The horsemen were cantering toward Sharpe and Harper. One of the leading riders had a large black hat and a scarlet sash. He stood in his stirrups and waved, as if to signify that he meant no harm. Sharpe checked that the longboat with its cargo of armed sailors was close enough to offer him support, then waited.
“There’s that bastard Blair!” Harper exclaimed.
“Where?”
“White horse, six or seven back.”
“So it is,” Sharpe said grimly. The merchant and British Consul was among the horsemen who, like himself, were mostly middle-aged and prosperous-looking men. Their leader, the man wearing the scarlet sash, slowed as he neared Sharpe.
“Are you Cochrane?” he called in Spanish.
“Admiral Cochrane is following. He’ll be here soon,” Sharpe replied.
“We’ve come to surrender the town to you.” The man reined in his horse, took off his hat, and offered Sharpe a bow. “My name is Manuel Ferrara, I have the honor to be the alcalde of Valdivia, and these gentlemen are senior and respected citizens of our town. We want no trouble, senor. We are merely merchants who struggle to make a poor living. As you know, our sympathies have always been with the Republic, and we beg that you will treat us with the respect due to civilians who have taken no part in the fighting.”
“Shut up,” Sharpe said. He pushed past the offended and astonished Mayor to reach Blair. “You bastard.”
“Mister Sharpe?” Blair touched a nervous hand to his hat.
“You’re supposed to look after British interests, you bugger, not suck Bautista’s tits because you’re frightened of him!”
“Now, Mister Sharpe, be careful what you say!”
“You shit-faced son of a whore.” Sharpe took hold of Blair’s right boot and heaved up, chucking the Consul bodily out of his saddle. Blair gave a yelp of astonishment, then collapsed into the mud on the far side of the horse. Sharpe steadied the beast, then mounted it himself. “You!” he said to the Mayor, who was still protesting his undying loyalty to the ideals of liberty and republicanism.
“Me, senor?”
“I told you to shut up. I don’t give a fart for your republics. I’m a monarchist. And get off your damned horse. My friend needs it.”
“My horse? But this is a valuable beast, senor, and—”
“Get off,” Sharpe said, “or I’ll blow you off it.” He drew one of his two pistols and cocked it.
The Mayor hastily slid off his horse. Harper, grinning, heaved himself into the vacated saddle. “Where’s Bautista?” Sharpe asked the Mayor.
“The Captain-General is in the Citadel. But his men don’t want to fight.”
“But Bautista wants to fight?”
“Yes, senor. But the men think you are devils. They say you can’t be killed!” The Mayor crossed himself, then turned fearfully as a shout from the river announced the arrival of Lord Cochrane and his boats.
“All of you!” Sharpe shouted at the Mayor’s nervous deputation. “Off your horses! All of you! Now!” He kicked his heels to urge Blair’s white horse forward. “What’s this flag?” He gestured at the ornate coat of arms.
“The flag of the town of Valdivia, senor,” the Mayor answered.
“Hold on to it, Patrick!”
Cochrane jumped ashore, roaring with questions. What was happening? Who were these men? Why had Sharpe tried to race ahead?
“Bautista’s holed up in the Citadel,” Sharpe explained. “Everyone else in Valdivia wants to surrender, but Bautista doesn’t. That means he’s waiting for your boats and he’ll fire on you. But if a small group of us go ahead on horseback we might just fool them into opening the gates.”
Cochrane seized a horse and shouted for others of his men to find themselves mounts. The remainder of his piratical force was to row upriver as fast as it could. The Mayor tried to make another speech about liberty and the Republic, but Cochrane pushed him aside and dragged himself up into his saddle. He grinned at Sharpe. “Christ, but this is joy! What would we do for happiness if peace came?” He turned his horse clumsily, rammed his heels back, and whooped as the horse took off. “Let’s go get the whores!”
His men cheered. Hooves thumped mud into the faces of the Mayor’s delegation as Sharpe and Harper raced after Cochrane. The rebellion was down to a spearhead of just twenty men, but with a whole country as their prize.