The dragoons, all from the 18th regiment, wheeled away into the ields beneath the farmhouse where a stream offered water for their lorses. The cavalrymen’s rose-fronted green coats were white with dust. Some, seeing Christopher in his French hussar’s uniform, offered a hasty salute, but most ignored him and just led their horses toward the stream is the Englishman turned to greet his visitor.
His name was Argenton and he was a captain and the Adjutant of the 18th Dragoons and it was plain from his smile that he knew and liked colonel Christopher. „The uniform becomes you,” Argenton said.
„I found it in Oporto,” Christopher said. „It belonged to a poor fellow who was a prisoner and died of the fever and a tailor trimmed it to size for me.”
„He did well,” Argenton said admiringly. „Now all you need are the cadenettes.”
„The cadenettes?”
„The pigtails,” Argenton explained, touching his temples where the French hussars grew their hair long to mark themselves as elite cavalrymen. „Some men go bald and have wigmakers attach false cadenettes to their shakoes or colbacks.”
„I’m not sure I want to grow pigtails,” Christopher said, amused, „but perhaps I can find some girl with black hair and cut off a pair of tails, eh?”
„A good idea,” Argenton said. He watched approvingly as his escort set picquets, then smiled his thanks as a very sullen-looking Luis brought him and Christopher glasses of vinho verde, the golden white wine of the Douro valley. Argenton sipped the wine cautiously and was surprised that it was so good. He was a slight man with a frank, open face and red hair that was damp with sweat and marked where his helmet had been. He smiled easily, a reflection of his trusting nature. Christopher rather despised the Frenchman, but knew he would be useful.
Argenton drained the wine. „Did you hear about the drownings in Oporto?” he asked.
„My servant says you broke the bridge.”
„They would say that,” Argenton said regretfully. „The bridge collapsed under the weight of the refugees. It was an accident. A sad accident, but if the people had stayed in their homes and given our men a decent welcome then there wouldn’t have been any panic at the bridge. They’d all be alive now. As it is, we’re being blamed, but it had nothing to do with us. The bridge wasn’t strong enough and who built the bridge? The Portuguese.”
„A sad accident, as you say,” Christopher said, „but all the same I must congratulate you on your swift capture of Oporto. It was a notable feat of arms.”
„It would have been still more notable,” Argenton observed, „if the opposition had been better soldiers.”
„I trust your losses were not extravagant?”
„A handful,” Argenton said dismissively, „but half of our regiment was sent eastward and they lost a good few men in an ambush by the river. An ambush”-he looked accusingly at Christopher-”in which some British riflemen took part. I didn’t think there were any British troops in Oporto?”
„There shouldn’t have been,” Christopher said, „I ordered them south of the river.”
„Then they disobeyed you,” Argenton said.
„Did any of the riflemen die?” Christopher asked, mildly hoping that Argenton would have news of Sharpe’s death.
„I wasn’t there. I’m posted to Oporto where I find billets, look for rations and do the errands of war.”
„Which I am sure you discharge admirably,” Christopher said smoothly, then led his guest into the farmhouse where Argenton admired the tiles about the dining room hearth and the simple iron chandelier that hung above the table. The meal itself was commonplace enough: chicken, beans, bread, cheese and a good country red wine, but Captain Argenton was complimentary. „We’ve been on short rations,” he explained, „but that should change now. We’ve found plenty of food in Oporto and a warehouse stuffed to the rafters with good British powder and shot.”
„You were short of those too?” Christopher asked.
„We have plenty,” Argenton said, „but the British powder is better than our own. We have no source of saltpeter except what we scrape from cesspit walls.”
Christopher grimaced at the thought. The best saltpeter, an essential dement of gunpowder, came from India and he had never considered that there might be a shortage in France. „I assume,” he said, „that the powder was a British gift to the Portuguese.”