Luis carried the tray upstairs. It was a fine house, well built and handsome, with some ancient paintings on the walls. He found the door to his master’s bedroom ajar and Christopher must have heard the footsteps for he called out that Luis should come in without knocking. „Put the food by the window,” he ordered.
Christopher had changed his clothes and now, instead of wearing the black breeches, black boots and red tailcoat of an English officer, he was in sky-blue breeches that had black leather reinforcements wherever they might touch a saddle. The breeches were skin tight, made so by the laces that ran up both flanks from the ankles to the waist. The Colonel’s new jacket was of the same sky blue as the breeches, but decorated with lavish silver piping that climbed to curl around the stiff, high red collar. Over his left shoulder was a pelisse, a fake jacket trimmed with fur, while on a side table was a cavalry saber and a tall black hat that bore a short silver cockade held in place by an enamelled badge.
And the enamelled badge displayed the tricolor of France.
„I said you would be surprised,” Christopher remarked to Luis who was, indeed, gaping at his master.
Luis found his voice. „You are … “ he faltered.
„I am an English officer, Luis, as you very well know, but the uniform is that of a French hussar. Ah! Chickpea soup, I do so like chickpea soup. Peasant food, but good.” He crossed to the table and, grimacing because his breeches were so tightly laced, lowered himself into the chair. „We shall be sitting a guest to dinner this afternoon.”
„So I was told,” Luis said coldly.
„You will serve, Luis, and you will not be deterred by the fact that my guest is a French officer.”
„French?” Luis sounded disgusted.
„French,” Christopher confirmed, „and he will be coming here with an escort. Probably a large escort, and it would not do, would it, if that escort were to return to their army and say that their officer met with an Englishman? Which is why I wear this.” He gestured at the French uniform, then smiled at Luis. „War is like chess,” Christopher went on, „there are two sides and if the one wins then the other must lose.”
„France must not win,” Luis said harshly.
„There are black and white pieces,” Christopher continued, ignoring his servant’s protest, „and both obey rules. But who makes those rules, Luis? That is where the power lies. Not with the players, certainly not with the pieces, but with the man who makes the rules.”
„France must not win,” Luis said again. „I am a good Portuguese!”
Christopher sighed at his servant’s stupidity and decided to make things simpler for Luis to understand. „You want to rid Portugal of the French?”
„You know I do!”
„Then serve dinner this afternoon. Be courteous, hide your thoughts and have faith in me.”
Because Christopher had seen the light and now he would rewrite the rules.
Sharpe stared ahead to where the dragoons had lifted four skiffs from the river and used them to make a barricade across the road. There was no way around the barricade which stretched between two houses, for beyond the right-hand house was the river and beyond the left was the steep hill where the French infantry approached, and there were more French infantry behind Sharpe, which meant the only way out of the trap was to go straight through the barricade.
„What do we do, sir?” Harper asked.
Sharpe swore.
„That bad, eh?” Harper unslung his rifle. „We could pick some of those boys off the barricade there.”
„We could,” Sharpe agreed, but it would only annoy the French, not defeat them. He could defeat them, he was sure, because his riflemen were good and the enemy’s barricade was low, but Sharpe was also sure he would lose half his men in the fight and the other half would still have to escape the pursuit of vengeful horsemen. He could fight, he could win, but he could not survive the victory.
There really was only one thing to do, but Sharpe was reluctant to say it aloud. He had never surrendered. The very thought was horrid.