Not For Honour Alone, Part 18
by PJ
The sun was nearly gone behind the western hills before Sharpe
and
Harper returned. Edrington had spent the hours since they left
pacing
the small grove of trees, while Kennedy and Owen had sat in the
shade,
quietly conversing. At one particularly annoying burst of laughter
Edrington had nearly shouted "SHUT UP!" at the top of
his lungs, but had
managed to restrain himself. He rubbed his forehead, forcing
himself to
relax.
"Hal?"
Iron self-discipline was all that prevented him from leaping
skyward at
the sound of Kennedy's voice.
"Archie?" he replied.
"Staring at the village isn't going to make them come
back any sooner.
You need to get out of the sun and have something to eat."
He smiled slightly to himself. No matter what trials and tribulations
he
passed through in his life he knew he could always count on Kennedy.
And
vice versa.
"All right Archie. I'll get out of the sun and stop staring."
He moved
into the shade and sat heavily. When he leaned back and rested
his spine
against a tree trunk he breathed an audible sigh of relief. The
shoulder
was hurting somewhat, and he rolled it once to dispel the ache.
Owen caught the small movement. "Is that shoulder bothering
you, sir?"
he asked. "Do you want me to have a look, sir?"
"No Owen. It hurts, but that's to be expected."
He smiled reassuringly.
"I'll be fine."
Owen nodded once and moved to the other side of the copse.
He lay down
on his greatcoat with one of the saddlebags as a pillow. Within
moments
he was snoring quietly.
"Ah, the joys of unsullied youth!" Kennedy said,
ruefully. "I can't
imagine myself just dropping off like that anymore. There was
a
time...." He shook his head. "No more, I'm afraid."
He glanced at his
friend out of the corner of his eye. "Are you sure you're
all right,
Hal?"
"Not you too!" Edrington said, leaning his head back
and closing his
eyes. "I'm fine, Archie. Fine. So stop staring at me like
that." He
was quiet for a time, then his eyes flew open and he confronted
his
friend. "You never did finish telling me the real reason
you came to
Spain. You implied that Emma was worried about William. Why?
Is
something the matter with one of the twins?"
"Sort of." A look of alarm crossed Edrington's face
and Kennedy held up
a hand. "Nothing physical, she's all right, its just that..."
He
sighed. "Your mother's death hit everybody hard, Hal. It
was a total
surprise, and I think the children feel it more than any of us.
You know
how much she loved all of them, and how she spoiled them. And
Sarah...."
An image of his young niece flashed through Edrington's mind.
Physically
she was an exact duplicate of her late mother; beautiful red hair
and
flashing green eyes. But her personality was indelibly stamped
with her
grandmother's influence. Her strength of will, her pride; all
were
identical to the late Dowager Countess of Edrington. It explained
a
great deal.
"And I guess Emma thinks that William's long absences
from home don't
help matters either." Edrington thought for a moment. "When
was he last
home?"
Kennedy swallowed before replying. "Over two years ago."
Edrington was shocked, and it showed. "Has it been that long? Truly?"
Kennedy nodded. "Truly. And I worry that his daughters
will never know
him. Perhaps if he were home Sarah wouldn't be so out of sorts."
"He needs to go home. As soon as possible. I should have realized..."
"For pity's sake Hal!" Kennedy said with disgust.
"You aren't all
knowing and all seeing! You certainly couldn't have known or
predicted
this. But you're right in one thing; William needs to go home.
And you
with him."
Edrington laughed, but there was a note of bitterness in it.
"Unless
Sharpe and Harper find something out I will be going home, Archie.
Permanently. In fact, CHRIST!!!!" he exclaimed and immediately
dropped
to the earth. He reached up with one hand, caught Kennedy's coattails
and dragged him down as well.
"Hal, what the...?" He fell abruptly silent. His
eyes followed his
friend's line of sight, and he saw what Edrington had seen.
A small patrol of French dragoons was entering the village.
There were
only ten of them, but that was enough to set Edrington's heart
racing.
He nervously glanced toward the other end of the village's main
street,
willing Sharpe and Harper not to appear.
"Good God!" Kennedy whispered. "What perfect
timing." He looked over
his shoulder to where Owen lay, still asleep. "Now what?"
he asked.
"We wait. And pray."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sharpe had gotten progressively more frustrated as the day
had worn on.
It was all well to speculate, in theory, about who had altered
that
blasted musket, but proving it was another matter all together.
The
village blacksmith was beyond elderly; blind, toothless and with
fewer
wits than he had been born with. The smithy was run by his son,
an
arrogant piece of work who refused to answer any questions beyond
admitting that he had done some work for the British when the
army was in
the area.
"Sweet Jesus." Harper muttered as the left the smithy.
"You'd have
thought we were attempting to interfere with his mother's virtue
for all
the warmth he showed us."
"Its not surprising, Pat. He probably has the Frogs breathing
down his
neck, so he'd be out to avoid trouble no matter what." He
turned and
looked back toward the doorway. "Still, he did seem a little
too
nervous, didn't he?"
"Yes sir. You could say that." Harper turned around
like his captain,
and was greeted with the sight of a woman running down the street
towards
them. She was small, but with a nicely rounded figure. She was
something of a rarity, a blonde haired Spaniard. She came toward
them
and without stopping she grabbed Harper's hand and pulled him
into the
shadow of a nearby building.
Sharpe was startled and reacted a moment after. By the time
he joined
the pair they were conversing rapidly in Spanish; at least she
was.
Harper's spare, elementary knowledge of the language putting him
at a
disadvantage. He looked helplessly at his captain, gesturing
to the
woman.
She looked from Harper to Sharpe and launched into more staccato
Spanish.
Sharpe's knowledge of the language was marginally better than
the
sergeant's but he was still somewhat at a loss. One word came
through
clear, however. Ingles. English. She kept repeating it, sometimes
as a
question and then as a statement.
Sharpe was at a loss. He took hold of the woman's shoulders
and gave her
a slight shake. The rapid flow of words came to a halt and she
looked up
at the captain.
"What's your name?" Sharpe asked her, the Spanish
words falling heavily
from his tongue.
"Antonia." was the response. Now that her initial
rush of words was over
she seemed nervous in their presence. Her eyes jumped from one
to the
other of them. Sharpe sensed her uneasiness, and tried to set
her at
ease.
"Antonia." he said, smiling. "That's my daughter's
name." He released
her shoulders. "Why did you follow us, Antonia?"
Her eyes again jumped from Sharpe to Harper. "Ingles?" she asked again.
Sharpe nodded once, deciding now was not the time to distinguish
himself
from the Irishman. "Yes, we're English."
Antonia was still staring at Harper, and the huge man grinned
at her.
For whatever reason she suddenly relaxed, and the words came again,
but
calmer and slower. Slow enough that both men could understand
her.
She was the daughter of the village tavern keeper, and betrothed
to the
blacksmith's son. Betrothed without her consent, she made perfectly
clear. She spat on the ground when she said his name, making
her
feelings toward her intended husband perfectly clear.
"The English officer that came." she said, her voice
husky. "He had
weapons. Ferdinand said he was working with the guilleraros,
but if that
was so why did he come alone? He would have come with one of
the
partisan leaders, wouldn't he?"
"More than likely." Sharpe agreed with her. "What
did this English
officer look like, Antonia?"
She shook her head slightly, then sketched a line in the air
just below
Harper's shoulder. "Not tall." she said. "Pale
hair and eyes. Ugly and
unpleasant."
Sharpe and Harper met each other's eyes. An incomplete description,
to
be sure, but it was enough to mark Major Harlan.
"What do we do now, sir?" Harper asked. He jerked
a thumb back towards
the smithy. "That bastard'll kill her if he knows what she
told us."
Sharpe was thinking. Like Harper he feared for the woman's
life if she
stayed. And he testimony would mean a great deal more if it was
delivered to the court martial first hand. But how were they
to get back
to the army with her, through French infested territory? And
worse, what
would Colonel Edrington think?
"Sir!!!!!" Harper's voice was suddenly urgent in his ear.
Sharpe turned and beheld a sight that chilled him to the bone.
French
dragoons, all mounted, were making their way down the village's
main
street. Ten of them. A scouting party, to be sure, but they
were more
than enough to put a halt to this mad enterprise. He grabbed
Antonia by
the hand and ducked into the narrow alley between two buildings.
They
were tall enough to block most of the sun, so the three were hidden
by
the shadows.
"The can't have found the colonel and Mister Kennedy."
Harper said.
"We'd have heard something by now."
Sharpe agreed with his sergeant, but his mind was on a more
important
matter. How the devil were they to get out of the village and
back to
the copse of trees without being captured themselves?
Antonia pulled her hand free of Sharpe's and gestured urgently.
She
started to move further down the alley, beckoning the pair to
follow her.
"Seems she knows a way out, sir." Harper said. He started to follow her.
Sharpe caught the Irishman's shoulder. "Are you mad?
Can we really
trust her?"
Harper pointed to the main street; the dragoons just passing
by. "How
much choice do you think we have?"