakeswill.’ There was a hint of a chuckle. ‘Come to help?’
Sharpe ignored it. ‘Where’s Captain Rymer?’
‘Here!’ The voice came from beyond Hakeswill and Sharpe pushed past the Sergeant, smelling the man’s breath, and saw a glint of gold from Rymer’s uniform. ‘The Colonel sent me. He’s nervous.’
‘So am I.’ Rymer offered no further information.
‘What’s happening?’
‘The powder’s laid, the sappers have gone back, and Fitchett’s up there. He should be putting in the fuse!’ Rymer sounded nervous and Sharpe could understand it. If the dam blew now, by mistake, then the Company would be caught by a wall of water.
There were footsteps from the rampart of the fort, just thirty feet above them, and Sharpe heard Rymer draw in breath. The footsteps sounded casual. Rymer began to breath out. ‘Oh, God! No!’
A flicker of flame, the size of a candle, that seemed to waver, go out, then spring up fierce and bright. In its light Sharpe could see two men, blue uniformed, who held the carcass and then tossed it out over the ravine so that it fell, sparks flying up from it, down to the streambed. Pieces of burning straw exploded from the carcass, it rolled on the ravine side, tumbling flame, and plunged into the stream. It hissed. The flames flickered, trying to hold the top edge, and then died. Rymer’s breath came out in a long, long sigh. Sharpe put his mouth close to Rymer’s ear. ‘Where are your men?’
‘Some here. Most have gone.’
The answer was not much help. Another flame appeared on the ramparts, grew like die first, and this time the French held it longer so that the fire caught fiercely on the oil-soaked straw so that it blazed like a signal beacon. They rolled it over the edge, it bounced once, spraying sparks, and then caught on a thorn bush. The thorns crackled and flared and in the sudden light Sharpe could see the Engineer Lieutenant, Fitchett, crouching motionless by a stack of barrels. The French must see him!
But the French were not sure what they were looking for. Orders had come to look in the ravine, and so they peered over the edge and saw strange dark shadows, which was what a man expected to see at night, and they saw no movement so they relaxed. Sharpe could see the two men clearly. They seemed glad to be away from the front of the fort, were talking and laughing, and then they jerked upright, disappearing from sight, and there came the bark of an order and he supposed an officer had come to the rampart.
Fitchett moved. He began scrambling towards Rymer and Sharpe, trying to move silently, but he was panicked by the burning carcass and he slipped, falling into the stream. A shout from the rampart, an officer’s head leaning over the stone, and Fitchett had the sense to freeze and Sharpe saw the officer turn and shout a command. Flames came again on the rampart, a third carcass, and Sharpe knew they would have to fight. Rymer stared up at the fort, his mouth open.
Sharpe nudged him. ‘Shoot the officer.’
‘What?’
‘Shoot the bastard! You’ve got Riflemen, haven’t you?’
Rymer still did not move so Sharpe took his own Baker rifle, lifted the frizzen to check with a finger that the powder was still in the pan, and then aimed it up, through the stark thorn branches, towards the rampart. Rymer seemed to wake up. ‘Don’t fire!’