Sharpes Escape   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

Colonel Barreto, who had come to the palace with Poquelin, saw the indecision on Massena's face. "If we renege on this promise, sir," he said respectfully, "then no one in Portugal will believe us. And in a week or two we shall be governing here. We shall need cooperation."

"Cooperation." Marshal Ney spat the word. "A guillotine in Lisbon will make them cooperate quickly enough."

Massena shook his head. Barreto was right, and it was foolish to make new enemies at the very brink of victory. "Pay him," he said, nodding to an aide who kept the key to the money chest. "And in two days," he went on to Poquelin, "you start moving the supplies south. I want a depot at Leiria."

"Leiria?" Poquelin asked.

"Here, man, here!" Massena stabbed a map with his forefinger, and Poquelin nervously edged through the Generals to look for the town which, he discovered, lay some forty miles south of Coimbra on the Lisbon road.

"I need wagons," Poquelin said.

"You will have every wagon and mule we possess," Massena promised grandly.

"There aren't enough horses," Junot said sourly.

"There are never enough horses!" Massena snapped. "So use men. Use these damned peasants." He waved at the window, indicating the town. "Harness them, whip them, make them work!"

"And the wounded?" Junot asked in alarm. Wagons would be needed to carry the wounded southwards if they were to stay with the army and thus be protected from the Portuguese irregulars.

"They can stay here," Massena decided.

"And who guards them?"

"I shall find men," Massena said, impatient with such quibbles. What mattered was that he had food, the enemy was retreating, and Lisbon was only a hundred miles to the south. The campaign was half complete, but from now on his army would be marching on good roads, so this was no time for caution, it was time to attack.

And in two weeks, he thought, he would have Lisbon and the war would be won.

Sharpe had no sooner gone into the street than a man tried to snatch Sarah away from his side. She hardly looked beguiling for her crumpled black dress was torn at the hem, her hair had come loose and her face was dirty, yet the man seized her arm, then protested wildly as Sharpe pinned him against the wall with his rifle butt. Sarah spat at the man and added a couple of words which she hoped were rude enough to shock him. "You speak French?" Sharpe asked Sarah, careless that the French soldier could overhear him.

"French, Portuguese and Spanish," she said.