Sharpes Eagle   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

“The middle oneis the prettiest.”

“Thank you.” Gibbons spoke with a heavy irony. “That’s civil of you, Sharpe.” He was about to urge his horse forward when Sharpe put a hand on the bridle.

“Spanish officers, I hear, are very fond of duelling.”

“Ah.” Gibbons stared icily down on Sharpe. “You may have a point.” He wheeled his horse back down the road.

Hogan was shouting at the priest, in Spanish, trying to discover why they had stopped. The priest smiled his blackened smile and raised his eyes to heaven as if to say it was all God’s will and there was nothing to be done about it.

“Damn this!” Hogan looked round urgently. “Damn! Don’t they know how much time we’ve lost? Where’s the Colonel?”

Simmerson was not far behind. He and Forrest arrived with a clatter of hooves. “What the devil’s happening?”

“I don’t know, sir. Spanish have sat down.”

Simmerson licked his lips. “Don’t they know we’re in a hurry?” No-one spoke. The Colonel looked round the officers as though one of them might suggest an answer. “Come on, then. We’ll see what it’s about. Hogan, will you translate?”

Sharpe fell his men out as the mounted officers rode up the column, and the Riflemen sat beside the road with their packs beside them. The Spanish appeared to be asleep. The sun was high and the road surface reflected a searing heat. Sharpe touched the muzzle of his rifle by mistake and flinched from the hot metal. Sweat trickled down his neck, and the glare of the sun, reflected from the metal ornaments of the Spanish infantry, was dazzling. There were still fifteen miles to go. The three women rode their horses slowly towards the head of the Regimienta, one of them turned and waved coquettishly to the Riflemen and Harper blew her a kiss, and when they had gone the dust drifted gently onto the thin grass of the verge.

Fifteen minutes of silence passed before Simmerson, Forrest and Hogan pounded back from their meeting with the Spanish Colonel. Sir Henry was not pleased. “Damn them! They’ve stopped for the day!”

Sharpe looked questioningly at Hogan. The Engineer nodded. “It’s true. There’s an inn up there, and the officers have settled in.”

“Damn! Damn! Damn!” Simmerson was pounding the pommel of his saddle. “What are we to do?”

The mounted officers glanced at each other. Simmerson was the man who had to make the decision and none of them answered his question, but there was only one thing to do. Sharpe looked at Harper.

“Form up, Sergeant.