Sharpes Siege   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

“I expected an answer to my letter,” Ducos said, “I hardly expected you to come yourself.”

The Comte de Maquerre was chilled to the marrow. He had ridden across freezing marshland, and through low, vine-covered hills where the wind had been as bitter as a blade of ice; and all to be thus ungraciously received in a capacious room lit by six candles on a malachite table. “My news is too important to be entrusted to a letter.”

“So?”

“A landing.” De Maquerre crouched by the fire, holding his thin hands to its small flames. “At Arcachon. The fort’s probably taken already and more men can be shipped north within a week.” He twisted to stare at Ducos’ thin face. “Then they’ll march on Bordeaux.”

“Now? In this weather?” Ducos gestured towards the uncurtained windows where the wind beat a sharp tattoo of freezing rain on the black glass. Only that morning Ducos had found three sparrows frozen to death on the balcony of his quarters. “No one could land in this weather!”

“They already have landed,” de Maquerre said. “I was with them. And once they hold the Bassin d’Arcachon they’ll have sheltered waters to land a bigger force.” The Comte thrust impotently at the glowing coals, trying to rouse fierce flames, then described how he was supposed to return to Bampfylde with an encouragement for the British plans. “If I say the city will rebel, then they’ll ship their troops north.”

“How many?”

“The First Division.”

Ducos trimmed the wick of a smoking candle. “How do you know all this?”

“Through a man called Wigram, a colonel…”

“… on the staff of the British First Division.” Ducos’ knowledge of the enemy was encyclopaedic, and he loved to display it. “A painstaking man.”

“Indeed,” de Maquerre shivered violently, “and a man who will offer indiscretions in return for an aristocrat’s company. Even a French aristocrat!” de Maquerre laughed softly, then twisted to face the table. “Hogan’s sick.”

“How sick?” Ducos’ interest was quickened by the news.

“He’ll die.”

“Good, good.” Pierre Ducos stared at his maps. He had the answer he had so desperately sought, but, like a man brought a priceless gift, he began to doubt the generosity of the giver.