„So what do we do, sir?”
„We move Dan into a servant’s room by the kitchen. Let the doctor see him. If the doctor thinks he can travel then we’ll go to Amarante.”
„Do we take the girl?”
„Not if she’s married, Pat. We can’t do a bloody thing with her if she’s married. She belongs to him now, lock, stock and barrel.” Sharpe scratched under his collar where a louse had bitten. „Pretty girl.”
„Is she now? I hadn’t noticed.”
„You lying Irish bastard,” Sharpe said.
Harper grinned. „Aye, well, she’s smooth on the eye, sir, smooth as they come, but she’s also a married woman.”
„Off bounds, eh?”
„A colonel’s wife? I wouldn’t dream of it,” Harper said, „not if I were you.”
„I’m not dreaming, Patrick,” Sharpe said, „just wondering how to get the hell out of here. How do we go back home.”
„Back to the army?” Harper asked. „Or back to England?”
„God knows. Which would you want?”
They should have been in England. They all belonged to the second battalion of the 95th Rifles and that battalion was in the Shorncliffe barracks, but Sharpe and his men had been separated from the rest of the greenjackets during the scrambling retreat to Vigo and somehow they had never managed to rejoin. Captain Hogan had seen to that. Hogan needed men to protect him while he mapped the wild frontier country between Spain and Portugal and a squad of prime riflemen were heavensent and he had cleverly managed to confuse the paperwork, reroute letters, scratch pay from the military chest and so keep Sharpe and his men close to the war.
„England holds nothing for me,” Harper said, „I’m happier here.”
„And the men?”
„Most like it here,” the Irishman said, „but a few want to go home. Cresacre, Sims, the usual grumblers. John Williamson is the worst. He keeps telling the others that you’re only here because you want promotion and that you’ll sacrifice us all to get it.”
„He says that?”
„And worse.”
„Sounds a good idea,” Sharpe said lightly.
„But I don’t think anyone believes him, other than the usual bastards. Most of us know we’re here by accident.” Harper stared at the distant French dragoons, then shook his head. „I’ll have to give Williamson a thumping sooner or later.”
„You or me,” Sharpe agreed.
Harper put the telescope to his eye again. „The bastard’s coming back,” he said, „and he’s left that other bastard with them.” He handed Sharpe the telescope.
„Olivier?”
„He’s bloody given him back!” Harper was indignant.
Through the telescope Sharpe could see Christopher riding back toward Vila Real de Zedes accompanied by a single man, a civilian judging by his clothes, and certainly not Lieutenant Olivier, who was evidently riding northwards with the dragoons. „Those Crapauds must have seen us,” Sharpe said.
„Clear as daylight,” Harper agreed.
„And Lieutenant Olivier will have told them we’re here,” Sharpe said, „so why the devil are they leaving us alone?”
„Because your man’s made an agreement with the bastards,” Harper said, nodding toward the distant Christopher.
Sharpe wondered why an English officer would be making agreements with the enemy. „We should give him a smacking,” he said.
„Not if he’s a colonel.”
„Then we should give the bastard two smackings,” Sharpe said savagely, „then we’d find the bloody truth quickly enough.”
The two men fell silent as Christopher cantered up the drive to the house. The man accompanying him was young, red-haired and in plain civilian clothes, yet the horse he rode had a French mark on its rump and the saddle was military issue. Christopher looked at the telescope in Sharpe’s hand. „You must be curious, Sharpe,” he said with unusual geniality.
„I’m curious,” Sharpe said, „why our prisoner was given back.”
„Because I decided to give him back, of course,” Christopher said, sliding down from the horse, „and he’s promised not to fight us until the French return a British prisoner of equal rank. All quite normal, Sharpe, and no occasion for indignation. This is Monsieur Argenton who will be going with me to visit General Cradock in Lisbon.” The Frenchman, hearing his name spoken, gave Sharpe a nervous nod.