“God save Ireland,” Harper said under his breath.
Sharpe leaned back. “I wish I could believe him,” he spoke in English, to no one in particular.
“Of course you can believe him!” Cochrane said stoutly. “Who the hell else do you think Bautista’s got in there? The Virgin Mary?”
Marcos greedily bit into a hunk of bread, then looked alarmed as Sharpe leaned forward again.
“Did you ever see your cavalry friends from the Captain-General’s escort again?” Sharpe spoke Spanish again.
“Yes, senor.”
“What do they say happened to General Vivar?”
Marcos swallowed a half-chewed lump of bread, scratched his crotch, looked sideways at Miller, then shrugged. “They say that the Captain-General disappeared in a valley. There was a road that went down the valley’s side like this,” Marcos made a zig-zag motion with his right hand, “and that the Captain-General ordered them to wait at the top of the road while he went down into the valley. And that was it!”
“No gunfire?” Sharpe asked.
“No, senor.”
Sharpe turned to stare at the dark ocean. The sea’s roar came from the outer rocks. “I don’t know if I trust this man.”
Cochrane responded in Spanish, loud enough for Marcos to hear. “If the dog lies, we shall cut off his balls with a blunt razor. Are you telling lies, Marcos?”
“No, senor! I promise!”
“It still doesn’t make sense,” Sharpe said softly.
“Why not?” Cochrane stood beside him.
“Why would Vivar ride into the valley without an escort?”
“Because he didn’t want anyone to see who he was going to meet?” Cochrane suggested.
“Meaning?”
Cochrane drew Sharpe away from the others, escorting him down the ramparts. His Lordship drew on a cigar, its smoke whirling away in the southern wind. “I think he was meeting Bautista. This man’s story,” Cochrane jerked his cigar toward Marcos, “confirms other things I’ve been hearing. Your friend Vivar had learned something about Bautista, something that would break Bautista’s career. He was going to offer Bautista a choice: either a public humiliation or a private escape. I believe he went into the valley to meet Bautista, not knowing that Bautista would take neither choice, but had planned a coup d’etat. That’s what we’re talking about, Sharpe! A coup d’etat! And it worked brilliantly!”
“Then why didn’t Bautista kill Vivar?”
Cochrane shrugged. “How do I know? Perhaps he was frightened? If everything went wrong, and Vivar’s supporters rallied and opposed Bautista, he could still release Vivar and plead it was all a misunderstanding. That way, whatever other punishment he faced, Bautista would not have the iron collar around his neck, eh?” Cochrane grimaced in grotesque imitation of a man being garotted.
“But Don Bias must be dead by now!” Sharpe insisted. He had spoken in Spanish and loud enough for Marcos to hear.
“Senor?” Marcos’s frightened face was lit from beneath by the lurid glow of the brazier’s coals. “I think he was alive six weeks ago. That was when I left Valdivia, and I think General Vivar was alive then.”
“How can you tell?” Sharpe asked scornfully.
The infantryman paused, then spoke low so that his voice scarcely carried along the battlements. “I can tell, serior, because the new Captain-General likes to visit the Angel Tower. He goes alone, after dark. He has a key. The tower has only one door, you understand, and they say there is only one key, and General Bautista has that key. I have seen him go there. Sometimes he takes an aide with him, a Captain Marquinez, but usually he goes alone.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” Sharpe rested his hands on the parapet and raised his face to the sea wind. The detail of Marquinez had convinced him. Dear God, he thought, but let this man be lying, for it would be better for Don Bias if he were dead.
“What are you thinking?” Cochrane asked softly.
“I’m frightened this man Marcos is telling the truth.”
Cochrane listened for a few seconds to the sound of the sea, then he spoke gently. “He is telling the truth. We’re dealing with hatred. With madness. With cruelty on a monumental scale. Vivar and Bautista were enemies, that much we know. Vivar would have treated his enemy with honor, but Bautista does not deal with honor. I hear Bautista likes to see men suffer, so think how much he would like to watch his greatest enemy suffer! I think he goes to the Angel Tower at night to watch Vivar’s misery, to remind Vivar of his defeat, and to see Vivar’s humiliation.”