Sharpes Eagle   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

But the new day, even if it did not bring the Regimienta whowere presumably still at the inn, brought a brilliant blue sky with only a scattering of high, passing clouds that followed the night’s belt of light rain. Harsh ringing blows came from the bridge where Hogan’s artificers hammered down the parapet at the spot chosen for the explosion and the apprehensions of the night seemed, for the moment, to be like a bad dream. The Riflemen were relieved by Lennox’s Light Company and, with nothing else to do, Harper stripped naked and waded into the river.

“That’s better. I haven’t washed in a month.” He looked up at Sharpe. “Is anything happening, sir?”

“No sign of them.” Sharpe must have stared at the horizon, a mile to the south, fifty times since dawn but there had been no sign of the French. He watched as Harper came dripping wet out of the river and shook himself like a wolfhound. “Perhaps they’re not here, sir.”

Sharpe shook his head. “I don’t know, Sergeant. I’ve a feeling they’re not far away.” He turned and looked across the river, at the road they had marched the day before. “Still no sight of the Spanish.”

Harper was drying himself with his shirt. “Perhaps they’ll not turn up, sir.”

It had occurred to Sharpe that possibly the whole job would be done before the Regimienta reached Valdelacasa, and he wondered why he still felt the stirrings of concern about the mission. Simmerson had behaved with restraint, the artificers were hard at work, and there were no French in sight. What could go wrong? He walked to the entrance of the bridge and nodded to Lennox. “Anything?”

The Scotsman shook his head. “All’s quiet. I reckon Sir Henry won’t get his battle today. ”

“He wanted one?”

Lennox laughed. “Keen as mustard. I suspect he thinks Napoleon himself is coming.”

Sharpe turned and stared down the road. Nothing moved. “They’re not far away. I can feel it.”

Lennox looked at him seriously. “You think so? I thought it was us Scots who had the second sight.” He turned and looked with Sharpe at the empty horizon. “Maybe you’re right, Sharpe. But they’re too late.”

Sharpe agreed and walked onto the bridge. He chatted with Knowles and Denny and, as he left them to join Hogan, he reflected gloomily on the atmosphere in the officers’ mess of the South Essex. Most of the officers were supporters of Simmerson, men who had first earned their commissions with the Militia, and there was bad feeling between them and the men from the regular army.