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French cavalrymen were

    unbuckling the girth and untying the prisoner. A trumpet sounded, calling order to

    the scattered Hussars who still raced after the other horse, and at that exact moment, as

    the trumpet notes reached the gully, El Catolico launched his own horsemen from the

    northern hills. They came down on to the scattered and outnumbered French in a long line,

    blacks and browns and greys, swords of all descriptions held over their heads, the dust

    spurting behind them, while from the rocks on the hillside Sharpe saw muskets firing over

    their heads at the surprised French.
    Kearsey almost jumped over the rim with joy. His fist slammed into the rock.

    'Perfect!'
    The ambushers had been ambushed.

CHAPTER 5
    El Catolico, the Catholic, led the horsemen from the cover of the hills, and Sharpe found

    him in the telescope. Kearsey barked out a description, but even without it Sharpe would

    have recognized the tall man as the leader. 'Grey cloak, grey boots, long rapier, black

    horse.'
    Kearsey was thumping his fist on the rock, willing the Partisans on, closer and closer

    to the wheeling French. Sharpe scanned the guerrilla line, looking for the blue and silver

    of a Prince of Wales Dragoon, but he could see no sign of Captain Hardy. He remembered

    Kearsey saying that El Catolico's fiancee, Teresa, fought like a man, but he could see no

    woman in the charging line, just men screaming defiance as the first horses met and the

    swords chopped down on the outnumbered French.
    In the village the trumpets split the quiet; men scrambled on to nervous mounts, sabres

    hissed from scabbards, but El Catolico was no fool. He was not going to fight a regiment

    and lose. Sharpe saw him waving at his men, turning them back, and the Rifleman searched

    with the telescope in the obscuring dust for clues to what was happening. The French had

    been hard-punished. Outnumbered two to one, they had fallen back, taking casualties,

    and the Spanish charge had given them no time to form a disciplined line. Sharpe saw

    prisoners, dragged by the arms, going back with the horsemen who had been disciplined,

    presumably by El Catolico, to make the one killing charge and then get out of danger's way.

    Sharpe admired the action. The French had been baited, had fallen for the lure, and then

    been savagely hurt in one quick charge. It was hardly two minutes since the Spanish had

    appeared and already, hidden by dust, they were returning to the hills and taking with

    them more prisoners whose fate would be worse than that of the two men who had drawn the

    Hussars from the safety of the village walls. One man alone stayed in the valley.
    El Catolico stood his horse and watched the Hussars stretching out from the village.

    Closer to him were the survivors of the Spanish charge and they now spurred their horses to

    attack the lone Partisan. El Catolico seemed unconcerned. He urged his horse into a

    canter, away from the safety of the hills, circled in the uncut barley and looked over his

    shoulder as the French came close. A dozen men were chasing him, leaning over their horses'

    manes, sabres stretched out, and it was certain that the tall Partisan leader must be

    taken until, at the last moment, his horse sidestepped, the thin rapier flashed, one

    Frenchman was down and the big, black horse with its grey rider was in full gallop to the

    north and the Hussars were milling in uncertainty where their leader lay dead. Sharpe

    whistled softly.
    Kearsey smiled. 'He's the finest swordsman on the border. Probably in Spain. I've seen

    him take on four Frenchmen and he never stopped saying the prayer for their death.'
    Sharpe stared into the valley. A hundred horsemen had ridden out to rescue the two

    prisoners and now two dozen of the Hussars were dead or captured. The Partisans had lost

    none; the speed of their charge and withdrawal had ensured that, and their leader, staying

    till the end, had slapped French pride in the