They swerved off to the right, walking their tired horses through the gentle grassy valley that did indeed turn to the north. Then the land rose to a crest and Pailleterie sweated as he led the hundred horsemen up to that skyline for it would be a perfect place for an ambush, and the saddle of moonlit land was scattered with grey rocks that could hide a hundred partisans, but no musket fired.
He curbed his horse just south of the crest, gave its reins to a sergeant, then dismounted and walked uphill until he could just see over the hill’s top.
Peace. That was all he could see, peace. A wide, moonlit land, though the moon was paling now as dawn came around the world, and in the grey white light of night’s ending he could see the sheen of a river, and black trees, and then the white streak of the road and the black square shape of the fort. No fires there, and for a moment Pailleterie dared to hope that San Miguel would be unguarded, but he put that hope aside as he moved forward another few paces and realised there was a god after all. There was a god, and He was a Frenchman, for a spur of hill jutted out to hide his men all the way from the crest down to the plain, and once there they would be hidden from San Miguel’s garrison by the olive groves. He edged back from the crest, straightened and walked down his column. “Load your pistols now, but don’t cock them. You hear me? Load, but don’t cock them.
If anyone fires before we reach the bridge I will personally drown that man! But I will geld him first! You hear me? I will geld him!” He watched as his men loaded the long-barrelled pistols. The weapons were not accurate, but at close quarters they were as deadly as any musket. “We shall ride slowly down the hill. Very slowly! We shall move like a morning mist, and then we shall stay among the trees. We go slowly, you hear me?
And none of you will sneeze! If you sneeze, I will geld you with a blunt knife. And we do not charge till the last minute, and when we reach the bridge you will kill whoever you find there. Kill and kill! And if you fail? I shall geld you with my own teeth. With my own blunt teeth!”
The hussars grinned. They liked Pailleterie, for he looked after them, he was brave and he gave them victory.
And he was about to give them another.
It was almost dawn and no warning shots had been fired from the hills.
Sharpe felt an immense weariness. It’s nerves, he thought. Nerves as tight as a snare drum, and what kind of a soldier was it who got nervous? Damn it, he thought, but maybe he could not be trusted with command.
He walked to the western side of the parapet and leaned over to stare down at the barricade on the bridge. He had all his men awake, all on guard, for it was coming up to dawn and that was the most dangerous time. “Are you alert down there?” He shouted.
“Bright as buttercups, sir,” Lieutenant Price answered. “Can you see anything, sir?”
“Bugger all, Harry.”
“That’s a relief, sir.”
Sharpe went back to the northern parapet and gazed up the road. Nothing moved there. Quiet as the damn grave. A few last bats still flew around the tower, and earlier he had seen an owl come flapping in to a hole in the fort’s decaying stonework. Otherwise it was still. The river slid silent beneath a smokelike layer of mist. The bridge’s three arches were dark. Sergeant Harper reckoned he had seen some large trout under those arches, but Sharpe had given him no time to try and catch them. It was nerves, he thought again. Jumpy as hell, and he had made everyone else nervous.
Teresa came up the ladder stairs from the living quarters. She yawned, then put her arm into Sharpe’s elbow. “All quiet?”
“All quiet.” There were four riflemen up on the parapet. Sharpe had thought to put some redcoats up here, but their smoothbore muskets were so inaccurate that they could do little good from this height and so he had merely kept his remaining riflemen here. He moved away from them so they would not overhear him. “I’m thinking I panicked yesterday,” he said to Teresa.