Sharpe 3-Book Collection 1: Sharpe’s Tiger, Sharpe’s Triumph, Sharpe’s Fortress

‘My home’s near Portsmouth.’

‘That’s no bloody good. Navy would press you in Portsmouth before a recruiting sergeant could get near to you. Ever been to Sheffield?’

‘Good Lord, no!’ Lawford sounded horrified.

‘Good place, Sheffield,’ Sharpe said. ‘And there’s a pub on Pond Street called The Hawle in the Pond. Can you remember that? The Hawle in the Pond in Sheffield. It’s a favourite hunting hole for the 33rd’s recruiters, especially on market days. You was tricked there by some bleeding sergeant. He got you drunk and before you knew it you’d taken the King’s shilling. He was a sergeant of the 33rd, so what did he have on his bayonet?’

‘His bayonet?’ Lawford, fumbling to release the leather binding of his newly clubbed hair, frowned in perplexity. ‘Nothing, I should hope.’

‘We’re the 33rd, Bill! The Havercakes! He carried an oat-cake on his bayonet, remember? And he promised you’d be an officer inside two years because he was a lying bastard. What did you do before you met him?’

Lawford shrugged. ‘A farmer?’

‘No one would ever believe you laboured on a farm,’ Sharpe said scornfully. ‘You ain’t got a farmer’s arms. That General Baird now, he’s got proper arms. Looks as if he could hoist hay all day long and not feel a damn thing, but not you. You were a lawyer’s clerk.’

Lawford nodded. ‘I think we should go now,’ he said, trying to reassert his rapidly vanishing authority.

‘We’re waiting,’ Sharpe said stubbornly. ‘So why the hell are you running?’

Lawford frowned. ‘Unhappiness, I suppose.’

‘Bleeding hell, you’re a soldier! You ain’t supposed to be happy! No, let’s think now. You boned the Captain’s watch, how about that? Got caught, and you faced a flogging. You saw me flogged and didn’t fancy you could survive, so you and me, being mates like, ran.’

‘I really do think we must go!’ Lawford insisted.

‘In a minute, sir.’ Again Sharpe cursed himself for using the honorific. ‘Just let my back settle down.’

‘Oh, of course.’ Lawford was immediately contrite. ‘But we can’t wait too long, Sharpe.’

‘Dick, sir. You call me Dick. We’re friends, remember?’

‘Of course.’ Lawford, as uncomfortable with this sudden intimacy as with the need to waste time, settled awkwardly by Sharpe at the base of a tree. ‘So why did you join up?’ he asked Sharpe.

‘The harmen were after me.’

‘The harmen? Oh yes, the constables.’ Lawford paused. Somewhere in the night a creature shrieked as it was caught by a predator, while off to the east the sergeants called to their sentries. The sky glowed with the light of the army’s myriad fires. ‘What had you done?’ Lawford asked.

‘Killed a man. Put a knife in him.’

Lawford gazed at Sharpe. ‘Murdered him, you mean?’

‘Oh, aye, it was murder right enough, even though the bugger deserved it. But the judge at York Assizes wouldn’t have seen it my way, would he? Which meant Dick Sharpe would have been morris-dancing at the end of a rope so I reckoned it was easier to put on the scarlet coat. The harmen don’t bother a man once he’s in uniform, not unless he killed one of the gentry.’

Lawford hesitated, not sure whether he should enquire too deeply, then decided it was worth a try. ‘So who was the fellow you killed?’

‘Bugger kept an inn. I worked for him, see? It was a coaching inn so he knew what coaches were carrying good baggage and my job was to snaffle the stuff once the coach was on the road. That and some prigging.’ Lawford did not like to ask what prigging was, so kept quiet. ‘He were a right bastard,’ Sharpe went on, ‘but that wasn’t why I stuck him. It was over a girl, see? And he and I had a disagreement about who should keep her blanket warm. He lost and I’m here and God knows where the lass is now.’ He laughed.

‘We’re wasting time,’ Lawford said.

‘Quiet!’ Sharpe snapped, then picked up his musket and pointed it towards some bushes. ‘Is that you, lass?’

‘It’s me, Richard.’ Mary Bickerstaff emerged from the shadows carrying a bundle. ‘Evening, Mr Lawford, sir,’ she said shyly.

‘Call him Bill,’ Sharpe insisted, then stood and shouldered his musket. ‘Come on, Bill!’ he said. ‘No point in wasting time here. There’s three of us now and wise men always travel in threes, don’t they? So find your bleeding star and let’s be moving.’

They walked all night, following Lawford’s star towards the western skyline. Lawford took Sharpe aside at one point and, insisting on his ever-more precarious authority, ordered Sharpe to send the woman back. ‘That’s an order, Sharpe,’ Lawford said.

‘She won’t go,’ Sharpe retorted.

‘We can’t take a woman!’ Lawford snapped.

‘Why not? Deserters always take their valuables, sir. Bill, I mean.’

‘Christ, Private, if you mess this up I’ll make sure you get all the stripes you escaped yesterday.’

Sharpe grinned. ‘It won’t be me who messes it. It’s the damn fool idea itself.’

‘Nonsense.’ Lawford strode ahead, forcing Sharpe to follow. Mary, guessing that they were arguing about her, kept a few paces behind. ‘There’s nothing wrong with General Baird’s notion,’ Lawford said. ‘We fall into the Tippoo’s hands, we join his wretched army, find this man Ravi Shekhar, then leave everything to him. And just what part does Mrs Bickerstaff play in that?’ He asked the question angrily.

‘Whatever part she wants,’ Sharpe said stubbornly.

Lawford knew he should argue, or rather that he should impose his authority on Sharpe, but he sensed he could never win. He was beginning to wonder whether it had been such a good idea to bring Sharpe after all, but from the first moment when Baird had suggested this desperate endeavour, Lawford had known he would need help and he had also known which of the Light Company’s soldiers he wanted. Private Sharpe had always stood out, not just because of his height, but because he was by far the quickest-witted man in the company. But even so, Lawford had not been ready for the speed or force with which Sharpe had taken over this mission. Lawford had expected gratitude from Sharpe, and also deference; he even believed he deserved that deference purely by virtue of being an officer, but Sharpe had swiftly torn that assumption into tatters. It was rather as if Lawford had harnessed a solid-looking draught horse to his gig only to discover it was a runaway racer, but why had the racehorse insisted on bringing the filly? That offended Lawford, suggesting to him that Sharpe was taking advantage of the freedom offered by this mission. Lawford glanced at Sharpe, noting how pale and strained he looked, and he guessed that the flogging had taken far more from the Private than he realized. ‘I still think Mrs Bickerstaff should go back to the army,’ he said gently.

‘She can’t,’ Sharpe said curtly. ‘Tell him, Mary.’

Mary ran to catch up. ‘I’m not safe while Hakeswill’s alive,’ she told Lawford.

‘You could have been looked after,’ Lawford suggested vaguely.

‘Who by?’ Mary asked. ‘A man looks after a woman in the army and he wants his price. You know that, sir.’

‘Call him Bill!’ Sharpe snarled. ‘Our lives might depend on it! If one of us calls him “sir” then they’ll feed us to their bloody tigers.’

‘And it isn’t just Hakeswill,’ Mary went on. ‘Sergeant Green wants to marry me now, which is at least more than Hakeswill does, but I don’t want either. I just want to be left in peace with Richard.’

‘God knows,’ Lawford said bitterly, ‘but you’ve probably jumped out of the frying pan into the fire.’

‘I’ll take my chances,’ Mary said obstinately, though she had taken what care she could to reduce her chances of being raped. She had dressed herself in a torn dark frock and a filthy apron, both garments as drab and greasy as she could find. She had smeared ashes and dirt into her hair, but she had done nothing to disguise the lively beauty in her face. ‘Besides,’ she said to Lawford, ‘neither you nor Richard speak any of the languages. You need me. And I brought some more food.’ She hoisted the cloth bundle.

Lawford grunted. Behind them the horizon was now marked with a pale glow that silhouetted trees and bushes. He guessed they had travelled about a dozen miles and, as the pale glow turned brighter and the dawn’s light seeped across the landscape, he suggested they stop and rest. Mary’s bundle held a half-dozen loaves of flat unleavened bread and had two canteens of water which they shared as their breakfast. After he had eaten, Lawford went into the bushes for privacy and, as he came back, he saw Sharpe hit Mary hard in the face. ‘For God’s sake, man,’ Lawford shouted, ‘what are you doing?’

‘Blacking my eye,’ Mary answered. ‘I asked him to.’

‘Dear God!’ Lawford said. Mary’s left eye was already swelling, and tears were running down her cheeks. ‘Whatever for?’

‘Keep the buggers off her, of course,’ Sharpe said. ‘Are you all right, love?’

‘I’ll live,’ Mary said. ‘You hit hard, Richard.’