Sharpe 3-Book Collection 5: Sharpe’s Company, Sharpe’s Sword, Sharpe’s Enemy

Sharpe squatted back on his heels and smiled up at the Major. ‘I did.’

‘For God’s sake, why?’

‘Don’t know, sir. It just came out.’

‘But, Good Lord, Sharpe. It goes on your papers, it …’ Forrest gave up. ‘Why don’t you tell him the truth?’

‘I quite like the idea, sir.’

Forrest laughed. ‘Well I never. I thought it was odd when he mentioned it, but I thought it could be true. You’re such a private fellow, Sharpe.’

‘The way I’m going, sir, I probably will be soon.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Forrest frowned. ‘There’ll be a Captaincy soon. There nearly was this afternoon. Poor Sterritt tripped over and had a bayonet through his jacket.’

Sharpe said nothing. He had shamelessly searched the survivors to see if any Captain was missing, but they all seemed to bear charmed lives and a remarkable freedom from disease in the foul weather. He stood up and slung his pack on one shoulder. Over the hill came the thumps of the French guns, a sound so common that men hardly noticed it any more. As common as the endless hissing of the rain.

Forrest looked over his shoulder, at the parading Light Company. ‘This is sad, Sharpe. Very sad.’

Windham paraded them and the Sergeant Major called each man forward in turn to have pouches, haversack and pack emptied on to a groundsheet. Another Sergeant went through the packets. Sharpe turned away. He found it sad, too, and unnecessary. He would have paraded them and given them ten minutes to come up with the thief or face the consequences; if, that is, he really believed that one of the Company was the thief. Forrest shook his head. ‘He’s very thorough, Sharpe.’

‘Not really, sir.’

‘What do you mean?’

Sharpe gave a tired smile. ‘When I was in the ranks, sir, we had packs with false bottoms. He’s not looking inside the shakoes. Anyway, a real thief won’t have the stuff anymore.’

‘He’s hardly had time to get rid of it.’

‘Sir. One of the women could have it by now, he could have sold it all to the Sutler for a few shillings and a bottle or two. It could be hidden. It won’t be found. We’re just wasting our time.’

A horseman pulled up outside the sheepfold and saluted Forrest. ‘Sir?’

Major Forrest peered through the rain. ‘Good Lord! Young Knowles! You’ve got a new horse!’

‘Yes, sir.’ Robert Knowles slid from the saddle and grinned at Sharpe. ‘Now I’m not in your Company, I’m allowed to ride a horse. Do you like it?’

Sharpe looked morosely at the beast. ‘Very nice, sir.’

Knowles stiffened on the ‘sir’. He looked from Sharpe to Forrest. His smile went. ‘Your gazette?’ He stammered at Sharpe.

‘It was refused, sir.’

‘Stop it.’ Knowles was embarrassed. He had learned his trade from Sharpe, modelled himself on his old Captain, and now he had a Light Company of his own he tried to think, every hour, of how Sharpe would lead them. ‘It’s ridiculous!’

Forrest nodded. ‘The world’s gone mad.’

Knowles frowned, shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it!’

Sharpe shrugged. ‘It’s true.’ He felt sorry for having embarrassed Knowles. ‘How’s the Company?’

‘Wet. They want to get on with the fighting.’ He shook his head again. ‘So who’s got your Company?’

Forrest sighed. ‘A man called Rymer.’

Knowles shrugged. ‘They’re mad.’ He looked at Sharpe. ‘It seems crazy! You underneath some Captain?’

Forrest tut-tutted. ‘Oh, no. Mr Sharpe has special duties.’

Sharpe grinned. ‘I’m the Lieutenant in charge of women, pick-axes, mules, and baggage guard.’

Knowles laughed. ‘I don’t bloody believe it!’ He suddenly noticed the strange parade beyond the circular, small sheepfold. ‘What’s happening?’

‘A thief.’ Forrest sounded sad. ‘The Colonel thinks it might be someone in the Light Company.’

‘He’s mad!’ Knowles kept a fierce loyalty to his old Company. ‘They’re much too fly to be caught!’

‘I know.’ Sharpe watched the search. The men had all been processed, and nothing found, and now the Sergeants came forward. Hakeswill stood ramrod straight, his face twitching, as his pack was turned upside down. Nothing would be found, of course. The Sergeant gave Windham a snapping salute.

Harper came forward, grinning with amusement that anyone should think him capable of such an act. Hakeswill first, then Harper, and Sharpe began running up the hillside because, of course, Hakeswill wanted Harper out of the way. Patrick Harper saw Sharpe coming and raised his eyebrows, taking the insult of the search with the same calm tolerance with which he met most of life’s indignities, and then the face registered shock.

‘Sir?’ The Sergeant Major was straightening up.

Sharpe had realized what was happening, but too late. He should have got to Harper sooner. Before the parade.

‘Officer of the Day!’ Windham’s voice was harsh. ‘Put the Sergeant under arrest.’

They only found one thing, but it was enough. On top of the pack, not even hidden, was the silver frame that had enclosed the picture of Windham’s wife. The glass had been smashed and the portrait was missing, razored from the filigree that had itself been bent. Windham held the frame, seemed to quiver with rage, and looked up at the huge Sergeant. ‘Where’s the picture?’

‘I know nothing about it, sir. Nothing. So help me, sir, I did not take it.’

‘I’ll flog you! By God! I will flog you!’ He turned on his heel.

The Light Company stood frozen, the rain dripping from shako peaks, their uniforms soaked. They seemed shocked. The rest of the Battalion, crouched in their inadequate shelters, watched as the Officer of the Day assembled a guard and Harper was taken away. Sharpe did not move.

The Company was dismissed. Fires were lit under the shelters in a vain attempt to drive out the dampness. Bullocks were slaughtered for the evening meal, the musket smoke lingering over the panicked survivors of the herd, and Sharpe let the rain chill his skin as he felt a terrible impotence. Knowles tried to move him. ‘Come and eat with us. Be my guest. Please.’

Sharpe shook his head. ‘No. I must be here for the Court-Martial.’

Knowles looked worried. ‘What’s happening to the Battalion, sir?’

‘Happening, Robert? Nothing.’

He would kill Hakeswill one day, but now he needed proof or otherwise Harper could never be cleared. Sharpe did not know how to get the truth. Hakeswill was cunning and Sharpe knew that the truth could not be beaten out of him. He would laugh at a beating. But one day Sharpe would bury the sword in that belly and let the rottenness burst out like putrescent ooze. He would kill the bastard.

The bugles sounded sunset, the end of the regulation day, the fourth day of Badajoz.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN