Sharpe's Eagle

by Bernard Cornwell

  In the courtyard there was a moment’s silence, some nervous laughter, and then the conversation started again.

  Sharpe felt uneasy. It could have been anything; one of the women who lived at the inn could be ill, possibly even a difficult childbirth, but he felt certain it was something else. A rape? He felt ashamed that he had done nothing. Forrest tugged at his arm again. “Sit down. It’s probably nothing.”

  Before Sharpe could move there came another scream, this time a man’s, and it turned into a bellow of rage. A door burst open on the top floor spilling yellow candle­light onto the balcony, and a woman ran out of the room and darted towards the stairs. A voice shouted, “Stop her!”

  The girl tore down the stairs as though the fiends of hell were after her. The officers in the courtyard cheered her on and shouted abuse at the two figures who emerged after her, Gibbons and Berry. They stood no chance of catching her; both men looked drunk, and as they burst from the room they lurched and blinked round the courtyard.

  “It’s Josefina,” Forrest said. Sharpe watched the girl half run, half fall down the stairs until she reached the other side of the courtyard from their table. For a second she looked desperately round as though looking for help. She was carrying a bag, and Sharpe had a glimpse of what could have been a knife in her hand, and then she turned and ran into the darkness, over the stream, towards the lights of the Battalion’s fires. Gibbons stopped halfway down the stairs; he was dressed in trousers and shirt and one hand was clutching the unbuttoned shirt to his stomach; in the other hand was a pistol. “Come back, you lousy bitch!”

  He jumped the last flight of steps and fumbled with the lock of his pistol.

  “What’s the matter, Gibbons? Girl took your colours!” The voice came from one of the tables in the courtyard. Gibbons, his face furious, ignored the jibes and laughter and ran with Berry towards the stream.

  “There’s going to be trouble.” Sharpe climbed from the bench. “I’m going.”

  He threaded his way through the tables, Forrest and Hogan following him. He left the light of the courtyard and splashed through the stream; there was no sight of the girl or her pursuers, just the lights in the cork grove and the occasional silhouette of a man crossing in front of the flames. He paused to let his eyes become accustomed to the dark. Forrest caught up with him.

  “Is there going to be trouble, Sharpe?”

  “Not if I can help it, sir. But you saw him, he’s got a pistol.” There were shouts to the left, a commotion. “Come on!”

  He outpaced the other two; he was running fast, keeping the silver track of the stream to his left, holding the rifle in his right hand.

  “What’s going on? Who the hell’s that?” In the light of a fire he saw an angry private. The man looked surprised when he saw Sharpe and threw a hasty salute. “You after them two, sir?”

  “Was a girl with them?”

  “That way, sir.” He pointed downstream, away from the fires of the Battalion, out into the black grassland. Sharpe ran on, Forrest and Hogan now close behind. In front he heard a ‘view-halloo’, a scream, they had caught the girl. He ran faster, ignoring the rough ground, fearing the sound of a shot, his eyes adjusting to the night. They had not gone far. Suddenly he saw them, Berry standing with a bottle and watching Gibbons, who had forced the girl to her knees and was trying to force the bag out of her hands. Sharpe heard Gibbons shouting at Josefma. “Let go, you bitch!”

  Sharpe kept running. Gibbons looked up, startled, and then Sharpe hit him full tilt. The Lieutenant was thrown backwards, the pistol flew from his hand and splashed into the stream, and Sharpe saw the bag fall from Josefina’s hand and spill bright gold onto the dark grass. Gibbons tried to struggle to his feet but Sharpe pushed him with the rifle butt. “Don’t move.” There was enough moonlight for the Lieutenant to see the look on Sharpe’s face, and he sank back onto his elbows. Sharpe turned to Berry. “What’s going on?”

  Berry licked his fat lips and grinned foolishly. Sharpe stepped one pace closer and raised his voice. “What’s going on?”

  “The girl ran away, sir. Came to get her back.” Berry’s natural drawl was accentuated by drink, and when he turned to see Forrest and Hogan arrive he staggered slightly.

  “Is she all right?” Forrest asked.

  Sharpe turned to look at Josefina. He realised, irrele­vantly, that it was the first time he had seen her not dressed in riding breeches, and his pulse quickened at the sight of her bare shoulders and the shadowed promise of the low-cut dress. Her head was down; at first he thought she was sobbing, but then he saw her desperately picking up the scattered gold coins. His mind registered that there was a small fortune on the ground, and then Forrest blocked his view as the Major knelt at the girl’s side.

  “Are you all right?” Forrest’s voice was paternal, kindly.

  The girl nodded, then shook her head, and Sharpe saw her shoulders heave as she seemed to sob. Her hands still scrabbled at the grass, at the gold pieces. The Major stood up. “What’s all this about?” He was trying to sound authoritative. No-one spoke.

  Sharpe moved his rifle to his left hand, stepped close to Berry, took the bottle from him, and threw it into the stream.

  “I say! Steady on!” Berry’s voice was slurred.

  “What happened?”

  “Just an argument. Nothing to worry about.” Berry blinked happily at Sharpe and flapped a hand genially around the small group. The Rifleman hit him, hard in the stomach, and Berry’s mouth gaped like a fish. He doubled over and retched onto the grass.

  Sharpe hauled him upright. “What happened?”

  Berry stared at him, astonished. “You hit me!”

  „I’ll bloody crucify you if you don’t talk.“

  Berry spat something from his mouth, looked round as if for help, but none was coming. “We were playing cards. I won.”

  “So?”

  The plump Lieutenant shrugged. “There was an argu­ment.” Berry pushed a lank piece of black hair from his forehead, as though trying to rescue a shred of dignity. “She refused to pay her debt.”

  “It’s not true!” The girl was angry. “You cheated! I was winning!” She had stood up, taken two steps towards Berry.

  Hogan saw her face and knew that she would scratch the Lieutenant’s eyes out, given half a chance. He took her elbow, restrained her. He, at least, knew that the truth of who won, who lost, or who cheated would probably never be known. “So what happened?” The Irish voice was soft.

  Josefina gestured at Berry. “He wanted to rape me! Christian hit me!”

  Sharpe turned towards Gibbons. The blond Lieutenant had scrambled to his feet and watched Sharpe walk towards him. There was a bloodstain on his white shirt, and Sharpe remembered the knife; Josefina had evidently cut at him but done little damage. “Is it true?” Sharpe asked.

  “Is what true?” Gibbons’ voice was touched with con­tempt.

  “That you hit her and that Lieutenant Berry tried to rape her?”

  Gibbons laughed. “Trying to rape Josefina Lacosta is like forcing money onto a beggar. If you follow my meaning.”

  Hogan knew he should step forward, that the tension was too much, but Sharpe broke the silence that followed Gibbons’ sneering remark. “Say that again.” Sharpe’s voice was menacing.

  Gibbons looked scornfully at the Rifleman, and when he spoke his voice was invested with all the contempt he had for the lower classes. “Try and understand. We were playing cards. Miss Lacosta lost her money and staked her body instead. She refused to pay up and instead decamped with our money. That is all.”

  “It’s not true!” Josefina was crying. She left Hogan’s side and came up to Sharpe, looked at him with her eyes wet with tears, and clasped the bag between her hands. “It is not true. We were playing cards. I won. They tried to steal it from me! I thought they were gentlemen!”

  Gibbons laughed. Sharpe turned on him. “You hit her?” He had seen a bruise on her cheek.

  “You wouldn’t u
nderstand.” Gibbons sounded bored.

  “What wouldn’t I understand?” Sharpe stepped closer to the Lieutenant.

  Gibbons negligently brushed a blade of grass from his sleeve. “How gentlemen behave, Sharpe. You’ll believe her, because she’s a whore, and you’re used to whores. You’re not used to gentlemen.”

  “Call me ”sir“.”

  Anger flared in Gibbons’ face. “Go to hell.”

  Sharpe hit him in the solar plexus, and as Gibbons’ face came forward Sharpe lowered his own and butted him between the eyes. Gibbons reeled, blood dripping from his nose, and Sharpe dropped the rifle to hit him again. Once, twice, and a final massive punch into the stomach. Like Berry, Gibbons folded up and vomited. He dropped to his knees, clutching his belly, and Sharpe contemptuously pushed him with his boot and the Lieutenant keeled over into the mud.

  “Lieutenant Berry?”

  “Sir?”

  “Mr Gibbons is a little the worse for drink. Get him out of here and clean him up.”

  “Yes, sir.” Berry was not going to argue with Sharpe. He helped Gibbons uncertainly to his feet. The Colonel’s nephew was gasping for breath, heaving from his stomach, and he pushed Berry away and turned to stammer at Forrest, between gasps. “You saw him. He hit me!”

  Hogan stepped forward, his voice crisp and authorita­tive. “Nonsense, Lieutenant. You were drunk and fell over. Go home to bed.”

  The two Lieutenants stumbled into the darkness. Sharpe watched them go. “Bastards! You can’t play cards over a woman.”

  Hogan smiled sadly. “You know why they made you into an officer, Richard?”

  “Why?”

  “You’re far too much of a gentleman to have stayed in the ranks. Men have been playing cards over women since cards were invented, or women for that matter.” He turned to the girl. “And what are you going to do now?”

  “Do?” She looked at Hogan and then at Sharpe. “I cannot go back. They tried to rape me!”

  “Did they now.” Hogan’s voice was flat. The girl nodded, still clutching the bag, and moved closer to Sharpe.

  “My clothes,” she said. “I must get my clothes. All my things! They are in that room.”

  Forrest stepped forward, a concerned expression on his face. “Your clothes?”

  “All my things! They’ll kill me!”

  Hogan’s shrewd eyes flicked from the girl to Forrest. “If you go round the front, Major, and hurry, then you’ll be there before those two. It’ll take ten minutes for them to throw up all that liquor.”

  Forrest looked alarmed, but Hogan had taken charge and the Major did not know how to resist. Hogan took Josefina by the elbow and gave her to Forrest. “Go with Major Forrest and rescue your things. Hurry!”

  She stepped to Forrest but turned back to Sharpe. “But where do I spend the night?”

  Sharpe cleared his throat. “She can use my room. I can double up with Hogan.”

  Forrest twitched at her elbow. “Come on, my dear, we must hurry.” The two of them splashed through the stream and hurried towards the lights of the inn. Hogan watched them go and turned to Sharpe. “Double up with me?”

  “It would be best, wouldn’t it?”

  “Hypocrite. You mean double up with her.”

  Sharpe said nothing. He suspected that Hogan had pushed the girl away with the Major because he wanted to talk to Sharpe alone, but the Rifleman had no intention of making his friend’s life any easier by bringing up the subject. He leaned down and picked up his rifle and felt the lock to see if any dampness or mud had seeped into the pan. The lights of the Battalion fires smeared the hillside with a dying red glow.

  “You know what you’re doing, Richard?” Hogan’s voice was non-committal.

  “What do you mean?”

  The Irishman smiled. “She’s beautiful. There aren’t many as good-looking as that one; at least, not outside Cork.” The small joke was made to lighten his tone, which was sad. “Well, you rescued her, so she’s yours for the moment. Will you be sending her home to Lisbon?” Sharpe started walking beside the stream and said nothing. Hogan caught up with him. “Are you in love with her?”

  “For God’s sake!”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” They walked in silence for a few yards until Hogan took a guinea out of his pocket and held it up. „I’ll bet you this against ten of yours that you’ll not double up with me tonight?“

  Sharped smiled in the darkness. “I don’t gamble and I haven’t any money.”

  “I know. But you’ll need it, Richard. Women don’t come free.” Hogan still spoke softly. He felt in his pocket and held out a handful of guineas. „I’ll wage you these, Richard, against one rifle bullet that you won’t double up with me tonight.“

  Sharpe stared down at Hogan’s friendly, concerned face. It would be so easy to win the bet. All he had to do was put Josefina in his room and then walk to Hogan’s billet and collect the handful of gold. There were six months’ wages, there, just for staying clear of the girl. Sharpe pushed the money away. “I need all my bullets.”

  Hogan laughed. “That’s true. But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.” He put a hand on Sharpe’s belt, opened the ammunition pouch, and poured in the gold. Sharpe protested and pulled away but Hogan forced the money inside. “You’ll need it, Richard. She’ll expect a decent room in Oropesa, and in Talavera, and God knows how much it will all cost you. Don’t worry. There’ll be a battle soon and you’ll shoot a rich man and then give me the money back.”

  They walked on in silence. Hogan could feel the excitement in Sharpe and knew that if he had offered him ten times ten guineas then he could not have stopped the Rifleman sleeping with the girl that night or, if Josefina said no, then Sharpe would have stayed in the room as her faithful protector, the Baker rifle across his knees. They skirted Berry and Gibbons, one of them doubled over and groaning, and splashed through the stream and back into the lights of the inn’s courtyard. Hogan looked up at Sharpe, at the eyes that were alive with anticipation, and cuffed him gently on the arm. “Sleep well, Richard.”

  Sharpe grinned back. “Don’t worry.” He took the stairs three at a time, his boots squelching on the wooden steps, and Hogan watched him go. “Tis brief, my Lord.” He was speaking to himself. “As woman’s love.”

  “What’s that, sir?” Lieutenant Knowles was standing beside him.

  “Do you never read Shakespeare, lad?”

  “Shakespeare, sir?”

  “A famous Irish poet,” Hogan said.

  Knowles laughed. “And what play was that from, sir?”

  “Hamlet.”

  “Oh him.” Knowles grinned. “The famous Irish Prince?”

  Hogan grinned at him. “Oh no. Hamlet was no Irish­man. He was a fool. Goodnight, Lieutenant. Time for bed.”

  Hogan looked up at Sharpe’s room. He would trust Sharpe with his life, trust the Rifleman against almost any odds, but with a woman? He would be disarmed, defeated; one girl could do what a Battalion of French could never hope to achieve. Hogan muttered under his breath as he walked away, his voice quiet in the empty courtyard, repeating the line over and over as though, perhaps, repetition would rob it of truth. “Beauty provoketh fools sooner than gold.”

  Chapter 12

  “Officer of the day?”

  Sharpe nodded. “Come on in.”

  The Commissary officer, a plump Lieutenant, grinned cheerfully and closed the door behind him. “Good after­noon, sir. Your signature?”

  “For what?”

  The Lieutenant pretended to be surprised. He looked at the piece of paper he had been holding out to Sharpe. “3rd Battalion of Detachments? Right?” Sharpe nodded. “Your rations, sir.” He held the list out again. “Will you sign, sir?”

  “Wait.” Sharpe looked down the list. “Seven hundred and fifty pounds of beef? That’s generous, isn’t it?”

  The Lieutenant put on his professional smile. “I’m afraid that’s not just for today, sir. That’s the next three days’
ration altogether.”

  “What! Three days? That’s half bloody rations!”

  The Lieutenant spread his hands. “I know, sir, I know, but it really is the best we can do. Will you sign?”

  Sharpe took his hat and weapons from the table. “Where are they?”

  The Lieutenant sighed. “I’m sure you don’t want to… „

  “Where are they?” Sharpe’s voice boomed in the small room. The Lieutenant smiled, opened the door, and beckoned Sharpe into the courtyard, where the Lieuten­ant’s working party was standing by a string of pack mules. The Lieutenant pulled the cover off a keg of freshly killed beef. “Sir?”

  Sharpe picked up the top piece and dangled it in front of the plump Commissary officer. “Put laces in it and you could march on it.” The Lieutenant smiled; he had heard it all before. Sharpe took another piece of gristle from the keg. “It’s uneatable! How many kegs?”

  The Lieutenant waved at the mules. “All this, sir.”

  Sharpe looked out of the courtyard into the bright street. Another mule stood patiently in the late afternoon sunlight. “What’s that?”

  “A mule, sir.” The Lieutenant smiled brightly. He saw Sharpe’s face. “Sorry, sir. My little joke.” He became serious. “That’s the supplies for the castle, sir. Sir Arthur’s. You understand.”

  “I do?” Sharpe walked under the arch towards the mule, the Lieutenant alongside, and waved the muleteer away. “I happened to see the supplies delivered to the castle this morning, Lieutenant, and nothing was missing.”

  The Lieutenant smiled helplessly. Sharpe was lying, they both knew that, but then so was the Lieutenant, and they both knew that, too. Sharpe pulled the cover off the nearest keg. “Now that, Lieutenant, is beef. I’ll have both these kegs instead of two of the others.”

  “But, sir! This is for… „