Sharpe's Gold by Bernard Cornwell Read Free Book Online

Christian?'
    It seemed a strange conversation to be having on the verge of losing the whole war, but

    Sharpe knew of other officers like this who carried their faith to war like an

    extraordinary weapon.
    'I suppose so, sir.'
    Kearsey snorted. 'Don't suppose! Either you're washed in the blood of the Lamb or not.

    I'll talk to you later about it.'
    'Yes, sir. Something to look forward to.'
    Kearsey glared at Sharpe, but decided to believe him. 'Glad you're here, Sharpe. We can

    get going. You know what we're doing?' He did not wait for an answer. 'One day's march to

    Casatejada, pick up the gold, escort it back to British lines, and send it on its way.

    Clear?'
    'No, sir.'
    Kearsey had already started walking towards the staircase, and, hearing Sharpe's

    words, he stopped abruptly, swivelled, and looked up at the Rifleman. The Major was

    wearing a long, black cloak, and in the first light he looked like a malevolent small

    bat.
    'What don't you understand?'
    'Where the gold is, who it belongs to, how we get it out, where it's going, do the enemy

    know, why us and not cavalry, and most of all, sir, what it's going to be used for.'
    'Used for?' Kearsey looked puzzled. 'Used for? None of your business, Sharpe.'
    'So I understand, sir.'
    Kearsey was walking back to the battlement. 'Used for! It's Spanish gold. They can do

    what they like with it. They can buy more gaudy statues for their Romish churches, if they

    want to, but they won't.' He started barking, and Sharpe realized, after a moment's

    panic, that the Major was laughing. 'They'll buy guns, Sharpe, to kill the French.'
    'I thought the gold was for us, sir. The British.'
    Kearsey sounded like a dog coughing, Sharpe decided, and he watched as Kearsey almost

    doubled over with his strange laugh. 'Forgive me, Sharpe. For us? What a strange idea. It's

    Spanish gold, belongs to them. Not for us at all! Oh, no! We're just delivering it safely

    to Lisbon and the Royal Navy will ship it down to Cadiz.' Kearsey started his strange

    barking again, repeating to himself, 'For us! For us!'
    Sharpe decided it was not the time, or place, to enlighten the Major. It did not

    matter much what Kearsey thought, as long as the gold was taken safely back over the river

    Coa. 'Where is it now, sir?'
    'I told you. Casatejada.' Kearsey bristled at Sharpe, as though he resented giving

    away precious information, but then he seemed to relent and sat on the edge of the

    telegraph platform and riffled the pages of his Bible as he talked. 'It's Spanish gold.

    Sent by the government to Salamanca to pay the army. The army gets defeated, remember?

    So the Spaniards have a problem. Lot of money in the middle of nowhere, no army, and the

    countryside crawling with the French. Luckily a good man got hold of the gold, told me, and

    I came up with the solution.'
    'The Royal Navy.'
    'Precisely! We send the gold back to the government in Cadiz.'
    'Who's the “good man”, sir?'
    'Ah. Cesar Moreno. A fine man, Sharpe. He leads a guerrilla band. He brought the gold

    from Salamanca.'
    'How much, sir?'
    'Sixteen thousand coins.'
    The amount meant nothing to Sharpe. It depended how much each coin weighed. 'Why doesn't

    Moreno bring it over the border, sir?'
    Kearsey stroked his grey moustache, twitched at his cloak, and seemed unsettled by the

    question. He looked fiercely at Sharpe, as if weighing up whether to say more, and then

    sighed. 'Problems, Sharpe, problems. Moreno's band is small and he's joined up with another

    group, a bigger group, and the new man doesn't want us to help. This man's marrying Moreno's

    daughter, has a lot of influence, and he's our problem. He thinks we just want to steal the

    gold! Can you imagine that?' Sharpe could, very well, and he suspected that Wellington had

    more than imagined it. Kearsey slapped at a fly. 'Wasn't helped by our failure two weeks

    ago.'
    'Failure?'
    Kearsey looked unhappy. 'Cavalry, Sharpe. My own regiment, too. We sent fifty