Sharpe 3-Book Collection 4: Sharpe's Escape, Sharpe's Fury, Sharpe's Battle

by Bernard Cornwell

  "I'm sorry I'm late, sir," Sharpe said. It was plain from the wreckage on the table that the dinner was over, and equally obvious that Henry Wellesley had eaten nothing. He saw Sharpe glance at his clean plate.

  "I have a formal dinner to attend, Sharpe," the ambassador explained, "and Spanish dinners start extraordinarily late, and I really can't eat two dinners every night. Still, that crab does tempt me." He took a claw and used a nutcracker to open the shell. Sharpe realized that the ambassador had only split the claw to show him how it was done, and he gratefully picked up a pair of nutcrackers himself. "So how is your head, Sharpe?" Henry Wellesley asked.

  "Mending, sir, thank you."

  "Nasty things, head wounds," the ambassador said. "I had an assistant in India who cracked his head open and I thought the poor fellow was dead. But he was up and about, quite cured, in a week."

  "You were in India, sir?" Sharpe asked.

  "Twice," Henry Wellesley said. "On the civil side, of course. I liked the place."

  "I did too, sir," Sharpe said. He was ravenous and cracked open another claw, which he dipped into a bowl of melted butter. Lord William Russell, thankfully, was just as hungry and the two of them shared the dish as the other men took cigars.

  It was February, but warm enough for the windows to be open. Brigadier Moon said nothing, content to glower at Sharpe while Sir Thomas Graham complained bitterly about his Spanish allies. "The extra ships haven't come from the Balearics," he grumbled, "and I've not seen any of the maps they promised."

  "I'm sure both will come," Henry Wellesley said.

  "And the ships we've already got are threatened by fire rafts. The French are building five of the things."

  "I'm certain you and Admiral Keats will be delighted to deal with the fire rafts," Henry Wellesley said firmly, then changed the topic by looking at Sharpe. "Brigadier Moon tells me you got rid of the bridge over the Guadiana?"

  "We did, sir."

  "That's a relief. All in all, Sir Barnaby"—Wellesley looked at the brigadier—"a most successful operation."

  Moon shifted in his chair, then winced as pain stabbed at his leg. "It could have gone better, Your Excellency."

  "How so?"

  "You'd need to be a soldier to understand," Moon said abruptly. Sir Thomas frowned in disapproval of the brigadier's rudeness, but Moon would not yield an inch. "At best," he went on, "it was only a flawed success. A very flawed success."

  "I served in the 40th Foot," Henry Wellesley said. "It was not, perhaps, my finest hour, but I am not ignorant of soldiering. So tell me why it was flawed, Sir Barnaby?"

  "Things could have gone better," Moon said as though that closed the matter.

  The ambassador took a cut cigar from a servant, then bent to light it from the proffered taper. "And there I was," he said, "inviting you to tell us of your triumph. You're as reticent as my brother, Sir Barnaby."

  "I'm flattered to be compared with Lord Wellington, Your Excellency," Moon said stiffly.

  "Mind you, Arthur did once tell me of an exploit of his," Henry Wellesley said, "and it's not one from which he emerges with very much credit." The ambassador blew a plume of smoke toward the crystal chandelier. Sir Thomas and Lord Pumphrey were sitting very still, as if they knew something was brewing in the room, while Sharpe, sensing the strained atmosphere, left the crab claws alone. "He was unhorsed at Assaye," the ambassador went on. "I think that's the name of the place. Whatever, he was pitched into the enemy ranks, and everyone else had galloped on and Arthur told me he knew he was going to die. He was surrounded by the enemy, all of them fierce as thieves, and then from nowhere a British sergeant appears. From nowhere, he says!" Henry Wellesley waved the cigar as though he were a magician who had suddenly made it appear. "And what followed, Arthur says, was the finest piece of soldiering he ever witnessed. He reckons that sergeant put down five men. At least five men, he told me. The fellow slaughtered them! All on his own."

  "Five men!" Lord Pumphrey said in unfeigned admiration.

  "At least five," the ambassador said.

  "Recollection of battle," Moon said, "can be very confusing."

  "Oh! You think Arthur embellished the tale?" Henry Wellesley asked with exaggerated politeness.

  "One man against five?" Moon suggested. "I'd be very surprised, Your Excellency."

  "Then let us ask the sergeant who fought against them," Henry Wellesley said, springing his trap. "How many men do you remember, Sharpe?"

  Moon looked as if he had been stung by a wasp while Sharpe, embarrassed again, just shrugged.

  "Well, Sharpe?" Sir Thomas Graham prompted him.

  "There were a few, sir," Sharpe said uncomfortably. "But of course the general was fighting beside me, sir."

  "Arthur told me he was dazed," Henry Wellesley said. "He told me he was quite incapable of defending himself."

  "Fighting away, sir, he was," Sharpe said. In truth Sharpe had pushed a dizzied Sir Arthur Wellesley under one of the Indian cannons and had sheltered him there. Was it truly five men? He could not remember. "And help came very fast, sir," he went on hurriedly, "very fast."

  "But as you say, Sir Barnaby"—Henry Wellesley's voice was silky now—"recollections of battle can be very confusing. I would take it as a favor if you would permit me to see the report on your great triumph at Fort Joseph."

  "Of course, Your Excellency," Moon said, and Sharpe understood then what had happened. His Majesty's Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary had intervened on Sharpe's behalf, letting Moon know that Lord Wellington was beholden to Sharpe and that it would be sensible if the brigadier were to change his report accordingly. That was a favor, and it was a generous one, but Sharpe knew that favors were given so that other favors could be returned.

  A clock on the mantelpiece struck ten and Henry Wellesley sighed. "I must put on fancy dress for our allies," he said. There was a scraping of chairs as the guests stood. "Do finish the port and the cigars," the ambassador said as he moved toward the door where he paused. "Mister Sharpe? Might I have a word?"

  Sharpe followed Henry Wellesley down the passage and into a small room lit by candles. A coal fire burned in the hearth, books lined the walls, and a leather-topped desk stood under the window that the ambassador pushed open. "The Spanish servants insist on keeping me warm," he said. "I tell them I prefer cold air, but they don't believe me. Did I embarrass you back there?"

  "No, sir."

  "It was for Brigadier Moon's benefit. He told me you had let him down, which I somehow doubt. He is a man who is unable to share credit, I think." The ambassador opened a cupboard and took out a dark bottle. "Port, Sharpe. It's Taylor's best and you won't get finer this side of paradise. May I pour you a glass?"

  "Thank you, sir."

  "And there are cigars in the silver box. You should have one. My doctor says they're good for the wind." Henry Wellesley poured a single glass of port, which he handed to Sharpe. Then he walked to an elegant round table that served as a chess board. He stared at the pieces, which were in midgame. "I think I'm in trouble," he said. "Do you play?"

  "No, sir."

  "I play with Duff. He was consul here and he's rather good." The ambassador touched a black castle with a tentative finger, then abandoned the game to sit behind his desk from where he gave the rifleman a shrewd inspection. "I doubt my brother ever thanked you adequately for saving his life." He waited for an answer, but Sharpe was silent. "Obviously not. That sounds like Arthur."

  "He gave me a very fine telescope, sir," Sharpe said.

  "Doubtless one that had been given to him," Henry Wellesley suggested, "and that he didn't want?"

  "I'm sure that's not true, sir," Sharpe said.

  Wellesley smiled. "My brother has many virtues, but the ability to express sentiment is not among them. If it is any consolation, Sharpe, he has frequently expressed his admiration of your qualities."

  "Thank you, sir," Sharpe said awkwardly.

  The ambassador sighed, suggesting that the ple
asantest part of the conversation was now done. He hesitated, as if looking for words, then opened a drawer and found a small object that he tossed across the desk's leather top. It was one of the horned brooches. "Know what that is, Sharpe?"

  "I'm afraid I do, sir."

  "I rather thought Willie Russell would tell you. And how about this?" He pushed a newspaper across the desk. Sharpe picked it up, saw it was called El Correo de Cádiz, but the light was too dark and the print too small to attempt to read the ill-printed sheet. He put the paper down. "Have you seen that?" the ambassador asked.

  "No, sir."

  "It appeared on the streets today and it purports to print a letter I am supposed to have sent to a lady. In the letter I tell her that the British plan to annex Cádiz and make it into a second Gibraltar. It does not name me, but in a city as small as Cádiz it hardly needs to. And I need hardly tell you that His Majesty's government has no designs on Cádiz either."

  "So the letter's a forgery, sir?" Sharpe asked.

  Henry Wellesley paused. "Not entirely," he said cautiously. He was not looking at Sharpe now, but had twisted in his chair to stare into the dark garden. He drew on his cigar. "I imagine Willie Russell told you of my circumstances?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "So I shall not describe them further except to say that some months ago I met a lady here and was persuaded that she was of gentle birth. She came from the Spanish colonies and assured me her father was wealthy, respectable indeed, but he was not. And before I discovered that truth I was foolish enough to express my sentiments in letters." He paused, still staring through the open window, waiting for Sharpe to speak, but Sharpe was silent. "The letters were stolen from her," the ambassador went on, "and it was not her fault." He turned and gazed at Sharpe defiantly, as if he half expected Sharpe to disbelieve him.

  "And the thief, sir, tried to blackmail you?"

  "Exactly," Henry Wellesley said. "The wretch made an arrangement to sell the letters to me, but my envoy was murdered. He and his two companions. The money, of course, vanished and the letters are now in the hands of our political enemies." Wellesley spoke bitterly and gave the newspaper a blow with his hand. "You must understand, Sharpe, that there are men in Cádiz who believe, quite sincerely, that Spain's future would be a great deal brighter if they were to make peace with Napoleon. They believe that Britain is the more formidable enemy. They think we are intent on destroying Spain's colonies and on taking her Atlantic trade. They do not believe that my brother can expel the French from Portugal, let alone from Spain, and they are working diligently to fashion a political future that does not include a British alliance. My job is to persuade them otherwise, and those letters are going to make the task much harder. It may even make it impossible." Again he paused as if inviting some comment from Sharpe, but the rifleman sat very still and silent. "Lord Pumphrey tells me you are an able man," the ambassador said quietly.

  "He's very kind, sir," Sharpe said woodenly.

  "And he says you have a piquant past."

  "Not sure what that is, sir."

  Henry Wellesley half smiled. "Forgive me if I'm wrong and believe my assurance that I am not trying to give offense, but Lord Pumphrey tells me you were once a thief?"

  "I was, sir," Sharpe admitted.

  "What else?"

  Sharpe hesitated, then decided the ambassador had been honest with him so he would return the compliment. "Thief, murderer, soldier, sergeant, rifleman," he said the list flatly, though Henry Wellesley detected pride in the words.

  "Our enemies, Sharpe," Wellesley said, "have printed one letter, but say they are willing to sell the rest to me. The price, I have no doubt, will be extortionate, but they have intimated that they will publish no more if I pay their price. Lord Pumphrey is negotiating on my behalf. If an agreement is reached, then I would be most grateful if you would serve as his escort and his protector when the letters are exchanged for the money."

  Sharpe thought about it. "You say that your previous fellow was murdered, sir?"

  "He was called Plummer. The thieves claimed he tried to take the letters without surrendering the gold, and I have to say that sounds plausible. Captain Plummer was a belligerent man, God rest his soul. They knifed him and his two companions in the cathedral, then threw their bodies over the seawall."

  "What's to say they won't do it again, sir?"

  Wellesley shrugged. "Captain Plummer may have antagonized them. And he certainly wasn't an accredited diplomat. Lord Pumphrey is. Murdering Lord Pumphrey, I can assure you, would invoke a most vigorous response. And your presence, I dare say, might deter them."

  Sharpe ignored that compliment. "One other question, sir. You mentioned I was a thief. What's that to do with keeping Lord Pumphrey alive?"

  Henry Wellesley looked embarrassed. "If Lord Pumphrey fails to reach an agreement I was hoping the letters could be stolen back."

  "You know where they are, sir?"

  "I assume at the place where the newspaper is printed."

  It seemed a huge assumption to Sharpe, but he let it go. "How many letters are there, sir?"

  "They have fifteen."

  "There are more?"

  "I wrote more, I fear, but they only stole fifteen."

  "So the girl has more, sir?"

  "I'm sure she doesn't," Henry Wellesley said stiffly. "Perhaps only fifteen survived."

  Sharpe was aware that something was not being said, but he reckoned that pushing the ambassador would not reveal it. "Thieving's a skilled trade, sir," he said instead, "and blackmail's a nasty one. I need men. We're dealing with killers, sir, so I need my own killers."

  "I have no men to offer," the ambassador said, shrugging, "with Plummer dead."

  "I've five riflemen with me, sir, and they'll do. But they need to be here, in the city, and they need civilian clothes, and they need a letter from you to Lord Wellington saying that they're here on duty. I need that most of all, sir."

  "All agreed," Henry Wellesley said with relief in his voice.

  "And I need to speak to the lady, sir. No point in stealing one set of letters if there's another lot waiting."

  "I'm afraid I don't know where she is," the ambassador said. "If I knew then I would, of course, tell you. She appears to have hidden herself."

  "I still need her name, sir."

  "Caterina," Henry Wellesley said wistfully. "Caterina Blazquez." He rubbed his face with a hand. "I feel very foolish telling you all this."

  "We've all made fools of ourselves over women, sir," Sharpe said.

  "We wouldn't be alive if we hadn't."

  Wellesley smiled ruefully at that. "But if Lord Pumphrey negotiates successfully," he said, "then it will all be over. A lesson learned."

  "And if he doesn't, sir, then you want me to steal the letters?"

  "I hope it doesn't come to that," Wellesley said. He stood and spun his cigar into the night where it hit the dark lawn with a shower of sparks. "I really must get dressed. Full court uniform, sword and all. But one last thing, Sharpe."

  "Sir?" Sharpe asked. He knew he should call the ambassador "Your Excellency," but he kept forgetting and Wellesley did not seem to mind.

  "We live, breathe, and have our very being in this city by permission of the Spanish. That is as it should be. So whatever you do, Sharpe, do it carefully. And please don't mention this to anyone but Lord Pumphrey. He alone is privy to the negotiations." That was not true. There was another man who might help, who would help, though Henry Wellesley doubted that he would succeed. Which left him dependent on this scarred and bandaged rogue.

  "I won't mention it, sir," Sharpe said.

  "Then good night, Sharpe."

  "Good night, sir."

  Lord Pumphrey, smelling faintly of violets, was waiting in the hall. "Well, Richard?"

  "It seems I've got a job here."

  "I'm so pleased. Shall we talk?" Lord Pumphrey led Sharpe down the candlelit corridor. "Was it really five men, Richard? Be truthful. Five?"

  "Sev
en," Sharpe said, though he could not remember. Nor did it matter. He was a thief, he was a murderer, he was a soldier, and now he had a blackmailer to settle.

  PART TWO

  THE CITY

  CHAPTER 4

  S HARPE WAS GIVEN A room in the embassy's attic. The roof was flat and it had leaked badly at some time for a great patch of plaster was missing and the rest was dangerously cracked. A jug of water stood on a small table and a chamber pot lay beneath the bed. Lord Pumphrey had apologized for the accommodation. "The consul here in Cádiz rented the premises for us. Six houses in all. I have one of them, but I think you'd be happier staying in the embassy itself."

  "I would," Sharpe had said hurriedly.

  "I thought as much. Then I shall meet you at five tomorrow evening."

  "And I need some civilian clothes," Sharpe had told His Lordship, and when he went to bed he found a pair of trousers, a shirt, and a coat laid out for him. He suspected the clothes had belonged to the unfortunate Plummer. They were black, too big, stiff, and slightly damp, as if they had never dried properly after being washed.

  He left the embassy at six in the morning. He knew that because a score of church bells rang the hour, their sound cacophonous in the rising wind. He carried neither sword nor rifle, for both weapons were conspicuous, though he had borrowed a pistol from the embassy. "You won't need it," Lord Pumphrey had said the previous night.

  "Don't like being unarmed," Sharpe had retorted.

  "You know best, I'm sure," Pumphrey had said, "but for God's sake don't startle the natives. They mistrust us enough as it is."

  "I'm just exploring," Sharpe had said. There was nothing else for him to do. Lord Pumphrey was waiting for a message from the blackmailers. Who those blackmailers were, no one knew, but the appearance of the letter in the newspaper pointed to the political faction most desperate to break the British alliance. "If your negotiations fail," Sharpe had said, "then that newspaper is where we start."