But will this Wellesley want to fight Soult?”
Christopher thought about that question. „I think,” he said eventually, „that he would prefer not to lose. I think,” he went on, „that if he knows the strength of your sentiments, then he will cooperate.” Christopher was not nearly as certain as he sounded; indeed he had heard that General Wellesley was a cold man who might not look kindly on an escapade that depended for its success on so many assumptions, but Christopher had other fish to fry in this unholy tangle. He doubted whether the mutiny could ever succeed and did not much care what Cradock or Wellesley thought of it, but knew his knowledge of it could be used to great advantage and, for the moment anyway, it was important that Argenton saw Christopher as an ally. „Tell me,” he said to the Frenchman, „exactly what you want of us.”
„Britain’s influence,” Argenton said. „We want Britain to persuade the Portuguese leaders to accept Soult as their king.”
„I thought you’d found plenty of support already,” Christopher said.
„I’ve found support,” Argenton confirmed, „but most won’t declare themselves for fear of the mob’s vengeance. But if Britain encourages them they’ll find their courage. They don’t even have to make their support public, merely write letters to Soult. And then there are the intellectuals”-Argenton’s sneer as he said the last word would have soured milk-”most of whom will back anyone other than their own government, but again they need encouragement before they’ll find the bravery to express support for Marshal Soult.”
„I’m sure we would be happy to provide encouragement,” Christopher said. He was not sure at all.
„And we need an assurance,” Argenton said firmly, „that if we lead a rebellion the British will not take advantage of the situation by attacking us. I shall want your General’s word on that.”
Christopher nodded. „And I think he will give it,” he said, „but before he commits himself to any such promise he will want to judge for himself the likelihood of your success and that, my friend, means he will want to hear from you directly.” Christopher unstoppered a decanter of wine, then paused before pouring. „And I think you need to hear his personal assurances. I think you must travel south to see him.”
Argenton looked rather surprised by this suggestion, but he thought about it for a moment and then nodded. „You can give me a pass that will see me safe through the British lines?”
„I will do better, my friend. I shall come with you so long as you provide me with a pass for the French lines.”
„Then we shall go!” Argenton said happily. „My Colonel will give me permission, once he understands what we are doing. But when? Soon, I think, don’t you? Tomorrow?”
„The day after tomorrow,” Christopher said firmly. „I have an engagement tomorrow that I cannot avoid, but if you join me in Vila Real ie Zedes tomorrow afternoon then we can travel the next day. Will that suit?”
Argenton nodded. „You must tell me how to reach Vila Real de Zedes.”
„I shall give you directions,” Christopher said, then raised his glass, „and I shall drink to the success of our endeavors.”
„Amen to that,” Argenton said, and raised his glass to the toast.
And Colonel Christopher smiled, because he was rewriting the rules.
CHAPTER 3
Sharpe ran across the paddock where the dead horses lay with flies crawling in their nostrils and across their eyeballs. He tripped on a metal picketing pin and, as he stumbled forward, a carbine bullet fluttered past him, the sound suggesting it was almost spent, but even a spent bullet in the wrong place could kill a man. His riflemen were shooting from the field’s far side, the smoke of their Baker rifles thickening along the wall. Sharpe dropped beside Hagman. „What’s happening, Dan?”
„Dragoons are back, sir,” Hagman said laconically, „and there’s some infantry there too.”
„You sure?”
„Shot one blue bastard,” Hagman said, „and two greens so far.”
Sharpe wiped sweat from his face, then crawled a few paces along the wall to a place where the powder smoke was not so thick. The dragoons had dismounted and were shooting from the edge of a wood some hundred paces away. Too long a range for their carbines, Sharpe thought, but then he saw some blue uniforms where the road ran through the trees and he reckoned the infantry was forming for an attack. There was an odd clicking noise coming from somewhere nearby and he could not place it, but it seemed to offer no threat so he ignored it. „Pendleton!”
„Sir?”
„Find Lieutenant Vicente. He’s in the village. Tell him to get his men out on the northern path now.” Sharpe pointed to the track through the vineyards, the same track by which they had entered Barca d’Avintas and where the dead dragoons of the first fight still lay. „And, Pendleton, tell him to hurry. But be polite, though.”
Pendleton, a pickpocket and purse snatcher from Bristol, was the youngest of Sharpe’s men and now looked puzzled. „Polite, sir?”
„Call him sir, damn you, and salute him, but hurry!”
Goddamn it, Sharpe thought, but there would be no escape across the Douro today, no slow shuttling back and forth with the small boat, and no marching back to Captain Hogan and the army. Instead they would have to get the hell out northwards and get out fast. „Sergeant!” He looked left and right for Patrick Harper through the misty patches of rifle smoke along the wall. „Harper!”
„I’m with you, sir.” Harper came running from behind. „I was dealing with those two Frogs in the church.”
„The moment the Portuguese are into the vineyard we get out of here. Are any of our men left in the village?”
„Harris is there, sir, and Pendleton, of course.”
„Send someone to make sure the two of them get out.” Sharpe leveled his rifle across the wall and sent a bullet spinning toward the infantry who were forming up on the road among the trees. „And, Pat, what did you do with those two Frogs?”
„They’d robbed the poor box,” Harper said, „so I sent them to hell.” He patted his sheathed sword bayonet.
Sharpe grinned. „And if you get the chance, Pat, do the same to that bastard French officer.”
„Pleasure, sir,” Harper said, then ran back across the paddock. Sharpe reloaded. The French, he thought, were being too cautious.