"And they're led by a man you know," Sharpe went on, "Manuel Lopes."

"Lopes? Lopes?" Christopher frowned, trying to remember. "Oh yes! The fellow who ran a flogging school for the few sons of the gentry in Braganga. Bl.u.s.tery sort of fellow, eh? Well, I'll have a word with him in the morning. Tell him not to upset matters, and the same goes for you two. And that"-he looked from Sharpe to Vicente-"is an order."

Sharpe did not argue. "Did you bring an answer from Captain Hogan?" he asked instead.

"I didn't see Hogan. Left your letter at Cradock's headquarters."

"And General Wellesley's not here?" Sharpe asked.

"He is not," Christopher said, "but General Cradock is, and he commands, and he concurs with my decision that you stay here." The Colonel saw the frown on Sharpe's face and opened a pouch at his belt from which he took a piece of paper that he handed to Sharpe. "There, Lieutenant," he said silkily, "in case you're worried."

Sharpe unfolded the paper, which proved to be an order signed by General Cradock and addressed to Lieutenant Sharpe that placed him under Colonel Christopher's command. Christopher had gulled the order from Cradock who had believed the Colonel's a.s.surance that he needed protection, though in truth it simply amused Christopher to have Sharpe put under his command. The order ended with the words "pro tern," which puzzled Sharpe. "Pro tem, sir?" he asked.

"You never learned Latin, Sharpe?"

"No, sir."

"Good G.o.d, where did you go to school? It means for the time being. Until, indeed, I am through with you, but you do agree, Lieutenant, that you are now strictly under my orders?"

"Of course, sir."

"Keep the paper, Sharpe," Christopher said irritably when Sharpe tried to hand back General Cradock's order, "it's addressed to you, for G.o.d's sake, and looking at it once in a while might remind you of your duty. Which is to obey my orders and stay here. If there is a truce then it won't hurt our bargaining position to say we have troops established well north of the Douro, so you dig your heels in here and you stay very quiet. Now, if you'll pardon me, gentlemen, I'd like some time with my wife."

Vicente bowed again and left, but Sharpe did not move. "You'll be staying here with us, sir?"

"No." Christopher seemed uncomfortable with the question, but forced a smile. "You and I, my darling"-he turned to Kate-"will be going back to House Beautiful."

"You're going to Oporto!" Sharpe was astonished.

"I told you, Sharpe, things are changing. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' So good night to you, Lieutenant."

Sharpe went out onto the driveway where Vicente was standing by the low wall that overlooked the valley. The Portuguese lieutenant was gazing at the half-dark sky which was punctured by the first stars. He offered Sharpe a rough cigar and then his own to light it from. "I talked to Luis," Vicente said.

"And?" Sharpe rarely indulged and almost choked on the harsh smoke.

"Christopher has been back north of the Douro for five days. He's been in Porto talking to the French."

"But he did go south?"

Vicente nodded. "They went to Coimbra, met General Cradock, then came back. Captain Argenton returned to Porto with him."

"So what the h.e.l.l is going on?"

Vicente blew smoke at the moon. "Maybe they do make peace. Luis does not know what they talked about."

So maybe it was peace. There had been just such a treaty after the battles at Rolica and Vimeiro and the defeated French had been taken home on British ships. So was a new treaty being made? Sharpe was at least rea.s.sured that Christopher had seen Cradock, and now Sharpe had definitive orders that took away much of the uncertainty.

The Colonel left shortly after dawn. At sunrise there had been a stuttering crackle of musketry somewhere to the north and Christopher had joined Sharpe on the driveway and stared into the valley's mist. Sharpe could see nothing with his telescope, but Christopher was impressed by the gla.s.s. "Who is AW?" he asked Sharpe, reading the inscription.

"Just someone I knew, sir."

"Not Arthur Wellesley?" Christopher sounded amused.

"Just someone I knew," Sharpe repeated stubbornly.

"Fellow must have liked you," Christopher said, "because it's a d.a.m.ned generous gift. Mind if I take it to the rooftop? I might see more from there and my own telescope's an evil little thing."

Sharpe did not like relinquishing the gla.s.s, but Christopher gave him no chance to refuse, and just walked away. He evidently saw nothing to worry him for he ordered the gig harnessed and told Luis to collect the remaining cavalry horses that Sharpe had captured at Barca d'Avintas. "You can't be bothered with horses, Sharpe," he said, "so I'll take them off your hands. Tell me, what do your fellows do during the day?"

"There isn't much to do," Sharpe said. "We're training Vicente's men."

"Need it, do they?"

"They could be quicker with their muskets, sir."

Christopher had brought a cup of coffee out of the house and now blew on it to cool the liquid. "If there's peace," he said, "then they can go back to being cobblers or whatever it is they do when they ain't shambling about the place in ill-fitting uniforms." He sipped his coffee. "Speaking of which, Sharpe, it's time you got yourself a new one."

"I'll talk to my tailor," Sharpe said and then, before Christopher could react to his insolence, asked a serious question. "You think there will be peace, sir?"

"Quite a few of the Frogs think Bonaparte's bitten off more than he can chew," Christopher said airily, "and Spain, certainly, is probably indigestible."

"Portugal isn't?"

"Portugal's a mess," Christopher said dismissively, "but France can't hold Portugal if she can't hold Spain." He turned to watch Luis leading the gig from the stable. "I think there's the real prospect of radical change in the air," he said. "And you, Sharpe, won't jeopardize it. Lie low here for a week or so and I'll send word when you can take your fellows south. With a little luck you'll be home by June."

"You mean back with the army?"

"I mean home in England, of course," Christopher said, "proper ale, Sharpe, thatched roofs, cricket on the Artillery Ground, church bells, fat sheep, plump parsons, pliant women, good beef, England. Something to look forward to, eh, Sharpe?"

"Yes, sir," Sharpe said and wondered why he mistrusted Christopher most when the Colonel was trying to be pleasant.

"There's no point in you trying to leave anyway," Christopher said, "the French have burned every boat on the Douro, so keep your lads out of trouble and I'll see you in a week or two"-Christopher threw away the rest of his coffee and held his hand out to Sharpe-"and if not me, I shall send a message. I left your telescope on the hall table, by the way. You've got a key to the house, haven't you? Keep your fellows out of it, there's a good chap. Good day to you, Sharpe."

"And to you, sir," Sharpe said, and after he had shaken the Colonel's hand he wiped his own on his French breeches. Luis locked the house, Kate smiled shyly at Sharpe and the Colonel took the gig's reins. Luis collected the dragoons' horses then followed the gig down the drive toward Vila Real de Zedes.

Harper strolled over to Sharpe. "We're to stay here while they make peace?" The Irishman had evidently been eavesdropping.

"That's what the man said."

"And is that what you think?"

Sharpe stared into the east, toward Spain. The sky there was white, not with cloud, but heat, and there was a thumping in that eastern distance, an irregular heartbeat, so far off as to be barely heard. It was cannon fire, proof that the French and the Portuguese were still fighting over the bridge at Amarante. "It doesn't smell like peace to me, Pat."

"The folk here hate the French, sir. So do the Dons."

"Which doesn't mean the politicians won't make peace," Sharpe said.

"Those slimy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds will do anything that makes them rich," Harper agreed.