SHARPE’S DEVIL. Bernard Cornwell

“Yes.”

“I’d like to feed you, but rations are scarce.” Morillo gave Sharpe back the travel permits while his men eyed the newcomers warily. Morillo was a tall young man with a weathered face. His eyes were cautious and watchful, the eyes of a soldier. His job was to lead his cavalrymen on long, aggressive patrols down the highway, deterring any rebels who might think of ambushing its traffic. “Not that we have rebels here now,” Morillo said. “The last Captain-General swept these valleys clean. He was a cavalryman, so he knew how to attack.” There was an unspoken criticism in the words, suggesting that the new Captain-General knew only how to defend.

“I knew Vivar well,” Sharpe said. “I rode with him in Spain. At Santiago de Compostela.”

Morillo stared at Sharpe with momentary disbelief. “You were at Santiago when the French attacked the cathedral?”

“I was in the cathedral when they broke the truce.”

“I was a child then, but I remember the stories. My God, but what times they were.” Morillo frowned in thought for a few seconds, then abruptly twisted to stare across the fort’s parade ground, which was an expanse of smoothly trampled earth. “Do you know Sergeant Dregara?”

“Dregara? No.”

“He rode in an hour ago, with a half troop. He was asking about you.”

“About me? I don’t know him,” Sharpe said.

“He knows you, and your companion. They’re across the parade ground, around an open fire. Dregara’s got a striped blanket over his shoulders.”

Sharpe half-turned and surreptitiously stared across the fort to where the group of cavalry troopers squatted about their fire. Sharpe suspected, but could not be sure, that it was the same patrol that had saluted Marquinez at lunchtime.

Morillo drew Sharpe away from the ears of his own men. “Sergeant Dregara tells me he proposes to escort you tomorrow.”

“I don’t need an escort.”

“Maybe what you need and what you will receive are very different, Colonel Sharpe. Things often are in Chile. Do I need to explain more?”

Sharpe had walked with the tall Spanish Captain into the open gate of the fort. Both men stopped and stared toward the distant sea which, from this eyrie, looked like a wrinkled sheet of hammered silver. “I assume, Captain,” Sharpe said, “that you regret the death of Don Bias?”

Morillo was tense as he skirted the betrayal of the present Captain-General with his admiration of the last. “Yes, sir, I do.”

“It happened not far from here, am I right?”

“A half day’s journey south, sir.” Morillo turned and pointed across the misted valleys of the wild country. “It wasn’t on the main road, but off to the east.”

“Strange, isn’t it,” Sharpe said, “that Don Bias cleared the rebels out of this region, yet was ambushed here by those same rebels?”

“Things are often strange in Chile, sir.” Morillo spoke very warily.

“Perhaps,” Sharpe said pointedly, “you could patrol southward tomorrow? Along the main road?”

Morillo, understanding exactly what Sharpe was suggesting, shook his head. “Sergeant Dregara brought me orders. I’m to ride to Valdivia tomorrow. I’m to leave a dozen men on post here, and the rest are to go to the Citadel with me. We’re to report to Captain Marquinez before two o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Meaning an early start,” Sharpe said, “that will leave my friend and I alone with Sergeant Dregara?”

‘Yes, sir.” Morillo stooped to light a cigar. The wind whipped the smoke northward. He snapped shut the glowing tinderbox and pushed it into his sabretache. “The orders are signed by Captain-General Bautista. I’ve never received orders direct from a General before.” Morillo drew on his cigar and Sharpe felt a chill creep up his spine. “You should also understand, sir,” Morillo spoke with an admirable understatement, “that General Bautista is not kind to men who disobey his orders.”

“I do understand that, Captain.”

“I’d like to help you, sir, truly I would. General Vivar was a good man.” Morillo shook his head ruefully. “When he was in command we had a score of forts like this one. We were training native cavalry. We were aggressive! Now?” He shrugged. “Now the only patrols are to keep this road open. We don’t really know what’s happening fifty miles east.”

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *