‘You’ll want a crane for those horses,’ Sharpe said, following Fox down the street, ‘so I suggest asking the Royal Engineers.’
‘Engineers? Why?’
‘Those horses must weigh a couple of tons each.’
‘Royal Engineers, good idea! You can arrange it?’
‘Better that you ask the Duke, Fox. He has an engineer on the staff.’
‘Dear God! You’re a Lieutenant-Colonel, can’t you just give the fellows an order?’
‘Not without the Duke’s sanction. You’ll need wagons too, and draught horses.’
‘If you say so, Sharpe. Ah, this place serves splendid food. Capital!’
Harper stopped before Fox could enter the restaurant. He was staring across the street with a look of pure joy on his broad face. ‘God save Ireland,’ he murmured, ‘but would you just look at that!’ He was gazing at a long wagon that had a high cage filling its bed. The wooden side of the wagon was painted with the word scimmie, which meant nothing to Sharpe, then he saw movement inside the cage and a shape darting up a ladder. ‘It’s a monkey!’ Harper exclaimed, delighted, then crossed the street to join the small crowd around the wagon. Sharpe followed, to see there must have been twenty monkeys in the enormous high cage. They were scampering up and down a half-dozen long ladders, all of the little beasts dressed in small red waistcoats. One snatched a hat from a bystander, which provoked a cheer, dragged it through the bars, then carried the hat to a high beam where it rubbed the hat between its legs.
‘Trained monkeys,’ Fox had followed Sharpe. ‘Vulgar little beasts.’
‘They’re funny.’
‘Oh look at him!’ Harper said in delight as the monkey peed into the stolen hat. ‘Oh, that’s marvellous!’
‘You’ve surely seen monkeys before?’ Fox demanded.
‘Never a one, sir,’ Harper said.
‘Too many,’ Sharpe said, ‘in India.’
‘They’re good little fellows,’ Harper said, laughing.
‘Thieving little bastards,’ Sharpe said, remembering how the monkeys at Gawilghur had loved to steal whatever they could lay their hands on. Gawilghur! Morris had been in command of the company then, and he had shirked the attack on the breach. Sharpe just remembered the savage fighting, the shrieks of the enemy hacking at him with curved blades, the hammering of muskets as he clambered up the breach, the thump of the howitzer shells sending scraps of stone and shards of iron through the flame-shot air. He remembered too the terrified monkeys sheltering in the casemates, gibbering in fright. He had pitied them. ‘We should get some lunch, Pat.’
‘I could watch these little fellows all day!’ Harper said.
‘You can stay and watch,’ Fox said, ‘but we’re eating.
‘They’ll be here after lunch, Pat,’ Sharpe said.
‘You think so?’
‘Look at the size of that wagon! Must be a bastard to move.’
‘I suppose you’re right, sir.’
Sharpe hesitated as he followed Fox into the restaurant. For a start it was plainly expensive, with linen-covered tables beneath glittering chandeliers. It was crowded too, the diners all dressed expensively and a number of them, Sharpe noted, wearing gold-braided French uniforms. A hush descended on the large room as the three entered. ‘They don’t like us,’ Sharpe murmured to Fox.
‘I’d be surprised if they did!’ Fox said, then summoned a waiter with a click of his fingers. ‘A table for three,’ he demanded. ‘They know me here,’ he added to Sharpe, ‘and the food is excellent.’
A table was found, though Fox complained it was too near the door leading into the kitchen, but there was no other, so the three settled on spindly chairs. Sharpe propped his rifle against the wall, while Fox ordered wine. ‘A Sancerre to begin, I think? Will that suit you, Sharpe?’
‘Thank you.’ Sharpe had his back to the wall and could see the hostile glances that were thrown their way. There were no other British soldiers in the room, while at least a quarter of the diners were in French uniform. Sharpe assumed they lived in the city and so had not retreated beyond the Loire.
‘And I shall order,’ Fox went on. ‘Is there anything you particularly like, Sergeant?’
‘Black pudding,’ Harper suggested enthusiastically.
‘They do a very decent boudin, we can start with that,’ Fox said, ‘does that suit you, Sharpe?’
‘Whatever you suggest, Fox.’ He was uncomfortable. He and Lucille had eaten in restaurants in Caen, but never in any place as delicately sumptuous as this, and he was aware of the animosity in the room, especially from a nearby table, where six men sat, three of them in uniform, who made no attempt to hide their scorn.
‘Roast chicken would be good,’ Harper said. He seemed to be enjoying the restaurant, looking eagerly at the paintings and the pillars. ‘This is grand,’ he added.
Wine was brought, and then a second bottle, and Fox ordered food. ‘You don’t mind garlic?’ he asked his companions. ‘The dish is rich.’
‘Garlic’s fine,’ Sharpe said.
‘I’ll eat anything,’ Harper said, ‘so long as there’s a lot of it.’
‘You’ll like it,’ Fox said. ‘Poulet Marengo.’
‘Marengo?’ Sharpe snarled.
‘It’s said Napoleon’s cook devised the dish after the battle. There weren’t too many ingredients available, so he used what he could find. Chicken, oil, garlic, eggs and crayfish.’
‘Sounds horrible,’ Sharpe said.
‘We should have Chicken Waterloo,’ Harper said happily. ‘Bloody great chickens roasted with potatoes.’
Sharpe was thinking of Lanier, the so-called hero of Marengo. ‘At least the Prussians will have to deal with the bastard,’ he said.
‘What’s that, Sharpe? Deal with who?’
Sharpe had not meant to speak aloud and he shrugged as he answered. ‘Lanier.’
‘And you’re right, the Prussians will cook his goose. He’s not our problem any more.’
‘He was this morning,’ Sharpe said.
‘And he failed.’ Fox tasted the second bottle of wine. ‘Splendid!’ He gestured for the waiter to pour. ‘La Fraternité is dead, Sharpe. It died at Waterloo. My impression was that Lanier has a handful of men at Delaunay’s house and they’re there simply to protect the widow while she cheats the revenue agents.’
‘Your impression?’
‘I was in that cellar. I saw eleven men at most. The Prussians are more than capable of containing them, while our problem now is to remove thousands of paintings and sculptures from the Louvre without sparking an insurrection. Paris labours under the misapprehension that it’s the city of civilisation and that they deserve to have the world’s treasures, and they won’t like us taking some away.’
Harper was not listening. Instead his face had reddened and he was gazing blankly at the wall, looking furious. ‘What is it, Pat?’ Sharpe asked.
‘Just listen,’ Harper said. His fists were clenched.
The men at the next table were talking loudly, and one of them, a tall man in a French infantry jacket, louder than the rest. It was plain he wanted to be overheard, yet the language he spoke was strange. Fox was listening too. ‘I speak seven languages,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know that one.’