The lucky man now rode south under a sky so pale and blue that it seemed to have been rinsed by the recent winds and rains. Sharpe and Harper rode with the exquisitely uniformed Captain Marquinez ahead of an ebullient pack of young officers and their ladyfriends. The girls rode sidesaddle, what they called ‘English-style,’ provoking laughter in their companions by their loud cries of alarm whenever the road was particularly steep or treacherous. At those moments the officers vied in their attentions to hold the ladies steady. “The girls are not used to riding,” Marquinez confided to Sharpe. “They come from an establishment behind the church. You understand?” There was an odd tone of disapproval in Marquinez’s voice. Occasionally, when a girl’s laughter was particularly loud, Marquinez would wince with embarrassment, but on the whole he seemed happy to be free of Valdivia and riding into such lovely country. A dozen officers’ servants brought up the rear of the convoy, carrying food and wine for an outdoor luncheon.
They rode through wide vineyards, past rich villas and through white-painted villages, yet always, beyond the vines or the orchards or the tobacco fields, or behind the churches with their twin towers and high-peaked roofs, there were the great sharp edged mountains and deep swooping valleys and rushing white streams that cut like knives down from the peaks, above which, staining the otherwise clear sky, the smoke of two volcanoes smeared the blue with their gray-brown plumes. At other times, staring to their right, Sharpe and Harper could see ragged fingers of rocky land jutting and clawing out to an island-wracked sea. A ship, her white sails bright in the sun, was racing southward from Valdivia.
Luncheon was served beside a waterfall. Hummingbirds darted into a bank of wildflowers. The wine was heady. One of the girls, a dark-skinned mestizo, waded in the waterfall’s pool, urged by her friends ever farther into the deepening water until her skirt was hitched high about her thighs and the young officers cheered their glimpse of dark, tantalizing skin. Marquinez, sitting beside Sharpe, was more interested in a patrol of a dozen cavalrymen that idled southward on small, wiry horses. Marquinez raised a languid hand to acknowledge the patrol’s presence, then looked back to Sharpe. “What did you think of the Captain-General? ”
A dangerous question, and one that Sharpe parried easily. “He seemed very efficient.”
“He’s a man of genius,” Marquinez said enthusiastically.
“Genius?” Sharpe could not hide his scepticism.
“Customs dues have increased threefold under his rule, so have tax revenues. We have firm government at last!” Sharpe glanced at his companion’s handsome face, expecting to see cynicism there, but Marquinez clearly meant every word he said. “And once we have all the guns we need,” Marquinez went on, “we’ll reconquer the northern regions.”
“You’d best be asking Madrid for some good infantry,” Sharpe said.
Marquinez shook his head. “You don’t understand Chile, Colonel. The rebels think they’re invincible, so sooner or later they will come to our fortresses, and they will be slaughtered, and everyone will recognize the Captain-General’s genius.” Marquinez tossed pebbles into the pool. Sharpe was watching the mestizo girl who, her thighs and skirt soaking, climbed onto the bank. “You find her pretty?” Marquinez suddenly asked.
“Yes. Who wouldn’t?”
“They’re pretty when they’re young. By the time they’re twenty and have two children they look like cavalry mules.” Marquinez fished a watch from his waistcoat pocket. “We must be leaving you, Colonel. You know your way from here?”
“Indeed.” Sharpe had been well coached by Blair in the route he must take. He and Harper would climb into the hills where their travel permit dictated that they must spend the night at a high fortress. Tomorrow they would ride down into the wilder country that sprawled across the border of the southern province. It was in that unsettled country, close to the hell-dark forests where embittered Indian tribes lived, that Bias Vivar had died. Blair and Marquinez had both assured Sharpe that the border country had been tamed since Vivar’s death, and that the highway could be used in perfect safety. “There have been no rebels there since Bias Vivar died,” Marquinez said. “There have been some highway robberies, but nothing, I think, that should worry either you or Mister Harper.”