close enough? You’re fortunate in that, I should think. Kate tells me you are leaving.’
‘Tonight, sir.’
‘No, you’re not.’ Christopher took the glass of port from Kate and downed it in one. ‘That is delicious,’ he said, staring at the empty glass, ‘one of ours?’
‘Our best,’ Kate said.
‘Not too sweet. That’s the trick of a fine port, wouldn’t you agree, Sharpe? And I must say I’ve been surprised by the white port. More than drinkable! I always thought the stuff was execrable, a woman’s tipple at best, but Savages’ white is really very good. We must make more of it in the piping days of peace, don’t you think, dearest?’
‘If you say so,’ Kate said, smiling at her husband.
‘That was rather good, Sharpe, don’t you think? Pipes of port? Piping days of peace? A piping pun, I’d say.’ Christopher waited for Sharpe’s comment and, when none came, he scowled. ‘You’ll stay here, Lieutenant.’
‘Why’s that, sir?’ Sharpe asked.
The question surprised Christopher. He had been expecting a more surly response and was not ready for a mildly voiced query. He frowned, thinking how to phrase his answer. ‘I am expecting developments, Sharpe,’ he said after a few heartbeats.
‘Developments, sir?’
‘It is by no means certain,’ Christopher went on, ‘that the war will be prolonged. We could, indeed, be on the very cusp of peace.’
‘That’s good, sir,’ Sharpe said in an even voice, ‘and that’s why we’re to stay here?’
‘You’re to stay here, Sharpe.’ There was asperity in Christopher’s voice now as he realized Sharpe’s neutral tone had been impudence. ‘And that applies to you too, Lieutenant.’ He spoke to Vicente who had come into the room with a small bow to Kate. ‘Things are poised,’ the Colonel went on, ‘precariously. If the French find British troops wandering around north of the Douro they’ll think we are breaking our word.’
‘My troops are not British,’ Vicente observed quietly.
‘The principle is the same!’ Christopher snapped. ‘We do not rock the boat. We do not jeopardize weeks of negotiation. If the thing can be resolved without more bloodshed then we must do all that we can to ensure that it is so resolved, and your contribution to that process is to stay here. And who the devil are those rogues down in the village?’
‘Rogues?’ Sharpe asked.
‘A score of men, armed to the teeth, staring at me as I rode through. So who the devil are they?’
‘Partisans,’ Sharpe said, ‘otherwise known as our allies.’
Christopher did not like that jibe. ‘Idiots, more like,’ he snarled, ‘ready to upset the apple cart.’
‘And they’re led by a man you know,’ Sharpe went on, ‘Manuel Lopes.’
‘Lopes? Lopes?’ Christopher frowned, trying to remember. ‘Oh yes! The fellow who ran a flogging school for the few sons of the gentry in Bragança. Blustery sort of fellow, eh? Well, I’ll have a word with him in the morning. Tell him not to upset matters, and the same goes for you two. And that’ – he looked from Sharpe to Vicente – ‘is an order.’
Sharpe did not argue. ‘Did you bring an answer from Captain Hogan?’ he asked instead.
‘I didn’t see Hogan. Left your letter at Cradock’s headquarters.’
‘And General Wellesley’s not here?’ Sharpe asked.
‘He is not,’ Christopher said, ‘but General Cradock is, and he commands, and he concurs with my decision that you stay here.’ The Colonel saw the frown on Sharpe’s face and opened a pouch at his belt from which he took a piece of paper that he handed to Sharpe. ‘There, Lieutenant,’ he said silkily, ‘in case you’re worried.’
Sharpe unfolded the paper, which proved to be an order signed by General Cradock and addressed to Lieutenant Sharpe that placed him under Colonel Christopher’s command. Christopher had gulled the order from Cradock who had believed the Colonel’s assurance that he needed protection, though in truth it simply amused Christopher to have Sharpe put under his command. The order ended with the words ‘pro tem’, which puzzled Sharpe. ‘Pro tem, sir?’ he asked.
‘You never learned Latin, Sharpe?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Good God, where did you go to school? It means for the time being. Until, indeed, I am through with you, but you do agree, Lieutenant, that you are now strictly under my orders?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Keep the paper, Sharpe,’ Christopher said irritably when Sharpe tried to hand back General Cradock’s order, ‘it’s addressed to you, for God’s sake, and looking at it once in a while might remind you of your duty. Which is to obey my orders and stay here. If there is a truce then it won’t hurt our bargaining position to say we have troops established well north of the Douro, so you dig your heels in here and you stay very quiet. Now, if you’ll pardon me, gentlemen, I’d like some time with my wife.’
Vicente bowed again and left, but Sharpe did not move. ‘You’ll be staying here with us, sir?’
‘No.’ Christopher seemed uncomfortable with the question, but forced a smile. ‘You and I, my darling’ – he turned to Kate – ‘will be going back to House Beautiful.’
‘You’re going to Oporto!’ Sharpe was astonished.
‘I told you, Sharpe, things are changing. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” So good night to you, Lieutenant.’
Sharpe went out onto the driveway where Vicente was standing by the low wall that overlooked the valley. The Portuguese Lieutenant was gazing at the half-dark sky which was punctured by the first stars. He offered Sharpe a rough cigar and then his own to light it from. ‘I talked to Luis,’ Vicente said.
‘And?’ Sharpe rarely indulged and almost choked on the harsh smoke.
‘Christopher has been back north of the Douro for five days. He’s been in Porto talking to the French.’
‘But he did go south?’
Vicente nodded. ‘They went to Coimbra, met General Cradock, then came back. Captain Argenton returned to Porto with him.’
‘So what the hell is going on?’
Vicente blew smoke at the moon. ‘Maybe they do make peace. Luis does not know what they talked about.’
So maybe it was peace. There had been just such a treaty after the battles at Rolica and Vimeiro and the defeated French had been taken home on British ships. So was a new treaty being made? Sharpe was at least reassured that Christopher had seen Cradock, and now Sharpe had definitive orders that took away much of the uncertainty.
The Colonel left shortly after dawn. At sunrise there had been a stuttering crackle of musketry somewhere to the north and Christopher had joined Sharpe on the driveway and stared into the valley’s mist. Sharpe could see nothing with his telescope, but Christopher was impressed by the glass. ‘Who is AW?’ he asked Sharpe, reading the inscription.
‘Just someone I knew, sir.’
‘Not Arthur Wellesley?’ Christopher sounded amused.
‘Just someone I knew,’ Sharpe repeated stubbornly.
‘Fellow must have liked you,’ Christopher said, ‘because it’s a damned generous gift. Mind if I take it to the rooftop? I might see more from there and my own telescope’s an evil little thing.’
Sharpe did not like relinquishing the glass, but Christopher