SHARPE’S DEVIL. Bernard Cornwell

At dawn they rode through the forests of morning, hung with mists, spangled with a million beads of dew that were given light by the lancing, slanting rays of the rising sun. Drifts of vapor softened the great tree trunks among which a myriad of bright birds flew. The clouds had cleared, gone back to the mountains or blown out to the endless oceans. Ferdinand had relinquished the horses’ bridles and was content simply to lead the way through the towering trees. “I wonder where the hell we are,” Harper said.

“Ferdinand knows,” Sharpe replied, and the mention of his royal name made the small Indian turn and smile with file-sharpened teeth.

“We could have done with a few hundred of him at Waterloo,” Harper said. “They’d have frightened the buggers to death by just grinning at them.”

They rode on. At times, when the path was especially steep or slippery, they dismounted and led the horses. Once they circled a hill on a narrow path above a chasm of pearl-bright mist. Strange birds screeched at them. The worst moment of the morning came when Ferdinand brought them to a great canyon that was crossed by a perilously fragile bridge made of leather, rope and green wood. The green wood slats were held in place by the twisted leather straps and the whole precarious roadway was suspended from the rope cables. Ferdinand made gestures at Sharpe and Harper, grunting the while in a strange language.

“I think,” Harper said, “he wants us to cross one at a time. God save Ireland, but I think I’d rather not cross at all.”

It was a terrifying crossing. Sharpe went first and the whole structure shivered and swayed with every step he took. Ferdinand followed Sharpe, leading his blindfolded horse. Despite its blindfold the horse was nervous and trembling. Once, when the mare missed her footing and plunged a hoof through the slats, she began to panic, but Ferdinand soothed and calmed the beast. Far beneath Sharpe the mist shredded to reveal a white thread which was a quick-flowing stream deep in the canyon’s jungle.

Harper was white with terror when he finished the crossing. “I’d rather face the Imperial bloody Guard than do that again.”

They remounted and rode on, taking it in turns to balance the great box of golden guineas on their saddles’ pommels. Ferdinand loped tirelessly ahead. Harper, chewing a lump of hard bread, had begun to think of Bautista. “Why does that long-nosed bastard want to kill us?”

“God knows. I’ve been trying to make sense of it, and I can’t.”

Harper shook his head. “I mean if the man wants to be rid of us, then why the hell doesn’t he just let us take Don Bias’s body and be away? Why send those fellows to kill us?”

“If he did send them.” Sharpe, as the morning unfolded into sun-drenched innocence, had again begun to doubt the fears that had crowded in on him during the night.

“He sent them, right enough,” Harper said. “He’s an evil bastard, that Bautista. You only had to look in his eye. If a man like that comes into the tavern I throw him out. I won’t have him drinking my ale!”

“I don’t know if he’s evil,” Sharpe said, “but he’s certainly frightened.”

“Bautista? Frightened?” Harper was scornful.

“He’s like a man playing drumhead.” Drumhead was a card game that had been popular in the army. It was a simple game, needing only a pack of cards, as many players as wanted to risk their money and a playing surface like a drumhead. Each player nominated a card and another man dealt the cards face up onto the drumhead. The man whose card appeared last won the game.

“Drumhead?” Harper was still unconvinced.

“Bautista’s playing for very big stakes, Patrick. He’s cheating left, right and center and he knows, if he’s caught, that he’ll face court martial, disgrace, maybe even imprisonment. But if he wins, then he wins very big indeed. He’s watching the cards turn over and he’s dreading that he’ll lose. But he can’t stop playing because the winnings are so huge.”

“Then why the hell doesn’t he fight the war propejly?” Harper grunted as he settled the strongbox more comfortably on his pommel.

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