TWO
"I say, Sergeant Major Harper! Where is Major Sharpe?" a tall, elegant young man called from the edge of the tents. Harper appeared, wiping frizzen oil from his hands with a much-used cloth. He looked the young man up and down, thinking perhaps he was twenty-five if he was lucky, with the physique of a spring sapling. He walked a few steps closer.
"Who shall I say is asking for him, sir?" he asked pleasantly, smiling. The man looked at him.
"You're Harper?" he asked, surprised.
"That I am, sir. Is it the Major you're wanting? Can I give him your compliments, sir?" he asked cheerfully, noting the man's expression soften into a small smile.
"Please do," he said, walking forward and holding out a hand. "Lieutenant Colonel James Hardwick," he said pleasantly. Harper lifted his hands in the rag, shrugging.
"Oh I'm sorry sir, wouldn't want to get you all greasy, now," he said. Hardwick smiled a little wider.
"Much obliged, I'm sure," he said. "Please inform the Major that I await him in Colonel Lawford's tent, Mister Harper," he said. Harper eyed him.
"That I will, sir, straight away, sir," he nodded.
"Good man," he nodded, turning and walking away smartly. Harper watched him go, then just shrugged to himself and turned, walking through the tent lines to Sharpe's tent. He found him round the back of it, shaving over a bowl of warm water.
"Sir," he said loudly.
"What is it?" he asked quietly, watching the cut-throat razor carefully as he swept it up his jaw slowly.
"Colonel Lawford's asking for you, sir," he said cheerfully. "Seems we have a new recruit, too," he added.
"Oh aye?" Sharpe asked, but Harper recognised the disinterested tone too easily.
"A Lieutenant Colonel, if you please," Harper said indignantly. "A Mister James Hardwick," he added. "Seems nice enough, if you like people that can read but can't shoot straight, sir."
"Right now I'd settle for –" he paused as he stroked at the opposite side of his jaw – "something to shoot at, Pat," he finished.
"Ooh, you're not wrong there, sir," Harper grinned. "Best be getting to Colonel Lawford's tent then, eh sir?" he asked.
"In a bit," Sharpe allowed, continuing his slow, steady routine. Harper just sighed, and turned and walked away.
"Ah, there you are at last!" Lawford called as Sharpe ducked into his huge tent, shako under his arm. "Well at least your uniform's clean," he tutted, eyeing him. Sharpe just stared at the far wall.
"Sir," he replied. Bastard, he thought vindictively. Bloody shaved an' all.
"Well then, Major Sharpe, allow me to present the Lieutenant Colonel Sir James Hardwick," he said, waving a hand toward a willowy young man. The man, light brown haired and hazel eyed, nodded to him, and even tipped a jaunty finger from his forehead. Sharpe nodded politely.
"Colonel," he said respectfully.
"Major," he grinned, and Sharpe wondered just what was in store. His eyes swept to the swarthy man seated at the left of Lawford's table, looking very comfortable indeed.
"And Monsieur Caron," Lawford said, indicating the man. He stood slowly, inclining his head.
"Major," he said smoothly, and Sharpe had an instant impression of charm and sophistication. Something about him suddenly set his teeth on edge. But he nodded politely as the man sat again.
"Mr Caron," he said, copying Lawford's educated pronunciation of the name, emphasising the last syllable. A Frog? In Bill's tent?
"Mr Caron and Sir James have brought me a rather strange despatch, Major," Lawford said. Sharpe turned his attention back to him.
"Sir," he replied. Caron watched him, his eyes amused. Lawford sat slowly, reaching to the desk and picking up a roll of parchment tied with a red ribbon.
"The General orders you to the village of Venganza, two day's march from here, on the other side of the river," he said abruptly. Sharpe looked at him, surprised.
"With the South Essex, sir?" he asked.
"Don't be premature, Major," Lawford said cautiously. "You're to take your precious Chosen Men and find something for the General. He advocates any and all reasonable force to procure this item and return it to Mr Caron forthwith," he said. "He shall take it back Lord Wellington himself." Sharpe looked at the man in question, smiling back at him. Sharpe half-expected him to spit canary feathers.
"Did you lose something, Mr Caron?" he asked innocently, hoping to annoy him.
"I did not, Major Sharpe," Caron replied smoothly, his French accent non-existent. "It is something we need to acquire to prevent it causing trouble elsewhere."
"May I know what it is, sir?" Sharpe asked Lawford directly.
"I think it best we leave –" Lawford began.
"It's a leather-bound book, Major," Hardwick interrupted cheerfully. Caron and Lawford looked at him, apparently unimpressed. He looked over at them. "Oh come now, the Major is expected to retrieve it for us, what's with all the secrecy?" he scoffed loudly. Sharpe eyed him warily, even as he was impressed with the loud man's extreme confidence. He turned back and looked at him. "You're about to ask what's in the book. Names, Major, just names," he said. "Names of the good General's… wandering officers," he said with a broad smile.
"And would you be one of those wandering officers, sir?" he asked innocently. Hardwick affected horror.
"Oh good Lord, no," he chuckled. "I fight battles, Major. And just like you, I win," he added pleasantly. "This book was the last foolish act performed by one of the General's less fortunate of wandering officers," he said helpfully. Lawford cast him a glance, but he ignored it admirably. "Seems he wanted something to bargain with, should he be caught."
"And was he, sir?" Sharpe asked, after a long moment of silence.
"I should hope so. It's the only way I could explain how he was found with a French cavalry sabre aligning him with the dirt not unlike a tent-peg does a guy-rope," he said pleasantly.
"So where's the book now, sir?" he asked. Hardwick grinned.
"If we knew that, we wouldn't need you, Major," he said. Sharpe cleared his throat, looking at his feet slowly.
"With all due respect, sir, I'm a soldier. I don't know anything about chasing down missing books and –"
"Ah, I stand corrected," Hardwick said suddenly. He turned and looked at Caron. "Too bad, old man," he shrugged, apparently not fazed in the least. Sharpe watched him, but it was Caron who spoke, drawing his attention.
"We have you to be the most secretive of diggers, Mister Sharpe," he said quietly. Sharpe felt anger rising at the man's haughty tone. "After all, was it not you who intercepted a report bound for me?" He eyed Sharpe, and he in turn sized him up. Within a second he'd decided where and how best to carve the flesh from this man Caron's ribs with one strike.
Caron stood, breaking the moment, and made a show of looking through his pockets. Hardwick watched, amused, as he produced a rumpled piece of paper.
"A butcher's bill? From the skirmishes at the Lisbon redoubts?" Caron pressed.
"No, sir," Sharpe said, his fingers gripping the beak of the shako tightly.
"So you had that dirty Irish thief do it for you?" he asked, his smile gone. Sharpe's lips thinned.
"Say that again. Sir," he breathed dangerously. Hardwick looked at him, then back at Caron.
"Come, come," Hardwick said pleasantly. "It was just temporarily mislaid, Pierre," he said dismissively.
"Did you read the bottom?" Caron said to Sharpe smoothly.
"Mr Caron," Hardwick interrupted.
"The silly girl's dead, Sharpe, and there's –"
The two soldiers, standing outside Colonel Lawford's tent on guard, heard a loud crash and sounds of a scuffle. They looked at each other from beside the tent flaps. The taller one gestured inside with his head. The shorter one stared at him, then shook his head. "You first," he dared.
"Guard!" Lawford roared from inside. They both put hands to their shakoes and ducked into the tent quickly, cocking their loaded muskets.
They found two red-coated officers dragging a green-tunicked officer off another man. He was lying on the floor, his black jacket and smart matching trousers dusty and in complete disarray.
"Calm yourself, man!" Hardwick shouted at Sharpe, pulling desperately on his right arm, even as Sharpe kicked his foot out in the direction of Caron. Good Lord, he's got a pull on him, he breathed.
"Richard! I will not have this!" Lawford shouted in his left ear. Sharpe stopped struggling to free himself and let the two men drag him over toward the two soldiers. They just looked at him at musket-point, taking no chances.
Hardwick let go and Lawford released him, pushing him toward the tent flaps. Sharpe caught his feet and turned quickly, pinning Caron with a look that would have boiled tea for the entire regiment of the South Essex.
"Now get out, and take a moment to remember you're an officer and a gentleman!" Lawford roared. "You are leaving at dawn tomorrow, Major!"
Sharpe tugged his tunic straight, pulled his sword to sit properly again, and looked at Lawford with narrowed eyes.
"Yes, sir," he breathed, looking at Hardwick and nodding respectfully before turning and disappearing from the tent flaps. Lawford brushed at his sleeves, pulling them straight and turning to Hardwick. He shook his head, letting the moment dissolve slowly.
"Well, sorry about all this, Sir James," he said sheepishly. Hardwick grinned.
"Oh, don't be, old boy. I rather like him," he said, turning and looking at Caron, who was picking himself up off the floor and feeling his jaw gingerly. "But you, dear chap. Well, that was rather too far below the belt, I fear," he said disapprovingly. "We need him. Must you attempt to make enemies of everyone you meet?"