Epilogue
Sharpe emerged from the darkness of the Castillo's shadowed rooms into bright sunlight. He looked left and right. Helen was standing with her back to him at the far end of the narrow walkway, swathed in a dark grey travelling cloak.
"I shall always have fond memories of Il Castillo de Benavento," she said, without turning round.
Sharpe came to stand beside her. "You've a soft spot for old buildings, then?"
She smiled and swatted him with the glove she held. He caught her wrist and would have begun a playful tussle, but her drawn expression pulled him up, reminding him that she was in mourning.
George Baxter had been killed in the first few moments of the attack. He had confronted a group of soldiers when they thundered up the cellar steps and burst into the infirmary. At first they had laughed at his protests, but when he tried to bar the door to the courtyard, a French captain had drawn his sword and delivered a scything blow which all but decapitated the doctor.
Though numb with shock, Helen had insisted upon meeting with the French commanding officer and offered her services as surgeon to his own wounded, on condition that she, and Colonel Blake's 'nieces' were left alone to do their work.
"They're good girls," she had told Sharpe. "Josefina and Estella were not born to a life of luxury, though they took to it well enough when the opportunity arose." The twins had done their share of cooking, cleaning and mending when they were growing up and under Helen's direction, had rediscovered their old skills.
"You're not coming with us," Sharpe said quietly.
Helen shook her head. "Colonel Blake has arranged passage to England for me. I'll be travelling northward with the wounded. I'll do what I can to assist, if I'm allowed."
"Why not stay with me?" Sharpe knew her mind was made up, but asked the question anyway.
"Oh, Richard, you have a job to do. You're a soldier. I can't expect you to look out for us both."
"True," Sharpe said dejectedly. "After all, I can barely look out for myself." He glanced at Helen, a smile behind his eyes.
"I didn't say that."
Sharpe looked off. "Where will you go?"
Helen shrugged. "Back to my aunt's house."
Sharpe eyed her doubtfully. "I thought you didn't get along."
"Perhaps she is changed. I know I am."
Sharpe drew her closer. She leaned against him, curling her gloved hand around his shoulder.
"You'll visit me in years to come," Helen murmured, "and bring your family, and we shall sit in my herb garden and talk about the old days." She had rested her chin on her hand and was looking out toward the hills.
"I'll have children?" Sharpe asked, indulging her fiction.
"Two," she said firmly. "A boy and a girl."
"Oh. And will I have a wife?"
"But of course. You must have a wife."
"You think I'll make old bones then?"
Helen stood back, her hands on his shoulders, regarding him gravely.
"I'm sure of it."
There was a shout from below. Sharpe looked down to see Sergeant Harper marching purposefully between lines of men, bellowing orders. He should be down there with them.
Helen seemed to catch his thought. "Duty calls, I think." He nodded and, suddenly formal, bent to kiss her ungloved hand.
Helen touched a finger to his scarred cheek. "Goodbye, Richard."
Sharpe bowed and turned away. Helen watched until he ducked beneath the low doorway that led to the turret room, but he didn't look back.
"Now I know how fond you were of her, my boy, even if she was a bit of a handful, but I'm afraid you'll just have to make do with this old girl."
At the sound of Major Hogan's voice, Sharpe turned to find the Engineer approaching on horseback and leading a chestnut mare on a long rein.
"The horse," Hogan said, seeing Sharpe's blank expression. He tossed the reins to him. "I told the owner that you and Esperanca got on like a house on fire, but he said he couldn't bear to part with her," he continued, eyes twinkling.
Sharpe grinned. "I'm heartbroken."
He well remembered Esperanca's recalcitrance during their journey to Saldana. She'd excelled herself on the return leg; shying at a butterfly, ignoring his commands and heading determinedly for every low hanging branch in an effort to unseat him. Privately, he felt that she would be better used as the filling for a pie.
He eyed his new mount dubiously. "I hope this one understands English."
"Certainly she does, and she's very well-behaved. You must take good care of her, Richard," Hogan said, spurring his own horse.
Sharpe hoisted himself into the saddle. "What's her name?"
"Ariadne," the Engineer said over his shoulder. "After a Greek princess, I believe."
Sharpe muttered the unfamiliar name under his breath and the horse tossed her head in recognition. "Right then, Ariadne," he said more loudly, "let's get a move on."
Voices echoed around the courtyard as officers gave orders for the men to form up and get ready to march. Sharpe urged his horse forward, pleased to discover that Hogan had been right about Ariadne's temperament. She obviously knew the drill, responding instantly to the lightest touch.
He rode toward the main gates, which stood wide. Ahead of him, a line of Redcoats snaked away along the narrow track down into the valley. Now he reined in, and looked back over his shoulder. Helen was standing as he had left her, looking down into the courtyard from the highest reaches of the Castillo.
He lifted his hand in salute, momentarily blinded by a shaft of sunlight that struck between the Castillo's turreted keep. Ariadne moved forward a few paces. Sharpe steadied her and glanced up at the Castillo once more, but Helen was gone.
"Ah, you've found yourself a decent piece of horseflesh at last, sir."
Sharpe looked around to see Harper hurrying to catch up to him. "Fine Irish stock, I'll be bound," the Sergeant said, slapping Ariadne's neck appreciatively. "Where are we off to, then, sir?"
Sharpe shrugged as they passed beneath the Castillo's massive walls. "Wellington says he's driven Napoleon out of Portugal and Spain, and now he means to beat the Frogs on their home ground."
The Sergeant grinned, well pleased.
Sharpe and Harper were on their way to France.