“I am, yes.” Sharpe was not surprised that Ardiles knew his business, for he had made no secret of his quest, yet he was taken aback by the abrupt and jeering manner of the Captain’s asking and Sharpe’s reply had consequently been guarded, almost hostile.
Ardiles leaned closer to Sharpe. “I knew Vivar! I even liked him! But he was not a tactful man. Most of the army officers in Chile thought he was too clever. They had their own ideas on how the war should be lost, but Vivar was proving them wrong, and they didn’t like him for that.”
“Are you saying that his own side killed him?”
Ardiles shook his head. “I think he was killed by the rebels. He was probably wounded in the ambush, his horse galloped into deep timber, and he fell off. His body’s probably still out there, ripped apart by animals and chewed by birds. The oddest part of the whole thing, to my mind, is why he was out there with such a small escort. There were only fifteen men with him!”
“He was always a brave man,” said Sharpe, who had not heard just how small the escort had been and now hid his surprise. Why would a Captain-General travel with such a tiny detachment? Even in country he thought safe?
“Maybe more foolish than brave?” Ardiles suggested. “My own belief is that he had an arrangement to meet the rebels, and that they double-crossed him.”
Sharpe, who had convinced himself that Don Bias had been murdered by his own people, found this new idea grotesque. “Are you saying he was a traitor?”
“He was a patriot, but he was playing with fire.” Ardiles paused, as though debating whether to say more, then he must have decided that his revelation could do no harm. “I tell you a strange thing, Englishman. Two months after Vivar arrived in Chile he ordered me to take him to Talcahuana. That means nothing to you, so I shall explain.
“It is a peninsula, close to Concepcion, and inside rebel territory. His Excellency’s staff told Don Bias it was not safe to go there, but he scoffed at such timidity. I thought it was my chance to fight against Cochrane, so I went gladly. But two days north of Valdivia we struck bad weather. It was awful! We could not go anywhere near land; instead we rode out the storm at sea for four days. After that Don Bias still insisted on going to Talcahuana. We anchored off Punta Tombes and Don Bias went ashore on his own. On his own! He refused an escort. He just took a fowling-piece! He said he wanted to prove that a nobleman of Spain could hunt freely wherever His Spanish Majesty ruled in this world. Six hours later he came back with two brace of duck, and ordered me back to Valdivia. So what? You are asking. I will tell you what! I myself thought it was merely bravado. After all, he had made me sail for a week through waters patroled by the rebel navy, but later I heard rumors that Don Bias had gone ashore to meet those rebels. To talk with them. I don’t know if that is true, but on my voyage home with the news of Don Bias’s disappearance, we captured a rebel pinnace with a dozen men aboard and two of them told me that the devil Cochrane himself had been waiting to meet Don Bias, but that after two days they decided he was not coming, and so Cochrane went away.”
“You believed them?”
Ardiles shrugged. “Do dying men tell lies or truth? My belief, Englishman, is that they were telling the truth, and I think Don Bias died when he tried to resurrect the meeting with the rebels. But you believe Don Bias to be alive, yes?”
Sharpe hesitated, but Ardiles had favored him with a revelation, and Sharpe’s truth was nowhere near so dangerous, so he told it. “No.”
“So why are you here?”
“Because I’ve been paid to look for him. Maybe I shall find his dead body?” Because even that, Sharpe had decided, would give Louisa some small comfort. It would, at the very least, offer her certainty and if Sharpe could arrange to have the body carried home to Spain then Louisa could bury Don Bias in his family’s vault in the great cathedral in Santiago de Compostela.