„But your men followed you?”
„They did,” Vicente said warmly, „and Sergeant Macedo fought very bravely.”
„I think,” Sharpe said, „that despite being a bloody lawyer you’re a remarkable bloody soldier.”
„I am?” The young Portuguese sounded amazed, but Sharpe knew it must have taken a natural leader to bring men out of a tavern to ambush a party of dragoons.
‘So did all your philosophers and poets join the army?” Sharpe asked.
Vicente looked embarrassed. „Some joined the French, alas.”
„The French!”
The Lieutenant shrugged. „There is a belief, senhor, that the future of mankind is prophesied in French thought. In French ideas. In Portugal, I think, we are old-fashioned and in response many of us are inspired by the French philosophers. They reject the church and the old ways. They dislike the monarchy and despise unearned privilege. Their ideas are very exciting. You have read them?”
„No,” Sharpe said.
„But I love my country more than I love Monsieur Rousseau,” Vicente said sadly, „so I shall be a soldier before I am a poet.”
„Quite right,” Sharpe said, „best choose something useful to do with your life.” They crossed a small rise in the ground and Sharpe saw the river ahead and a small village beside it and he checked Vicente with an upraised hand. „Is that Barca d’Avintas?”
„It is,” Vicente said.
„God damn it,” Sharpe said bitterly, because the French were there already.
The river curled gently at the foot of some blue-tinged hills, and between Sharpe and the river were meadows, vineyards, the small village, a stream flowing to the river and the goddamned bloody French. More dragoons. The green-coated cavalrymen had dismounted and now strolled about the village as if they did not have a care in the world and Sharpe, dropping back behind some gorse bushes, waved his men down. „Sergeant! Skirmish order along the crest.” He left Harper to get on with deploying the rifles while he took out his telescope and stared at the enemy.
„What do I do?” Vicente asked.
„Just wait,” Sharpe said. He focused the glass, marveling at the clarity of its magnified image. He could see the buckle holes in the girth straps on the dragoons’ horses which were picketed in a small field just to the west of the village. He counted the horses. Forty-six. Maybe forty-eight. It was hard to tell because some of the beasts were bunched together. Call it fifty men. He edged the telescope left and saw smoke rising from beyond the village, maybe from the river bank. A small stone bridge crossed the stream which flowed from the north. He could see no villagers. Had they fled? He looked to the west, back down the road which led to Oporto, and he could see no more Frenchmen, which suggested the dragoons were a patrol sent to harry fugitives. „Pat!”
„Sir?” Harper came and crouched beside him.
„We can take these bastards.”
Harper borrowed Sharpe’s telescope and stared south for a good minute. „Forty of them? Fifty?”
„About that. Make sure our boys are loaded.” Sharpe left the telescope with Harper and scrambled back from the crest to find Vicente. „Call your men here. I want to talk to them. You’ll translate.” Sharpe waited till the thirty-seven Portuguese were assembled. Most looked uncomfortable, doubtless wondering why they were being commanded by a foreigner. „My name is Sharpe!” he told the blue-coated troops, „Lieutenant Sharpe, and I’ve been a soldier for sixteen years.” He waited for Vicente to interpret, then pointed at the youngest-looking Portuguese soldier, a lad who could not have been a day over seventeen and might well have been three years younger. „I was carrying a musket before you were born. And I mean carrying a musket. I was a soldier like you. I marched in the ranks.” Vicente, as he translated, gave Sharpe a surprised look. The rifleman ignored it. „I’ve fought in Flanders,” Sharpe went on, „I’ve fought in India, I’ve fought in Spain and I’ve fought in Portugal, and I’ve never lost a fight. Never.” The Portuguese had just been run out of the great northern redoubt in front of Oporto and that defeat was still sore, yet here was a man telling them he was invincible and some of them looked at the scar on his face and the hardness in his eyes and they believed him. „Now you and I are going to fight together,” Sharpe went on, „and that means we’re going to win. We’re going to run these damned Frenchmen out of Portugal!” Some of them smiled at that. „Don’t take any notice of what happened today. That wasn’t your fault. You were led by a bishop! What bloody use is a bishop to anyone? You might as well go into battle with a lawyer.” Vicente gave Sharpe a swift and reproving glance before translating the last sentence, but he must have done it correctly for the men grinned at Sharpe. „We’re going to run the bastards back to France,” Sharpe continued, „and for every Portuguese and Briton they kill we’re going to slaughter a score.” Some of the Portuguese thumped their musket butts on the ground in approbation. „But before we fight,” Sharpe went on, „you’d better know I have three rules and you had all better get used to those rules now. Because if you break these three rules then, God help me, I’ll goddamn break you.” Vicente sounded nervous as he interpreted the last few words.