Sharpe's Gold by Bernard Cornwell

Author:Bernard Cornwell [Cornwell, Bernard]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Published: 2010-01-30T10:07:27+00:00

'Do you have tea?'

One of them promised to bring him a cup and he joined Knowles on the raised rampart that formed the south-eastern corner of San Anton's courtyard. He looked into the valley, up past the stream where the girl had lain beneath his body and the French lancers had first been seen.

'We're bloody popular this morning.'

A line of horsemen was riding on the track from Casatejada, El Catolico's men, in force, and among them Kearsey's blue coat. Sharpe spat over the rampart into the stream far below.

'Keep them out, Robert. Don't let anyone, even the Major, inside the walls.'

His uniform was damp and uncomfortable and he unstrapped his sword and belts, and stripped naked.

'Get that fire bigger! Use the thorns!'

Rifleman Jenkins draped Sharpe's clothes on stones near the blaze and Sharpe stood shivering, a mug of tea held in his hands, and stared at the two hundred horsemen who were aiming for the oak groves where El Catolico and his men had spent the night. Sharpe looked up at the sky, saw the ragged clouds and knew that the storm had passed. Soon it would be hot, under a shadowless blue, and he wondered how much water the Company had.

'Sergeant McGovern!'

'Sir?'

'Take six men down to the river with all the canteens. Fill them up."

McGovern looked at Knowles, back to Sharpe. 'We've already done it, sir. The Lieutenant sent us down."

'Oh.' He looked at Knowles and growled an apology. 'No one interfered with you?'

Knowles shook his head. 'It's as you said, sir. They're guarding the ford, not the castle.'

'Any food?'

Knowles sighed. He had half hoped, against all experience, that Sharpe's morning temper would have been moderated by Teresa. 'Just hard tack, sir. And not much of that.'

Sharpe swore, flung the dregs of tea far out towards the oak trees that sheltered El Catolico's men.

'Right! All weapons cleaned!' He ignored the grumbles, turned and leaned against the rampart. Everyone was better for some sleep, a few hours between sentry duty, but there had not been time or opportunity in the night for the Company to check their weapons. The night had gone quietly. Some time after midnight the rain had stopped, though the wind still blew cold, and Harper had got a small fire going in the shelter of the broken tower, burning the thorn bushes that grew like weeds in the old courtyard. Teresa had been right. The fortress was approached by a single precipitous track, easy to defend, and El Catolico had left them in peace.

Scraps of wispy cloud cleared away from the rising sun, shadows stretched over the courtyard, and a touch of warmth came which soon would bake the earth dry and sap the Company of its small energy. Sharpe leaned over the rampart. The spate was well over, the water sinking, and the rocks ,that marked the ford had broken the surface and collected ragged bundles of twigs and debris that the sudden flood had scoured from the banks. He saw Kearsey leave the oak grove and head his borrowed horse towards the path which led to the castle.

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