'Sir, is the telegraph working?'

Lossow snapped his fingers. Cox frowned at the German. 'Yes, Captain. There's a relay station over the river, towards Pinhel.'

'When can the first messages be sent?'

Cox shrugged. 'Depends on the weather. Usually an hour after dawn.'

Sharpe nodded impatiently. 'Would you, sir, consider a message to the General requesting orders concerning the gold?'

Cox looked at him, shrugged again. 'Of course. First thing tomorrow?'

'Please, sir.'

Cox stood up. 'Good! Problem solved. I'll tell Colonel Jovellanos tomorrow and you can get a night's sleep. I must say you look as if you need it. Good God.' He was peering at Sharpe's shoulder. 'You're hurt!'

'It will mend, sir.' Sharpe finished his wine; damned if politeness would stop him. And damn Wellington, too, who had held the cards too close to his chest so that Cox, a decent man, was put in this position. 'Sir?'

Cox turned away from the doorway. 'Sharpe?'

'How many men in Colonel Jovellanos's escort?'

'Two hundred, Sharpe. God save me, I wouldn't want to meet them in a dark street.'

Nor I, thought Sharpe. Nor I. He stood up, waited for the Commander of the garrison to leave. Where was El Catolico he wondered. Upstairs asleep? Or watching from a darkened window?

Lossow, at least, understood. 'My men will guard tonight.'

Sharpe smiled his thanks. 'And tomorrow?'

The German shrugged, fitted his tall, plumed busby on to his head. 'If we cannot leave at dawn, then at dusk, my friend.'

Cox put his head back round the door. 'I forgot! Remiss of me! You'll stay here, gentlemen? My orderlies can find beds.'

Kearsey accepted, the two Captains pleaded they would rather be with their men, and Cox wished them a good night at the front door as if he were a host bidding a genial farewell to valued dinner guests. 'And sleep well! The message goes first thing!'

Knowles and Harper waited outside and with them two Germans, one of them a barrel of a Sergeant who grinned when he was told that the Partisans were in the town. Lossow looked from his Sergeant to Harper.

'A good match!'

'I'll bet on the Irish.' Sharpe said the words without offence, and Lossow laughed.

'Home. We sleep!'

Knowles had done well, unbarring a huge house that stabled the Germans' horses, housed everyone, and on the second floor, behind a huge, polished door, was a bedroom with a feather mattress, a canopied bed, rugs, and the smell of old wood and fresh sheets. Sharpe closed the door, cutting off the sounds of his men who were sharing wine with the Germans, and looked at the girl.

'El Catolico's here.'

She nodded. 'What did you expect?'

He unbuckled his belt, untied the faded red sash, and knew that his shoulder was too stiff, too painful, for him to undress properly. Teresa saw it, pushed back the sheet, and he saw she was already naked. She crossed the floor, helped him, went back to the huge, soft bed with him. Sharpe lay flat and the girl propped herself beside him.

'What does he want?'

'Later,' Sharpe said. 'Later.' His right arm was still good and he pulled the girl on top of him, felt her hair fall either side of his face, her hands explore the scars on his back. Her mouth was beside his ear.

'Can I keep the rifle?'

'It's all yours,' he said. 'All yours.' And it was.

CHAPTER 19

Her finger pressed on the scars of the flogging. 'Who did it?'

'A man called Morris, and a Sergeant. Hakeswill.'

'Why?'

He shrugged. 'They lied.'

'You kill them?'

'Not yet.'

She nodded slowly. 'You will?'

'I will.' It was not yet dawn, but the sky had the grey luminance that came before first light, and Sharpe wanted to be at the telegraph early. He was reluctant to move, to lose the warm body, but others were stirring in the house and a cockerel, exploding into sound in the courtyard, jerked him upright. He lay back again, taking five more minutes, and pulled Teresa close.

'Did Hardy want you?'

She smiled, said something in Spanish, and he assumed she was asking if he was jealous.

'No.'

She wagged her head, seemed to shrug. 'Yes. He wanted me.'

'And did you?'

She laughed. 'No. Joaquim was too close.'

Joaquim, damned Joaquim Jovellanos, El Catolico, Colonel and crook. The girl had told him, when they were lying hot and sweaty in the wide bed, of her father, of El Catolico, of the business of staying alive in the mountains when the enemy is everywhere and there is no law and no government. Her father, she said, was good, but weak.

'Weak?' Sharpe had winced as he propped himself on an elbow.

'He was strong.' Teresa still had problems with English and she shrugged helplessly.

Sharpe helped her. 'And El Catolico?'

She smiled, pushed hair away from her eyes. 'He wants everything. My father's men, land, money, me. He's strong.'

Somewhere a door scraped on old hinges, boots crossed a yard, and Sharpe knew it was time to be up.

'And you?'

Her hand felt his scars. 'We will fight. Ramon, me, Father. Joaquim only thinks of what happens afterwards.'

'Afterwards?'

'When there is peace.'

'And you?' Her hair had the smell of a woman and his hand rested on the long, muscled waist.

'I want to kill Frenchmen.'

'You will.'

'I know.'

Now, looking at the sudden smile, he wished that she was not going. He could, he decided, be happy with this woman, but he laughed inside as he remembered he had thought the same of Josefina.

'What are you smiling for?'

'Nothing.'

He swung his legs out of bed, pulled up his crumpled clothes and put them on the bed. She pulled the jacket towards her, opened the pocket.

'What's this?' A silver locket lay in her hand.

'A locket.'

She hit him. 'I know.' She opened it and, inside, saw the gold-haired girl with the generous mouth. 'Who's that?"

'Jealous?'

She seemed to understand and laughed. 'Who is she?'

'Jane Gibbons.'

She imitated him. 'Jane Gibbons. Who is she? Is she waiting for you?'

'No. I've never met her.'

She looked at the face in the miniature painting. 'She's pretty. Never?'

'Never.'

'Why do you have it?'

'I knew her brother.'

'Ah.' Friendship made sense to her. 'Is he dead?'

'Yes.'

'The French?' She said the word with her customary spite.

'No.'

She looked exasperated at his answers. 'Was he a soldier?'

'Yes.'

'Then how did he die?'

Sharpe pulled on the French overalls. 'I killed him.'

'You?'

Sharpe paused. 'No. The Sergeant killed him. I killed the other one.'

'What other one?' She sat up, flinched as he pulled back the curtain.

Across the street was a church with ornate stonework and a laddered bell-tower. The soldier in Sharpe automatically understood that the church roof must have a platform for the ladder, a possible firing position.

'They were enemies. They hurt a friend.'

She understood the half truth. 'A woman?'

He nodded. 'Not mine.' Another half truth, but by the time the two Lieutenants had died, Josefina had already found Hardy.

She laughed. 'You're a good man, Richard.'

'I know.'

He grinned at her, picked up the locket and pushed it back into his pocket. Why had he kept it? Because Gibbons's sister was so beautiful? Or was it now his talisman, his magic charm against the killing lance and El Catolico's rapier? Teresa helped him with the jacket buttons.

'You'll come back?'

'I'll be back. The soldiers are here; you're safe.'

She leaned off the bed, pulled up the rifle. 'I'm safe.'

He left her in the bedroom, feeling his loss, and went down to where the kitchen fire was blazing and Lossow was drinking beer from an earthenware bottle. The German Captain grinned at Sharpe.