Sharpe's Battle Part 37

"Kiely was usually too drunk," she said in a low voice.

"Found your tongue, have you? So now you can tell me what you were doing here."

"Go to h.e.l.l, Captain."

The sound of boots in the street made Sharpe turn to the window to see that the men of the Real Compania Irlandesa had arrived in the street below.

"Donaju!" he shouted. "Into the kitchen here!" He turned back to the bed.

"We've got company, my lady, so let's go and be sociable." He waited for her to stand up, then shook his head when she obstinately refused to move. "I'm not leaving you on your own, my lady, so you can either go downstairs on your own two feet or have me carry you."

She stood, straightened her uniform and tried to rearrange her hair. Then, followed by Sharpe, she went down into the candlelit kitchen where El

Castrador, Donaju and Sergeant Major Noonan were standing by the table. They gaped at Juanita, then looked at Sharpe who did not feel inclined to offer an immediate explanation of the lady's presence. "Loup's gone," Sharpe told

Donaju. "I've got Sergeant Harper making sure the place is empty, so why don't you have your lads man the defences? Just in case Brigadier Loup decides to come back."

Donaju glanced at Juanita, then turned on Noonan. "Sergeant Major? You heard the order. Do it."

Noonan went. El Castrador was watching Hagman unpack the dismounted mule panniers. Juanita had gone to the remnants of the fire where she was warming herself. Donaju looked at her, then gave Sharpe an inquiring look. "The Dona

Juanita," Sharpe explained, "is a woman of many parts. She's Lord Kiely's betrothed, General Loup's lover and an agent of the French."

Juanita's head jerked up at the last phrase, but she made no effort to contradict Sharpe. Donaju stared at her as though he was unwilling to believe what he had just heard. Then he turned back to Sharpe with a frown. "She and

Loup?" he asked.

"Their love nest's upstairs, for Christ's sake," Sharpe said. "Go and look if you don't believe me. Her ladys.h.i.+p here let Loup into the fort last night. Her ladys.h.i.+p, Donaju, is a G.o.dd.a.m.ned traitor."

"Hymn sheets, sir," Hagman interrupted in a puzzled tone. "But b.l.o.o.d.y odd ones. I've seen things like it at church at home, you know, for the musicians, but not like this." The old poacher had unpacked the panniers to reveal a great pile of ma.n.u.scripts that were lined with staves and inscribed with words and music.

"They're very old." Donaju was still dazed by the revelations about Juanita, but now moved across to examine the papers unearthed by Hagman. "See, Sharpe?

Just four staves instead of five. They could be two or three hundred years old. Latin words. Let's see now." He frowned as he made a mental translation.

" 'Clap your hands, everyone, call unto G.o.d with a voice of victory.' The psalms, I think."

"She wasn't carrying the psalms back to our lines," Sharpe said, and he seized the top ma.n.u.scripts off the pile and began sorting through them. It took only seconds to find that there were newspapers hidden beneath the disguising ma.n.u.scripts. "These, Donaju"-Sharpe held up the newspapers - "these are what she was carrying."

Juanita's only reaction to the discovery was to start biting one of her nails.

She glanced at the kitchen door, but Harper had come back to the house and the courtyard was now filled with his riflemen. "Place is empty, sir. b.u.g.g.e.r's gone," Harper reported, "and he left in a rare hurry, sir, for the place is still stuffed with plunder. Something drove him out in a hurry." He nodded respectfully to Captain Donaju. "Your fellows are manning the defences, sir."

"They're not American newspapers this time," Sharpe said, "but English ones.

Learned their lesson last time, didn't they? Make a newspaper too old and no one believes the stories, but these dates are just last week." He threw the papers on the table one by one. "The Morning Chronicle, the Weekly Dispatch, the Salisbury Journal, the Staffords.h.i.+re Advertiser, someone's been busy, my lady. Who? Someone in Paris? Is that where these papers are printed?"

Juanita said nothing.

Sharpe plucked another newspaper from the pile. "Probably printed three weeks ago in Paris and brought here just in time. After all, no one would be astonished to see a two-week-old Shrewsbury Chronicle in Portugal, would they?

A fast-sailing s.h.i.+p could easily have brought it, and there'll be no drafts of troops to contradict these stories. So what are they saying about us this time?" He leafed through the newspaper, tilting it towards the candles as he turned the pages. "Apprentice imprisoned for playing football on the Sabbath?

Serve the little b.u.g.g.e.r right for trying to enjoy himself, but I don't suppose his story will drive the troops to mutiny, though something in here will."

"I've found something," Donaju said quietly. He had been searching the Morning

Chronicle and now he folded the paper and held it towards Sharpe. "A piece about the Irish Division."

"There isn't an Irish Division," Sharpe said, taking the newspaper. He found the item that had attracted Donaju's attention and read it aloud. " 'Recent disturbances among the Hibernian troops of the army serving in Portugal,' "

Sharpe read, embarra.s.sed because he was a slow and not very certain reader, "

'have persuaded the government to adopt a new and palliative' "-he had a lot of trouble with that word-" 'policy. When the present campaigning season is over the Irish regiments of the army will be brigaded as a division that shall be posted to the garrisons of the Caribbean islands. The exchequer has forbidden the expense of carrying wives, doubting that many so described have benefited from the Almighty's blessing on their union. And in the tropics, doubtless, the hot Irish heads will find a climate more to their liking.' "

"The same report is here." Donaju displayed another paper, then hastily offered El Castrador an explanation of all that was happening inside the smoky kitchen.

The partisan glared at Juanita when her treachery was revealed. "Traitor!" he spat at her. "Your mother was a wh.o.r.e," he said, so far as Sharpe was able to follow the quick, angry Spanish, "your father a goat. You were given everything, yet you fight for Spain's enemies, while we, who have nothing, fight to save our country." He spat again and fingered his small bone-handled knife. Juanita stiffened under the onslaught, but said nothing. Her dark eyes went back to Sharpe who had just found another version of the announcement that all the Irish regiments were to be posted to the West Indies.

"It's a clever lie," Sharpe said, looking at Juanita, "very clever."

Donaju frowned. "Why is it clever?" He had asked the question of Patrick

Harper. "Wouldn't the Irish like to be brigaded together?"

"I'm sure they would, sir, but not in the Caribbean and not without their women, G.o.d help us."

"Half of the men would be dead of the yellow fever within three months of arriving in the islands," Sharpe explained, "and the other half dead within six months. Being posted to the Caribbean, Donaju, is a death sentence." He looked at Juanita. "So whose idea was it, my lady?"

She said nothing, just chewed on the fingernail. El Castrador shouted at her for her obstinacy and untied the small knife from his belt. Donaju blanched at the stream of obscenities and tried to restrain the big man's anger.

"Well, the story isn't true," Sharpe interrupted the commotion. "For a start we wouldn't be so daft as to take the Irish soldiers away from the army. Who'd win the battles else?"

Harper and Donaju smiled. Sharpe felt a quiet exultation, for if this discovery did not justify his breaking orders and marching on San Cristobal, nothing would. He made a pile of the newspapers, then looked at Donaju. "Why don't you send someone back to headquarters. Find Major Hogan, tell him what's here and ask him what we should be doing."

"I'll go myself," Donaju said, "but what will you do?"

"I have a few things to do here first," Sharpe said, looking at Juanita as he spoke. "Like discovering where Loup is, and why he left in such a hurry."

Juanita bridled. "I have nothing to say to you, Captain."

"Then maybe you'll say it to him." He jerked his head towards El Castrador.

Juanita gave a fearful glance at the partisan, then looked back at Sharpe.

"When did British officers cease to be gentlemen, Captain?"

"When we began to win battles, ma'am," Sharpe said. "So who's it to be? Me or him?"