Obadiah Hakeswill watched Patrick Harper's flogging with grim satisfaction, standing close to Sharpe's former riflemen, who were soon to get their new red jackets. Harper had been immediately busted back to private after the discovery of the silver portrait frame, which had eliminated a major impediment for Obadiah in controlling the men and stealing with impunity within the company.
With the former Sergeant Harper neutralized, that left only Sharpie as a thorn in his side. But Hakeswill know that the upstart officer would have his mind occupied for the foreseeable future with trying to secure another promotion and wouldn't have the time to pay too close attention to what Obadiah did with the men of the company. With any luck, the bleedin' fool would die in the breach trying to get into Badajoz and then the wily sergeant would be able to spend the rest of his time in Spain stealing unhindered and undisturbed.
As he continued to watch the strokes being laid on Harper's back, he looked at the former sergeant with the barest hint of a smug grin on his face. The big Irishman had vowed to watch Obadiah, but he'd seriously underestimated his fellow sergeant and was now properly paying the price for it.
Hakeswill glanced at the riflemen standing nearby; perhaps, now, they would learn that it was a dangerous thing to cross Obadiah Hakeswill and would learn their proper places. Over the years, since he'd been a sergeant, he'd seen some men take longer to learn this fact than others, but they all learned, one way or the other, in the end.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Several days later, Hakeswill accompanied Colonel Windham as he inspected the troops, with little Ensign Matthews tagging behind them, still learning his job. As they surveyed Sharpe's riflemen cronies, Obadiah's keen eyes immediately homed in on a miserable looking Patrick Harper and it was all he could do to repress a gleeful cackle. The big Irishman, his sleeves now bare of sergeant's stripes, stood uncomfortably in line with the rest, narrowing his eyes when he spied Hakeswill, who was standing by the Colonel as if they were old friends.
As Colonel Windham stopped in front of Harper, he gave him a long look, then asked, "Are you fit for duty after punishment?"
"Given to think so by the surgeon, sir," Harper replied carefully.
" Very well. Good. Good," the officer said in a tone that suggested he now regretted his decision, made in the emotion of the moment, to have the former sergeant flogged. Pointing to Harper's multi-barrelled weapon, he asked, "And what do you have there? I don't think I've ever seen one like it."
"It has seven barrels, and fires pistol balls," Harper replied helpfully. "Made by Mr Nock of London. Dead handy weapon for picket duty, so it is, sir."
Regarding the demoted Harper with a malevolent grin, Sergeant Hakeswill told the colonel, "Dead against regulations, sir. Shouldn't have it, sir. Officer's weapon, sir."
"It was given to me by Mr Sharpe, sir," Harper explained to Windham.
"Name took for punishment, sir?" Hakeswill asked, rolling his eyes at the Irishman's excuse.
Colonel Windham, who had been admiring the unusual weapon, did not immediately reply. "What?" Then realizing what Hakeswill had said, he added, "No, no, no. Good God, man, no."
Reaching his hand out for the Nock gun, Hakeswill said firmly, "Give it to me, Private Harper." Glancing at Windham, he asked, "Shouldn't I have it, sir?"
"What?" the officer replied. He was still looking longingly at the seven-barrelled weapon. Sighing in resignation, he reluctantly told Hakeswill, "Er. . . Yes."
Turning to the Irishman, Windham said apologetically, "Well. . . you won't need it, Harper."
"Give it here, Harper," Sergeant Hakeswill ordered, his tone triumphant. He'd been eying that Nock gun for weeks, coveting it, and now it was his.
Harper sighed loudly, then reluctantly handed it over to Hakeswill, who snatched it away eagerly
"Thanks, Paddy."
As he walked away to return to his tent a few minutes later, he gave in to the urge to cackle, pleased with his new acquisition. Obadiah knew he could get a good price for it, if the right buyer came along. In the meanwhile, he'd keep it hidden, so that Sharpie wouldn't take it off him and give it back to Harper.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
Nearly a week later, the Chosen Men had pulled night sentry duty, with their assigned positions not far from where French sentries stood guarding their lines. Obadiah, being off duty, had planned to write a letter to Anna that night, since he'd received one from her that day.
As he headed back to his tent after having supper, Newkirk ran to catch up with him.
"Sarge!" he called out, nearly out of breath after trying to keep up with the energetic sergeant.
"What is it, Newkirk," the older man said irritably. "And be quick about it, 'cos I ain't got all night, I don't."
"I just overheard Sharpe talking to Major Nairn," the private told him.
"Not out here!' Hakeswill warned, twitching. "Too many ears around, there are. Come into my tent."
A moment later, inside the sergeant's tent, he turned to Newkirk and demanded, "So what was they talkin' about?"
"Seems like Sharpe's wife is in Badajoz and he's worried about getting' her out," Newkirk said. "Wants to go in for her, he does."
"What kind of a stupid bugger lets his woman go into a town under siege for, even if she is a whore," Obadiah said in disgust. "Especially with a baby. If my Anna was here and we had us a new baby, they'd be right here with me where I could watch over them and keep them safe." After a beat, he added, "'Course Sharpie ain't no better than a bleedin' tomcat about such things, he ain't."
"Right you are, Sarge," the private agreed.
"So, what else did they say?" Hakeswill prodded, twitching.
"The major didn't much like Sharpe askin' him all them questions," Newkirk continued. "He acted impatient with Sharpe, but let it slip that someone was comin' out of there tonight to bring him some information. Sharpe thinks he means his wife is the one comin' out, but Nairn wouldn't tell him yea or nay."
"Interesting, that is," Hakeswill said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I bet he'll be out there waitin' to see if it's her comin' out. Damned fool thing to do, if you asks me."
As the wheels began turning in his head, the sergeant said, "You done told me what you know, so you can go."
After Newkirk had left, Obadiah stepped outside his tent to have a smoke while he digested the information he'd just been given. Sitting on a stool as he filled his pipe, he noticed that fog was rolling in. reducing visibility. As the sun went down and he saw men moving around indistinctly in the fog, an idea formed in his head. Because he knew where Sharpe would be that night and especially because of the fog, it had suddenly dawned on him that tonight would be a good night to get rid of his nemesis for once and for all and do the entire company a favour.
And he now had the ideal weapon to do it with. The Nock gun would be suitable for his needs, considering that with seven barrels, he'd only need to shoot once. His aim wouldn't need to be all that precise, either, as he'd be bound to hit something by simply aiming in the right direction. There were also trees and bushes near the path where Sharpe would be waiting which, along with the fog, would shroud Obadiah from view and make him indistinguishable from others on sentry duty. It was the perfect opportunity.
Going back inside the tent, he retrieved the Nock gun, from where he'd wrapped it in oilcloth. After he methodically loaded the heavy weapon, he carefully looked outside his tent. It was full dark now, and no one was lurking nearby to see him leave the tent with the gun.
Obadiah crept away from the tent, with Harper's weapon pressed tightly against his side, so that no one seeing him in the fog would notice he was armed. Once away from the tents, he made his way to hide behind a group of bushes, near the path where he expected Sharpe to pass at some point. He settled himself comfortably on the ground by a tree, in a spot where he could observe, but not be easily seen. It might be awhile before Sharpie came along and gave him an opportunity for a good shot, but Obadiah was patient. He would wait.
Fortunately, he did not have all that long to wait. After about a half hour by the tree, Richard Sharpe came around the bend from the path that led to the entrance gate to Badajoz, with Harper and Major Nairn following close behind. Sharpe was distracted, arguing with Nairn about something that Hakeswill could not hear clearly from his observation point.
It didn't matter. Sharpie wasn't paying attention to his surroundings and the fog was still sufficiently thick to shroud Obadiah as he stood to do what he came here for.
Raising the Nock gun, he prepared to shoot, aiming the powerful weapon at his nemesis. But as he was pulling the trigger, the stupid little bugger, Matthews, ran up to Sharpe just as the gun went off.
"Damn," Obadiah swore under his breath, as he watched the diminutive officer fall, struck in the back by a couple of the Nock's bullets, which had been intended for Richard Sharpe. The little bastard had appeared so suddenly that there was no time for Obadiah to react and lower the weapon. He'd not meant to kill the boy, but reasoned to himself, that he'd have likely died in the breach in a few days, anyway, so he figured that he'd at least given him a clean death.
Lowering the weapon, he scuttled back behind the tree to watch the men bend over the inert form of Ensign Matthews. He noticed that Sharpe moved awkwardly, favouring one leg, so at least one of the Nock's bullets had apparently hit him, after all. Too bad it hadn't been in the chest, Obadiah thought to himself as he continued to watch the group fuss over the small, still body. He was relieved when no one came to see who had fired the shot.
A moment later, as he was about to leave the area, he noticed Major Nairn hand something to Sharpe. He couldn't quite tell what it was in the fog, but Sharpe was quite startled when he looked at it. Obadiah made a mental note to search Sharpe's tent some time in the very near future to see just what it was, as it might prove to be useful.
The wily sergeant slipped away into the fog then, before the group still surrounding Matthews' body could collect their wits and go searching for who had shot him. As he strolled back to the tent encampment, Obadiah thought it was a good time to visit Sally Clayton again. Her lazy husband was out on sentry duty and would be for a few hours yet, so he decided to take advantage of the opportunity while he could. They'd be ready to try to storm Badajoz within the week and there wouldn't be time for it then.
As he approached the Clayton tent, he found the comely blond woman sitting out in front of it, along with her friend, Lil. Her back to him, she didn't notice Obadiah approaching, until he stepped right in front of her.
"Hello, missy!" he said, grinning, his voice husky with desire.
"What do you want?" Sally said, backing away.
"Oh, I think you knows what I want," he said, twitching, moving closer..
"I've already done paid your price," she protested. "Right and proper, too, I did."
"That you have," Obadiah agreed. "But, you know, I've been thinking that your man would make a fine volunteer for the Forlorn Hope. Been thinking of suggesting him to Captain Rymer, I have. I'm guessing you could help me to forget all about that."
"My children are here," she stalled, knowing it was useless.
"This one here can watch them for a little while," he pointed out, jerking his thumb to indicate Lil.. "You come with me to my tent. It won't take long - Obadiah just needs a little scratching, is all." After she stood reluctantly, bowing to the inevitable, he said softly. "That's it. Your little 'uns won't even know you're gone."
Later, as Sally dressed to return to her own tent, she noticed a childish drawing stuck to the pole in Hakeswill's tent.
"What's that?" she asked, frowning in confusion, unable to conceal her curiosity. She raised her eyebrow quizzically, when she noticed his facial expression soften as he looked where she indicated.
"It's a drawing one of my little 'uns sent me," he told her, in a gentle tone of voice she'd never heard from him before. "Well, what his Mama done sent me. Supposed to be a cat, it is, but it don't look much like one, does it? Boy is only six, so it's not so bad, considerin'." He laughed quietly, missing his wife and family keenly at that moment.
After a long pause, he cleared his throat, then said, "Better go on home now, missy. Your little baby might be wantin' to be fed just about now."
Sally Clayton was speechless as she carefully made her way back to her own tent. She would have never imagined in her wildest notions that a bastard like Obadiah Hakeswill would have a wife and family that would care enough to send him mail.
Early the next day, as the morning fog still lingered, Obadiah observed Sharpie leaving his tent, noticeably limping. He watched his nemesis until it was clear he wouldn't be returning to his tent within the next few minutes. After the blond officer was out of sight, Hakeswill slipped inside Sharpe's tent to look for the item that Nairn had handed him the night before.
Going straight to Sharpie's trunk, Obadiah deftly picked the lock, then rooted through it. He quickly came upon a folded piece of paper, which was about the same size as the object Nairn handed Sharpe the night before. It looked fresh, as if it had been read only once, so the sergeant figured this had to be it.
Opening the paper, Hakeswill saw that it was a hand-drawn map. Peering closely at it, he guessed that it depicted something within Badajoz, though there was nothing on the map to indicate just exactly what it was. Perhaps it was a map to where Sharpie's whore was staying within the town, but, then again, it might be to something different, perhaps a source of plunder. Either way, it was something that could prove useful to have, so Obadiah folded it up and stuck it in his own pocket before leaving the tent and going back about his own business.
That afternoon, after dashing off a quick letter to Anna, he went to find the so-called Chosen Men. The red jackets and shakos for them had arrived and Obadiah gleefully looked forward to divesting them of their worn-out green rags. Muskets were available, too, so they'd be giving up their rifles as well.
He found them not doing much of anything at their mess area. After calling the morose group to attention, he pointed to a nearby table and announced, "Step right up, lads. Each one of you pox-ridden buggers needs to lay your rifles down on this table, then take off them filthy rags what you calls jackets and lay 'em on the ground.
"What's going on, Sarge?" Cooper asked carefully. He was the spokesman for the group; the one best able to deal with the irascible sergeant.
Rolling his eyes at Cooper, as if this was the stupidest question he'd ever heard in his life, Obadiah replied, "What's going to happen now is you will become proper soldiers. And draw proper red tunics of the light company the South Essex, and you will hand in your precious rifle guns and draw proper muskets to go along with being proper dressed. Fit for soldiers at last!"
A short time later, the men reluctantly had set their beloved rifles carefully down on the table and removed the jackets of which they were so proud, and were now sorting among the red jackets to find ones that fit. Watching them in satisfaction, Obadiah suddenly felt eyes upon him. He whirled to find Richard Sharpe glaring at him balefully.
"Eyes in the back of my head I have, I do believe, sir," Hakeswill said, twitching, as he came to attention, then turned to call the men to attention as well.
"Stand the men at ease," Sharpe growled ,eyes boring into the scrawny sergeant as he did so. Once the men were standing comfortably, the blond officer demanded "What is going on here, Sergeant?" He bent over to pick up one of the discarded green jackets to emphasize his point.
"Been outfitting the men with their new, proper uniforms, I have, sir," Obadiah said. "Going to take these old rags to the gunners to swab out the cannons with, sir."
"No need, Sergeant," Sharpe said, his tone deceptively calm, considering the rage he felt. "I'll take them for you." He gathered up the pile of jackets, then laid them on the table, not quite through yet with Obadiah.
Suddenly snatching up a rifle, he walked over to Hakeswill. With an undercurrent of menace in his voice now, Sharpe looked directly into the sergeant's eyes as he spoke. "They say you can't be killed, Sergeant Hakeswill. It is known. 'Come with me, my lads, for I cannot die. I'm going to live for ever, for they tried to hang me once but did. . . not. . . do it.' I could almost believe it."
Shoving the business end of the rifle hard against the underside of Obadiah's chin, tilting it upwards, Sharpe continued, "Except in the case of someone you tried to kill, Sergeant Hakeswill, and did. . . not. . . do it." He jammed the rifle harder under Obadiah's chin for emphasis, as he said the last four words.
Removing the rifle from under the sergeant's chin, he said, " I wonder who it might be, Sergeant?" Not expecting a reply, he shoved the rifle back under Hakeswill's chin again, vowing, "Mark my words, you're a dead man, Obadiah. Bang!"
Obadiah stepped back from his sworn enemy, staggering slightly, eyes glittering malevolently.
"You are dismissed, Sergeant Hakeswill," Sharpe said, making a sweeping motion with his hand, as if brushing away a fly. "Get out of my sight."
Hakeswill wasted no time leaving, twitching and muttering under his breath.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
Close to sundown the next day, men were grouping up in preparation for the raid on Badajoz that would begin later that evening. Obadiah was inspecting his men and giving them last minute instructions, not far from the tent area.
A short distance away, Sharpe, Harper, and Lieutenant Price were engaged in an earnest conversation, all oblivious to Hakeswill's presence.
As he continued to inspect the men, Obadiah eavesdropped on their conversation, while appearing to be as unaware of them as they were of him.
"Sergeant Harper. Teresa is in Badajoz, as you know," Sharpe told his friend. "I may die. Protect her if you can and I can't."
Private Harper, you mean, Obadiah thought to himself sourly.
"Oh, I shall, too, Richard," Price promised. "That you can trust me on. And I promise . . . not a drop more than I need to get me up the ladder."
I'd not trust that drunken sot to wash my shirts, let alone protect anyone, Hakeswill thought, rolling his eyes.
"And you know you can rely on me and all the Rifles," Harper added. "That goes without saying, so it does."
"She's in a house by the cathedral," Sharpe told the two men. "Two orange trees, she writes me. That is all I can tell you to find her. She drew me a map, but. . . I don't have it any longer." After a pause, he added, "Remember Ciudad Rodrigo? The women were cruelly treated. Some even murdered with their children."
Obadiah was instantly alert at Sharpe's mention of a map. Moving to slip into a nearby tent, he took the map he'd stolen out of his pocket, scrutinizing it more carefully this time. Sure enough, it matched what Sharpe had told the two men.
As he stuffed the map back into his jacket, he vowed to himself to get to the whore's house first once inside Badajoz, knowing he'd come up with the perfect revenge on the arrogant Richard Sharpe. While his fellow soldiers would be pillaging and plundering after they'd taken the town, Obadiah Hakeswill would be attending to some unfinished business from the stable with Sharpie's whore.
After leaving the tent, he pulled out Anna's portrait from his pocket, gazing into her painted eyes. "Forgive me, Anna, but I has to do this."