CHAPTER TEN
Delfina fixed Sharpe with an icy look. "So you are doing what I said. You are leaving us."
"We're not abandoning Portugal!"Sharpe protested, although in truth he had no idea what the politicians or Horse Guards or anyone whose opinion actually mattered intended for them to do. "We've got troops there, a garrison in Lisbon! If you get invaded again, they'll help you!"
Delfina scoffed. "They will be the next to go. And you, Richard? Are you going to fight the French, to help Spain? Or are you going to run?"
Sharpe wanted to tell her many things, that it wasn't his idea, that he was just a soldier who went where he was told and fought who he was told. That wasn't entirely true, of course. No-one had told him to go to Sahagun and no-one had told him to fight Laurent. He had done that himself, for her, for all the Spanish people that Laurent had attacked knowing they couldn't fight back. But that meant nothing now. Shortly after their return from Sahagun, it had been announced that Sir John Moore had changed his mind. Attacking Soult would take them too near to other French armies, leave them too vulnerable to counter-attack. They were heading away from the French, heading for a place called Corunna where they would be evacuated by sea. Evacuated back to England, leaving Spain to be plundered by more Laurents.
So Sharpe made no excuses to Delfina, one of the many people they were abandoning. He simply muttered an awkward farewell and left her his French cavalry horse, to carry her home to Portugal. She didn't thank him.
As he was making his way through the camp, he came across a group of mounted hussars. Some of them recognised him and saluted, a salute he returned awkwardly. Lockhart was among them and he stopped and reined his horse next to Sharpe. "You heading off, Eli?"Sharpe asked.
Lockhart nodded. "Need to scout the hills, make sure there's no French cavalry about. Keep you foot soldiers safe from them, hey?"
A part of Sharpe wished he could go with them, even though he knew he was no cavalryman. But he had his own duties, and tedious though they were they would never be more vital. Marching through the harsh winter would be a trial for his battalion. They might not trust him to fire a rifle or lead men, but they trusted him to keep them warm and fed. He would do it but he wouldn't enjoy it. "Good luck, Eli." He extended his hand.
Lockhart grasped it briefly. "And to you, Dick. Sir,"he added with a smile, letting Sharpe know the faux pas had been deliberate. "Maybe we'll meet again some day?"
Sharpe nodded. "Maybe."
Sharpe walked on and found his regiment. The 95th were forming up. Wade was not going with them. He was splitting the battalion again, going by different routes. Maybe it was his way of making sure some of them survived. Dunnett was in command again.
The major gave Sharpe a knowing smile as he approached. "Back with us again, Lieutenant! I hope we can find you occupation that will keep your interest?"
"Yes, sir,"Sharpe replied simply. He didn't feel like saying much else.
The battalion moved off. Sharpe watched as rows of men marched, away from war.
Was that the end? Sharpe doubted it. The French still threatened Europe: Portugal, Spain and all the rest. The British would not make peace with their old enemy. They would fight them again, some time, some place. And Sharpe would be there and he would fight. And he would prove himself as many times as he had to to make Dunnett and the others respect him. That was now Sharpe's target.
A Historical Note will follow but this marks the end of Sharpe's Target. All opinions welcome!