“Tell me.”
“To communicate with the rebels, of course. Who else was the money for? All the world knows that the English want to see Spain defeated here.”
Sharpe sighed. “Why would I bring money to the rebels in a Royal ship?”
“Why indeed? So no one would suspect your intentions?” Bautista was enjoying tearing Sharpe’s protests to shreds. “Who sent you, Sharpe? Your English merchant friends who think they can make more profit out of Chile if it’s ruled by a rebel government?”
“The Countess of Mouromorto sent me,” Sharpe insisted.
“She’s English, is she not?” Bautista responded swiftly. “Do you find it noble to fight for trade, Sharpe? For cargoes of hide and for barrels of tallow? For the profits of men like Mister Blair?” He threw a scornful hand toward the Consul who, seemingly pleased at being noticed, bobbed his head in acknowledgment.
“I fought alongside Don Bias,” Sharpe said, “and I fight for the same things he wanted.”
“Oh, do tell me! Please!” Bautista urged in a caustic voice.
“He hated corruption,” Sharpe said.
“Don’t we all?” Bautista said with wonderfully feigned innocence.
“Don Bias believed men could live in freedom under fair government.” It was an inadequate statement of Vivar’s creed, but the best Sharpe could manage.
“You mean Vivar fought for liberty!” Bautista was delighted with Sharpe’s answer. “Any fool can claim liberty as his cause. Look!” Bautista pointed at the hugely flagged American brigan-tine in the outer harbor. “The Captain of that ship is waiting for whalers to rendezvous with him so he can take home their sperm oil and whalebone. He comes every year, and every year he brings copies of his country’s declaration of independence, and he hands them out as though they’re the word of God! He tells the mestizos and the criollos that they must fight for their liberty! Then, when he’s got his cargo, he sails home and who do you think empties that cargo in his precious land of liberty? Slaves do! Slaves! So much for his vaunted liberty!” Bautista paused to let a rustle of agreement sound in his audience. “Of course Vivar believed in liberty!” Bautista interrupted the murmuring. “Vivar believed in every impracticality! He wanted God to rule the world! He believed in truth and love and pigs with wings.” The audience laughed delightedly. Captain Marquinez and one or two others even clapped at their Captain-General’s wit, while Bautista, delighted with himself, smiled at Sharpe. “And you share Vivar’s beliefs, Mister Sharpe?”
“I’m a soldier,” Sharpe said stubbornly, as though that excused him from holding beliefs.
“A plain, bluff man, eh? Then so am I, so I will tell you very plainly that I believe you are telling lies. I believe you came to Chile to bring money and a message to the rebels.”
“So you believe in pigs with wings too?”
Bautista ignored the sneer, striding instead to the table where he opened a writing box and took out an object which he tossed to Sharpe. “What is that?”
“Bloody hell,” Harper murmured, for the object which Bautista had scornfully shied at Sharpe was the signed portrait of Napoleon that had been stolen in Valdivia.
“This was stolen from me,” Sharpe said, “in Valdivia.”
“At the time,” Bautista jeered from the window, “you denied anything more was missing. Were you ashamed of carrying a message from Napoleon to a mercenary rebel?”
“It isn’t a message!” Sharpe said scornfully. “It was a gift.”
“Oh, Mister Sharpe!” Bautista’s voice was full of disappointment, as though Sharpe was not proving a worthy opponent. A man carries a gift to a rebel? How did you expect to deliver this gift if you were not to be in communication with the rebels? Tell me!”
Sharpe said nothing.
Bautista smiled pitifully. “What a bad conspirator you are, Mister Sharpe. And such a bad liar, too. Turn the portrait over. Go on! Do it!” Bautista waited till Sharpe had dutifully turned the picture over, then pointed with his riding crop. “That backing board comes off. Pull it.”
Sharpe saw that the stiffening board behind the printed etching had been levered out of the frame. The board had been replaced, but now he prized it out again and thus revealed a piece of paper which had been folded to fit the exact space behind the board.