set some houses on fire, presumably so that the British could not use them as advance positions. Farther north, out of sight, there was some heavy artillery at work, for the air was being punched by the percussive blasts and the sky was streaked and silting with smoke.
Major General Sir David Baird had a musket wound on his left hand and another rivulet of blood where a ball had grazed his neck, but he was feeling ebullient. He had led a brigade into the gardens, ejected some Danish regulars, massacred some brave idiots from the militia and now watched as his men secured the southern ground that would finally isolate Copenhagen from the rest of Zealand. Captain Gordon, his aide and nephew, had been wasting his breath by chiding the General for exposing himself to unnecessary danger, but Baird was enjoying himself. He would have liked to keep the advance going, right through the western suburbs, across the lakes and into the city itself. “We could have the fleet by nightfall,” he claimed.
Lord Pumphrey, the civilian aide from the Foreign Office, looked alarmed at the General’s bellicosity, but Captain Gordon did his best to restrain Sir David. “I doubt Lord Cathcart would want a premature assault, sir,” the aide observed.
“That’s because Cathcart’s a bloody old woman,” Baird grumbled. Cathcart was the General in command of the army. “A bloody old woman,” Baird said again, then frowned at Lord Pumphrey who was trying to draw his attention. “What is it?” he growled, then saw where his lordship was pointing. A Rifle officer was coming up the path from the greenhouse.
“It’s Lieutenant Sharpe, Sir David,” Pumphrey said.
“Good God.” Baird stared at Sharpe. “Good God. Gordon? Deal with him.” The General, not wanting to be associated with failure, spurred his horse farther along the ridge.
Gordon dismounted and, accompanied by Lord Pumphrey, walked to meet Sharpe. “So you escaped the city?” Gordon greeted him.
“I’m here, sir,” Sharpe said.
Gordon heard the bitterness. He led Sharpe toward the back of the greenhouse where the General’s orderly had a fire going and a kettle boiling. “We heard about Lavisser,” he said gently. “We read the Berlingske Tidende.”
“He implied you were an assassin,” Lord Pumphrey said with a shudder. “So very distressing for you. We sent a letter to His Royal Highness denying the allegation, of course we did.”
“It’s all very distressing,” Gordon said, “and I’m very sorry you became involved, Sharpe. But how were we to know?”
“You don’t know any of it,” Sharpe said angrily.
“We don’t?” Gordon asked mildly. He paused to organize some cups of tea. “What we learned the day after you left England, Lieutenant”—Gordon turned back to Sharpe—”is that Captain Lavisser, as well as being in debt, faced a prosecution for breach of promise. A woman, of course. She claims the marriage date was settled. One suspects she is also pregnant. He was doubtless eager to flee the country, but was rather clever to persuade the Treasury to fund his escape.”
“The Foreign Office advised against it,” Lord Pumphrey put in.
“As you will doubtless remind us frequently,” Gordon said. He shrugged. “I’m sorry, Sharpe. Had we known we should never have let him go.”
“There’s worse,” Sharpe said.
“Ah! The tea,” Gordon said, “nature’s soft nurse. No, that’s sleep, isn’t it? But tea’s the next best thing. Thank you, Boswell.” Gordon took a tin mug from the General’s orderly and handed it to Sharpe.
Lord Pumphrey ignored the offered tea. His lordship no longer sported a beauty spot and he had abandoned his white-laced jacket in favor of a simple brown coat, but he still seemed out of place. He took a pinch of snuff, then shuddered as a Danish prisoner came down the hill. The man was bleeding from a scalp wound and two fusiliers were trying to hold him still while they bandaged his head, but the man kept shaking himself free and staggering a few wild steps. “Tell me what we don’t know,” Lord Pumphrey said, turning his back on the wounded man.
So Sharpe told them how Barker had tried to kill him, how he had then gone to Skovgaard who had betrayed him to Lavisser, about the French and the battle in the house that did not lie so very far to the north. He told them about Madame Visser and the three dead men and Skovgaard’s bloody gums and the teeth lying on the desk. “Lavisser is working with the French,” Sharpe said. “He’s a goddamn traitor.”
Lord Pumphrey took the news surprisingly calmly. He said nothing for a while, but just listened to the heavy sound of the artillery to the north. “Gunboats,” he said bleakly. “I am forever astonished by the military. Their budgets are raised each year, yet the weapons are never suitable. It turns out that the Danish gunboats are rather better than ours. They draw less water and carry heavier ordnance and the results are not at all pretty.” He watched as the fusiliers at last wrestled the wounded Dane to the ground, then he walked a few delicate steps northward to escape the man’s moaning. “So Captain Lavisser is still in the city?” he asked Sharpe.
“He was here in these gardens a minute ago,” Sharpe said bitterly. “The bastard was telling me that Bonaparte will want a new ruler for Denmark. Someone like him, but the last I saw of the bastard he was running like a deer.”
“Of course we shall deny that any of this happened,” Gordon said.
“Deny it!” Sharpe spoke too loudly.
“My dear Sharpe,” Gordon remonstrated, “we cannot possibly have it known that the Duke of York had an aide who was on the French payroll. It would be a disastrous revelation.”
“Calamitous,” Lord Pumphrey agreed.
“So I trust we can depend on your discretion?” Gordon asked.
Sharpe sipped the tea and watched the smoke trails in the northern sky. They were too thick to be the fuses of shells so he decided they had to be rockets. He had not seen any rockets since India. “If I’m still a Rifle officer,” he said, “then I’ll be discreet. You can order me to be discreet.” It was an attempt at blackmail. Sharpe had abandoned his place at the the Shornecliffe barracks and could expect little mercy from Colonel Beckwith unless Sir David Barid spoke for him, but Baird had only promised him support if he succeeded in Copenhagen. And he had failed, but it was clear no one wanted that failure known.
“Of course you’re still a Rifle officer,” Gordon said forcefully, “and Sir David will be happy to explain the circumstances to your Colonel.”
“So long, of course, as you keep quiet,” Pumphrey said.
“I’ll keep silent,” Sharpe promised.
“But tell me about Skovgaard,” Lord Pumphrey said. “You think he’s in danger?”
“Bloody hell, yes, my lord,” Sharpe said vigorously, “but he wouldn’t let me stay because he’s not happy with Britain at the moment. He’s got half a dozen old men with even older muskets guarding him, but they won’t last two minutes against Lavisser and Barker.”
“I do hope you’re wrong,” Lord Pumphrey said quietly.
“I wanted to stay,” Sharpe said, “but he wouldn’t let me. Said he’d trust in God.”
“But your part’s over now,” Gordon declared. “Lavisser’s a renegade, the gold is gone and we’ve been thoroughly humbugged. But it’s not your fault, Sharpe, not your fault at all. You behaved creditably and I shall so inform your Colonel. You know your regiment’s here?”
“I guessed as much, sir.”
“They’re down south, near a place called Koge, I think. You’d best take yourself off there.”
“And what of Lavisser?” Sharpe asked.
“I suspect we shall never see him again,” Gordon said bleakly. “Oh, we’ll capture the city, but I’ve no doubt the Honorable John will conceal himself from us and we’re hardly likely to search every attic and cellar for him. And I suspect His Majesty’s Treasury can afford the loss of forty-three thousand guineas, don’t you? Is there much food in the city?”
“Food?” Sharpe was momentarily thrown by the change of subject.
“Well stocked up on victuals, are they?”
“Yes, sir. Carts and ships were arriving all the time I was there. Packed with grain.”
“Tragic,” Gordon murmured.
Sharpe frowned when he realized why Gordon had asked the question. If the city had plenty of food then it could hold out against a prolonged blockade, or, indeed, a siege and Sharpe shuddered. “You can’t bombard the
