„There is a quicker path,” Vicente said.
„Then lead on.”
Some of the men were sleeping, but Harper kicked them awake and they all followed Vicente off the road and down into a gentle valley where vines grew in neatly tended rows. From there they climbed another hill and walked through meadows dotted with the small haystacks left from the previous year. Flowers studded the grass and twined about the witch-hat haystacks, while blossoms filled the hedgerows. There was no path, though Vicente led the men confidently enough.
„You know where you’re going?” Sharpe asked suspiciously after a while.
„I know this landscape,” Vicente assured the rifleman, „I know it well.”
You grew up here, then?”
Vicente shook his head. „I was raised in Coimbra. That’s far to the south, senhor, but I know this landscape because I belong”-he checked and corrected himself-”belonged to a society that walks here.”
„A society that walks in the countryside?” Sharpe asked, amused.
Vicente blushed. „We are philosophers, senhor, and poets.”
Sharpe was too astonished to respond immediately, but finally managed a question. „You were what?”
“Philosophers and poets, senhor.”
“Jesus bloody Christ,” Sharpe said.
„We believe, senhor,” Vicente went on, „that there is inspiration in the countryside. The country, you see, is natural, while towns are made by man and so harbor all men’s wickedness. If we wish to discover our natural goodness then it must be sought in the country.” He was having trouble finding the right English words to express what he meant. „There is, I think,” he tried again, „a natural goodness in the world and we seek it.”
„So you come here for inspiration?”
„We do, yes.” Vicente nodded eagerly.
Giving inspiration to a lawyer, Sharpe thought sourly, was like feeding fine brandy to a rat. „And let me guess,” he said, barely hiding his derision, „that the members of your society of rhyming philosophers are all men. Not a woman among you, eh?”
„How did you know?” Vicente asked in amazement.
„I told you, I guessed.”
Vicente nodded. „It is not, of course, that we do not like women. You must not think that we do not want their company, but they are reluctant to join our discussions. They would be most welcome, of course, but … “ His voice tailed away.
„Women are like that,” Sharpe said. Women, he had found, preferred the company of rogues to the joys of conversation with sober and earnest young men like Lieutenant Vicente who harbored romantic dreams about the world and whose thin black mustache had patently been grown in an attempt to make himself look older and more sophisticated and only succeeded in making him look younger. „Tell me something, Lieutenant,” he said.
„Jorge,” Vicente interrupted him, „my name is Jorge. Like your saint.”
„So tell me something, Jorge. You said you had some training as a soldier. What kind of training was it?”
„We had lectures in Porto.”
„Lectures?”
„On the history of warfare. On Hannibal, Alexander and Caesar.”
„Book learning?” Sharpe asked, not hiding his derision.
„Book learning,” Vicente said bravely, „comes naturally to a lawyer, and a lawyer, moreover, who saved your life, Lieutenant.”
Sharpe grunted, knowing he had deserved that mild reproof. „What did happen back there,” he asked, „when you rescued me? I know you shot one of your sergeants, but why didn’t the French hear you do that?”
„Ah!” Vicente frowned, thinking. „I shall be honest, Lieutenant, and tell you it is not all to my credit. I had shot the Sergeant before I saw you. He was telling the men to strip off their uniforms and run away. Some did and the others would not listen to me so I shot him. It was very sad. And most of the men were in the tavern by the river, close to where the French made their barricade.” Sharpe had seen no tavern; he had been too busy trying to extricate his men from the dragoons to notice one. „It was then I saw you coming. Sergeant Macedo”-Vicente gestured toward a squat, dark-faced man stumping along behind-”wanted to stay hidden in the tavern and I told the men that it was time to fight for Portugal. Most did not seem to listen, so I drew my pistol, senhor, and I went into the road. I thought I would die, but I also thought I must set an example.”