Lucille said, "is mending the mill, rearing lambs, raising cattle and tending the orchards." "There are Frenchmen who could do that, " Lorcet said, "and who should do that. There's no work, Madame. These men" he indicated the two dragoons who were eating as though they had not seen food in a month, "fought for France. They bled, they burned, they starved, they thirsted, and came home to what? To a fat king on a fat throne and to rich folk in carriages, while they have nothing. Nothing! " "So you let them steal?" "Your Englishman stole our gold, " Lorcet said. "I come merely to restore the gold to its rightful owners." He twisted and peered at the window. "Is it still snowing?" "Harder than ever, " Lucille said. "Then pray your Englishman does not get stuck in a drift, " Lorcet said. "If I were you, Maitre, " Lucille said, "I would pray that he does get stuck." The lawyer frowned at her with incomprehension, and Lucille smiled. "Because if he is stopped by the snow, " she explained, "he won't come back here. And then you might live." "You terrify us, " Sergeant Challon sneered at her. "You sent only three men with him, " Lucille said calmly, then made the sign of the cross, "May their souls rest in peace. But worry not, Sergeant. He will come back." A gust of wind rattled the door and Challon whipped round, his hand going to Sharpe's rifle that he had adopted as his own weapon. Lucille smiled at his alarm, then picked up some sewing. "My rifleman will come back, Sergeant, " she said, "I promise you that. He will come back."
FATHER Defoy finished the Mass with the blessing, then made his few announcements; that tomorrow's Mass would be an hour earlier, that there would be no catechism class, and lastly a very public appeal to Madame Malan to remind her that her son had promised to deliver fuel to the priest's house and the promise had not been kept. The priest worried about Jacques Malan. The big man had returned from the war and now did nothing except take his mother's pension and cause trouble. "You will remind him, Madame?" Father Defoy asked.
"I shall, Father, " Madame Malan answered, then turned in alarm as the church door was thrown hard open. Wind gusted snow into the small church and flickered the candles burning in front of Mary's statue that had been wreathed in holly in honour of Christmas. Three men, two of them with bloodied faces and all with tied hands, were thrust into the church and behind them came Monsieur Sharpe, the Englishman, carrying a huge pistol. "Monsieur Sharpe!»
Father Defoy remonstrated. "This is the house of God! " "Sorry, Father, " Sharpe said, pushing the pistol into a pocket of his coat and snatching off his snow-crusted hat. "I've brought you three sinners who want to make confession, " he said as he kicked Corporal Lebecque up the aisle. "Three miserable sinners, Father, whose souls need shriving before I send them to hell." "Monsieur Sharpe! " The priest protested again. "You left the door open! " "So I did, father, " Sharpe said. He pushed his three prisoners down to the floor in front of the pulpit. "Wait there, you scum, " he said, then he turned back to the priest. "I stopped at the tavern on the way here, Father, he said, "and invited more of your parishioners to come to church."
FATHER Defoy watched as a huddle of sheepish men, their coats white with snow, edged into the back of the church. They had been drinking happily enough, content to let their wives and daughters look after God, when Sharpe had kicked the tavern door open and hauled a bloody-faced Corporal Lebecque into view. "I've just kicked hell out of three dragoons, " Sharpe had announced belligerently, "and if any of you want to know why, then come to the church now." He had dragged his prisoner out of the doorway and the men, astonished and curious, had abandoned their drink to follow. Jacques Malan was the last man into the church. He pulled off his hat and made the sign of the cross, but kept good hold of the cudgel he always carried. He gave the priest a surly nod. "The Englishman wants trouble, father, " he growled. "No I do not, " Sharpe said. Father Defoy, fearing that the church was about to witness some unseemly violence, hurried forward to take charge of the situation, but Sharpe gestured the priest to silence. Then he looked at the villagers. "You don't like me, do you?" He challenged them. "You reckon I'm a stranger, an Englishman who spent most of his life fighting against Frenchmen, and now I'm here and you don't want me, do you?" «No,» Jacques Malan said, and his cronies grinned. "But I want you, " Sharpe said, "because where I come from neighbours help each other, and you're my neighbours now and I need help. So I've got a story to tell. A story about an Emperor, and about gold, and about greed. So settle down and listen." Because he had four hours of daylight left, and a family to rescue.
SHARPE told the villagers the story of the Emperor's gold and how it had been stolen by Pierre Ducos, and how Ducos had arranged matters so that everyone believed Sharpe was the thief, and the villagers, like folk everywhere, liked a good story. Sharpe told how he had come to Lucille's chateau in search of information, and instead had been shot in the leg. "By Madame! " he said indignantly, and most of them laughed. He told them about Ducos, and how he had been called a Major, but was not really a soldier at all. He had been un foncionnaire, he told them, and they sighed for they had all suffered greatly at the insolent hands of officials, and he had been a secret policeman, Sharpe said, and shawled heads shook in the church, and Ducos might even have been a lawyer. Sharpe embellished his story, and some of the women crossed themselves. Then Sharpe told how he had travelled to Naples and cornered Ducos, and how he had taken the gold back, and that made everyone sit up because if there was one subject that was always close to a peasant's heart, it was gold. "But I did not travel to Naples alone, " Sharpe said, and he crossed the church and took hold of Corporal Lebecque. The villagers still did not know why Lebecque and his two companions were Sharpe's prisoners, and they watched wide-eyed as the dragoon was dragged to the front of the aisle. "This man, " Sharpe said, "was one of Ducos's companions. Isn't that true, Lebecque?"
Lebecque nodded. "So you tell them, Corporal, " Sharpe went on, "who came to Naples with me." Lebecque's nose was running and his hands were tied behind his back, so all he could do was sniff. «Soldiers,» he said miserably. "What sort of soldiers?" "French." "And what uniform were they wearing?" Sharpe demanded. Lebecque looked sullen, then shrugged. "The Imperial Guard, " he said. «Louder,» Sharpe demanded. "Head up, man! Back straight! Let's hear you! " Lebecque instinctively stood up straight. "The Imperial Guard! " he snapped, and Sharpe saw that Jacques Malan had heard. He had wanted Jacques Malan to hear, for Malan had been an Imperial Guardsman himself and he still wore one of the great moustaches that Napoleon's picked warriors had sported.
"The Imperial Guard, " Sharpe said, staring at Malan, "and I fought alongside them. I fought under the orders of General Jean Calvet." He saw that name register on Malan's suspicious face. "I was not fighting for Britain, " Sharpe said, "but for France. And when we had taken back the gold, we did not keep it. It went to Elba! " That statement did not go down quite as well as he had hoped, for most of the villagers, far from being impressed by his honesty, plainly thought he was daft for having allowed such a fine treasure to escape.
"But these men, " Sharpe indicated Lebecque and the other two prisoners, "believe I still possess the gold. So they came here. Seven of them. And four are still in the chateau where they are holding Madame, our child and Marie as hostages." A murmur ran through the church. "And I have come here, " Sharpe finished, "because you are my neighbours, and because I need help." He pushed Lebecque back to the other prisoners, then turned to Father Defoy and shrugged as though he had nothing more to say. There was silence in the church for a few seconds, then an urgent muttering. One man demanded to know why they should help Sharpe at all, and Sharpe spread his hands as if to suggest he could think of no reason. "But you all know Madame, " he said, "and Marie has lived here all her life. Would you abandon two of your women to these thieves?" Father Defoy shook his head. "But we're not soldiers! We should call the gendarmes from Caen! " "And at nightfall, " Sharpe said, "Lucille will die while the gendarmes are still looking for their boots." "But what do you want us to do?" another asked plaintively. "He wants us to fight his battles for him, " Jacques Malan growle
d from the back of the small church. "It's the English way. They let the Germans fight for them, the Spanish, the Portuguese, the Scots, the Irish, anyone but the English."
A MURMUR of agreement sounded from Malan's supporters, then Malan looked momentarily alarmed as Sharpe strode down the aisle. The big man hefted his cudgel. «Outside,» Sharpe said, pulling open the church door. "I don't obey you, " Malan said stubbornly. "Lost your courage, have you?" Sharpe sneered as he walked out into the snow. "All words, no action?"
Malan came through the door like a charging bull, only to find Sharpe sitting on the church's low wall. "Stand up, " Malan demanded. "Just get it over,»
Sharpe said. "Hit me." He saw the puzzlement on Malan's face. "That's what you've been wanting to do all year, isn't it?" he asked. "Hit me? So do it."
"Stand up! " Malan said again, and his supporters, who had followed Malan out of the church, growled their support. "I'm not going to fight you, Jacques,»
Sharpe said, "I don't need to. I've been in as many battles as you have, so I don't have to prove a thing. But you do. You don't like me. In fact you don't seem to like anyone. You do nothing all day except make trouble. You were supposed to deliver firewood to the church-house, weren't you? But you haven't done it. You'd rather sit in the tavern spending your mother's money. Why don't you make yourself useful? I could use you! I've got a rusted-up mill that needs rebuilding, and a mill channel that needs clearing, and next month I've got a load of stone coming from Caen to repave the yard. I could do with a strong man. But right now I need a soldier. A good soldier, not some fat drunk who lives off his poor mother's purse." Malan stepped forward and raised the cudgel. "Get up, " he insisted. "Why bother?" Sharpe asked, "if you're just going to knock me down again?" "You're frightened! " Malan jeered. "Of a drunk?" Sharpe asked scornfully. "You dare call me a drunk?" Malan shouted.
"You? The English? Who were always drunk in battle! " "That's true, " Sharpe admitted, "but we had to be, didn't we? If we were going to fight you lot."
Malan blinked, unsure how to take Sharpe's agreement. "You were drunk?" he asked, sounding surprised. "Not me, Sergeant Malan, not me. But a lot of the lads were. You can't blame them though, can you? They were terrified of the Imperial Guard. Best soldiers in Europe." Jacques, assuming the last four words applied to the Imperial Guard, nodded. "We were, " he said fervently, putting the cudgel on to his shoulder as though it were a musket. "And you know what that makes you and me, Jacques?" Sharpe asked. "What?" Malan asked suspiciously. "The best soldiers in the village." Sharpe stood. "You and me, Jacques Malan, two of the very best there ever were. Real soldiers! Not like those dragoons I dragged up here." Malan shrugged. «Dragoons!» He spat. "Girls on horseback." "So what I'm saying, Jacques Malan, is help me or hit me."
Malan frowned at Sharpe. "Help you?" "How do I get inside the chateau without them seeing me? They're bound to have a sentry in the tower, and there's only two bridges over the moat and that sentry can see both, but there has to be another way in." "How would I know?" Malan said indignantly. "Because you were sweet on Madame when you were young, " Sharpe said, "and one day you got on to the chateau's roof to look through her bedroom window, and you didn't get there by crossing either bridge, did you?" Malan looked embarrassed. "There is a way, " he admitted. "So show me, " Sharpe said, "and after that, if you really have to, you can hit me." "It will be my pleasure, " Malan said. "But first,»
Sharpe said, "we have to organise the choir." "The choir?" "Watch me, " Sharpe said. He clapped the big man on the shoulder. "I knew, from the moment when I was in trouble, that I needed you. Only you." He took one of the captured pistols from his pocket and pushed it into Malan's hand. "You'll find that more useful than a cudgel, Jacques." "I have my musket at home." "Then go and fetch it. Then join me here. And Jacques?" Sharpe paused. "Merci beaucoup." He hid his sigh of relief then went back into the church. He had some singing to arrange.
SERGEANT Challon finished off the last of the goose, patted his belly and leaned back in his chair. Lucille was putting Patrick to bed upstairs and Challon raised his eyes to the ceiling. "She can cook, that one, " the sergeant said appreciatively. "Goose is too much for me, " the lawyer said. "Too rich, too fatty." He had finished with Sharpe's accounts and was wondering why there was no evidence of the stolen gold in the columns. "I could eat another goose, " Challon grunted, then looked at the lawyer. "So what will you do with her when her Englishman gets back?" The lawyer drew a finger across his throat. "It's for the best, " sadly, he said. "I detest violence, but if we let them live they'll only tell the gendarmes. And Major Ducos's will is hardly clear title to the gold, is it? The Government will want it. No, we have to make certain that Major Sharpe and his woman do not talk." "So if the woman's going to die, " Chalon said, "does it matter what happens to her first?" Lorcet frowned. "I find your suggestion distasteful, " Sergeant. Challon laughed. "You can find it what you like, Maitre, but she and I have got some unfinished business." He pushed back his chair. «Madame,» he said, raising his eyes to the ceiling again, "you are about to enter paradise." But before Challon could move there was a sudden rush of feet on the stairs and the man who had been keeping watch from the tower ran into the kitchen. «Sergeant!» "What is it?"
"People! Scores of them! Coming here."
CHALLON swore and hurried after the man towards the tower. Lorcet followed them up the stairs, down the small passage and through the door which led to the circular stairs. Once at the top he could peer through the slits under the tower roof and he saw that a crowd of villagers was walking slowly down the hill towards the chateau. A priest dressed in his full vestments led them through the snow, while behind him a man carried a silver crucifix on a tall pole. Once at the chateau the small crowd split into two, some walking on towards the bridge which led into the gate-tower while the others followed the priest around to the rear of the farm. "Stay here, " Lorcet ordered the man who had been on guard. "Sergeant! Follow me." The two men went back to the kitchen and stared through a window at the priest, who was arranging his followers on the far side of the bridge. "What are they doing?" Lorcet asked. "God knows,»
Challon said. He was still holding Sharpe's rifle, but what was he to do?
Shoot the priest? "Are they going to sing?" the lawyer asked incredulously, for the priest had turned to his flock, raised his hands, and now brought them down. And so the crowd began to sing.
They sang carols in the falling snow. They sang all the beautiful old carols of Christmas, the carols of a baby and a star, of a manger and the shepherds, and of angels' wings beating in the winter snow over Bethlehem. They sang of wise men and of gold, of Mary and her child, and of peace on earth and joy in heaven. They sang lustily, as though the loudness of their voices could stave off the bitter cold of the waning afternoon. "In a moment, " Lucille had come down from the bedrooms, "they will want to come in. I must give them wine, some food." "They can't come in! " Lorcet snapped. "How will you stop them?"
Lucille asked as she folded Patrick's clothes on to the table. "They know we're here. We have lamps shining." "You will tell them to go away, Madame!»
Lorcet insisted. «Me!» Lucille asked, her eyes widening. "I should tell my neighbours that they cannot sing me carols on Christmas Eve? Non, monsieur, I shall not tell them any such thing, " "Then we'll just leave the doors locked,»
Sergeant Challon said, "and they can freeze to death. They'll get tired soon enough. And you, Madame, had better pray that your Englishman is bringing the gold." Lucille went back to the stairs. "I shall pray, Sergeant, " she told Challon, "but not for that." She went up to her child. «Bitch,» Challon said, and followed her. While outside the carollers sang on.
"THERE used to be a third bridge over the moat, " Jacques Malan explained, "and it led to the chapel, but they pulled it down years ago. Only they left the stone pilings, see? Just under the water." Malan had not only fetched his musket, but had put on his old uniform so that now he was glorious in the blue, white and scarlet of Nap
oleon's old guard. Thus dressed for battle he had led Sharpe on a wide circuit through the woods so that they approached the chateau from the east, hidden from the gate-tower by the farmhouse and the chapel roof. Malan now reversed his musket and stabbed its stock down through the moat's skim of ice. «There,» he said, as the musket butt struck stone. He stepped carefully across so that he was standing in the moat with a few inches of water lapping his boots. He probed for the next piling. "There are five stones, " he told Sharpe, "Miss one, though, and you'll fall in the water."
"But what happens once we're across?" "We climb to the roof, " Malan said.
"There's a stone jutting out, see?" He pointed. "We throw a rope round it and climb." And once they were on the chapel roof, Sharpe thought, there was a window into an old attic that was filled with 800 years of junk, and the only other entrance to the attic was through a hatch high on the end wall of the bedroom and it needed a ladder to reach that hatch. Sharpe had only ever been into the attic once when he had marvelled at the collection of rubbish that Lucille's family had stowed away. There was a suit of armour up there, he remembered, and crates of mouldering clothes, ancient arrows, a crossbow, a weather-cock which had fallen off the chapel, a stuffed pike caught by Lucille's grandfather, and a rocking horse that Sharpe thought he might get down for Patrick, though he hoped the toy would not put the idea of becoming a cavalryman into the boy's head. "I'd never live that down, " he said aloud.
"Live what down?" Malan asked. He was standing on the third hidden piling, and probing for the fourth. "If Patrick becomes a cavalryman." "Mon Dieu! That would be terrible! " Malan agreed, then jumped across the last stones and on to the narrow ledge that edged the chapel. He held out his musket to help Sharpe across the last two pilings. "They sing well! " he said, listening to the two choirs of villagers. "You do this carol singing. in England, too?" "Of course we do." "But my captain said the English did not believe in God." "But they believe in getting free food and drink, " Sharpe said. "So maybe they're not mad after all, " Malan conceded. "And you have brandy in the house, monsieur?
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