Sharpes Gold   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

ElCatolico smiled, but the blade moved just enough to touch Sharpe's skin before the Spaniard dropped the sword on the ground and held out a hand for his own blade.

'Go back to your army, soldier. You might miss the boat.

'The boat? Sharpe bent down, pulled his heavy blade towards him.

'Didn't you know, Captain? The British are going. Sailing home, Captain, leaving the war to us.

'Then look after it. We'll be back.

Sharpe turned away, ignoring El Catolico's laugh, and walked towards the gate leading into the street. He was in the ruins of Moreno's courtyard, where Knowles had smashed the volleys into the lancers, and all that was left were bullet marks on the scorched walls. Cesar Moreno came through the gate and stopped. He smiled at Sharpe, raised a hand to El Catolico, and looked round as if frightened that someone might be listening.

'Your men, Captain?

'Yes?

'They're ready.

He seemed a decent enough man, Sharpe thought, but whatever power and prowess he had once had seemed to have drained away under the twin blows of his wife's death and his daughter's love for the overpowering young El Catolico. Cesar Moreno was as grey as his future son-in-law's cloak: grey hair, grey moustache, and a personality that was a shadow of what he had once been. He gestured towards the street.

'I can come with you?

'Please.

It had taken a full day to clear up the village, to dig the graves, to wait while Private Rorden died, the agony unbearable, and now they walked to where he and the other dead of the Company would be buried, out in the fields. El Catolico walked with them, seemingly with inexhaustible politeness, but Sharpe sensed that Moreno was wary of his young colleague. The old man looked at the Rifleman.

'My children, Captain?

Sharpe had been thanked a dozen times, more, but Moreno explained again.

'Ramon was ill. Nothing serious, but he could not travel. That was why Teresa was here, to look after him.

'The French surprised you?

El Catolico interrupted. 'They did. They were better than we thought. We knew they would search the hills, but in such strength? Massena is worried."

'Worried?

The grey-cloaked man nodded. 'His supplies, Captain, all travel on roads to the south. Can you imagine what we will do to them? We ride again tomorrow, to ambush his ammunition, to try to save Almeida. It was a shrewd thrust. El Catolico would risk his men and his life to save Almeida when the British had done nothing to rescue the Spanish garrison of Ciudad Rodrigo.