'Have you asked her already? Sharpe said accusingly.
'No! Green said hastily. 'Wouldn't be right! Not while you're still, well, you know.
'Alive, Sharpe said bitterly.
'It's only if the worst happens. Green tried to sound optimistic. 'Which it won't.
'You won't need my permission when I'm dead, Sergeant.
'No, but if I can tell Mary you wanted her to accept me, then it'd help. Don't you see that? I'll be a good man to her, Sharpie. I was married before, I was, only she died on me, but she never complained about me. No more than any woman ever complains, anyhow.
'Hakeswill might stop you marrying her.
Green nodded. 'Aye, he might, but I can't see how. Not if we tie the knot quick. I'll ask Major Shee, and he's always fair with me. Ask him tonight, see? But only if the worst happens.
'But you need a chaplain, Sharpe warned the Sergeant. The 33rd's own chaplain had committed suicide on the voyage from Calcutta to Madras and no marriage in the army was considered official unless it had the regimental commander's permission and the blessing of a chaplain.
'The lads in the Old Dozen tell me they've got a God-walloper, Green said, gesturing at the soldiers guarding Sharpe, 'and he can do the splicing tomorrow. I'll probably have to slip the bugger a shilling, but Mary's worth a bob.
Sharpe shrugged. 'Ask her, Sergeant, he said, 'ask her. What else could he say? And if Mary was properly married to Sergeant Green then she would be protected by the army's regulations. 'But see what happens to me first, Sharpe added.
'Of course I will, Sharpie. Hope for the best, eh? Never say die.
Sharpe drained the canteen. 'There's a couple of things in my pack, Sergeant. A good pistol I took off an Indian officer the other day and a few coins. You'll give them to Mary?
'Of course I will, Green said, carefully hiding the fact that Hakeswill had already plundered Sharpe's pack. 'She'll be all right, Sharpie. Promise you, lad.
'And some dark night, Sergeant, give bloody Hakeswill a kicking for me.
Green nodded. 'Be a pleasure, Sharpie. Be a pleasure. He knocked the ashes of his pipe against the ammunition boxes, then stood. 'I'll bring you some more rum, lad. The more the better.
The preparations for Sharpe's flogging had all been made. Not that they were many, but it took a few moments to make sure everything was to the Sergeant Major's satisfaction. A tripod had been constructed out of three sergeant's halberds, their spear points uppermost and lashed together so that the whole thing stood two feet higher than a tall man. The three halberd butts were sunk into the dry soil, then a fourth halberd was firmly lashed crosswise on one face of the tripod at the height of a man's armpits.
Sergeant Hakeswill personally selected two of the 33rd's drummer boys. The drummer boys always administered the floggings, a small element of mercy in a bestial punishment, but Hakeswill made certain that the two biggest and strongest boys were given the task and then he collected the two whips from the Sergeant Major and made the boys practise on a tree trunk. 'Put your body into it, lads, he told them, 'and keep the arm moving fast after the whip's landed. Like this. He took one of the whips and slashed it across the bark, then showed them how to keep the lash sliding across the target by following the stroke through. 'I did it often enough when I was a drummer, he told them, 'and I always did a good job. Best flogger in the battalion, I was. Second to none. Once he was sure their technique was sufficient for the task he warned them not to tire too quickly, and then, with a pocket knife, he nicked the edges of the leather lashes so that their abrasions would tear at the exposed flesh as they were dragged across Sharpe's back. 'Do it well, lads, he promised them, 'and there's one of these for each of you. He showed them one of the Tippoo's gold coins which had been part of the battle's loot. 'I don't want this bastard walking again, he told them. 'Nor do you neither, for if Sharpie ever finds his feet he'll give you two a rare kicking, so make sure you finish the bastard off proper. Whip him bloody then put him underground, like it says in the scriptures.
Hakeswill coiled the two whips and hung them on the halberd that was mounted crosswise on the tripod, then went to find the surgeon. Mister Micklewhite was in his tent where he was trying to tie his white silk stock in preparation for the punishment parade. He grunted when he saw Hakeswill. 'You don't need more mercury, do you? he snarled.
'No, sir. Cured, sir. Thanks to your worship's skill, sir. Clean as a whistle I am, sir.
Micklewhite swore as the knot in the damned stock loosened. He did not like Hakeswill, but like everyone else in the regiment he feared him. There was a wildness in the back of Hakeswill's childlike eyes that spoke of terrible mischief, and, though the Sergeant was always punctilious in his dealings with officers, Micklewhite still felt obscurely threatened. 'So what do you want, Sergeant?
'Major Shee asked me to say a word, sir.
'Couldn't speak to me himself?
'You know the Major, sir. No doubt he's thirsty. A hot day. Hakeswill's face quivered in a series of tremors. 'It's about the prisoner, sir.
'What about him?
'Troublemaker, sir. Known for it. A thief, a liar and a cheat.
'So he's a redcoat. So?
'So Major Shee ain't keen to see him back among the living, sir, if you follow my meaning. Is this what I owe you for the mercury, sir? Hakeswill held up a gold coin, a haideri, which was worth around two shillings and sixpence. The coin was certainly not payment for the cure of his pox, for that cost had already been deducted from the Sergeant's pay, so Micklewhite knew it was a bribe. Not a great bribe, but half a crown could still go a long way. Micklewhite glanced at it, then nodded. 'Put it on the table, Sergeant.
'Thank you, sir.
Micklewhite tugged the silk stock tight, then waved Hakes-will off. He pulled on his coat and pocketed the gold coin. The bribe had not been necessary, for Micklewhite's opposition to the coddling of flogging victims was well enough known in the battalion. Micklewhite hated caring for men who had been flogged, for in his experience they almost always died, and if he did stop a punishment then the recovering victim only cluttered up his sick cots. And if, by some miracle, the man was restored to health, it was only so he could be strapped to the triangle to be given the rest of his punishment and that second dose almost always proved fatal and so, all things considered, it was more prudent to let a man die at the first flogging. It saved money on medicine and, in Micklewhite's view, it was kinder too. Micklewhite buttoned his coat and wondered just why Sergeant Hakeswill wanted this particular man dead. Not that Micklewhite really cared, he just wanted the bloody business over and done.
The 33rd paraded under the afternoon's burning sun. Four companies faced the tripod, while three were arrayed at either side so that the battalion's ten companies formed a hollow oblong with the tripod standing in the one empty long side. The officers sat on their horses in front of their companies while Major Shee, his aides and the adjutant stood their horses just behind the tripod. Mister Micklewhite, his head protected from the sun by a wide straw hat, stood to one side of the triangle. Major Shee, fortified by arrack and satisfied that everything was in proper order, nodded to Bywaters. 'You will begin punishment, Sergeant Major.
'Sir! Bywaters acknowledged, then turned and bellowed for the prisoner to be fetched. The two drummer boys stood nervously with their whips in hand. They alone of the parading soldiers were in shirtsleeves, while everyone else was in full wool uniform. Women and children peered between the company intervals. Mary Bickerstaff was not there. Hakeswill had looked for her, wanting to enjoy her horror, but Mary had stayed away. The women who had come for the spectacle, like their men, were silent and sullen. Sharpe was a popular man, and Hakeswill knew that everyone here was hating him for engineering this flogging, but Obadiah Hakeswill had never been concerned by such enmity. Power did not lie in being liked, but in being feared.
Sharpe was brought to the triangle. He was bareheaded and already stripped to the waist. The skin of his chest and back were as white as his powdered hair and contrasted oddly with his darkly tanned face. He walked steadily, for though he had the best part of a pint of rum in his belly, the liquor had not seemed to have the slightest effect. He did not look at either Hakeswill or Morris as he walked to the tripod.
'Arms up, lad, the Sergeant Major said quietly. 'Stand against the triangle. Feet apart. There's a good lad.
Sharpe obediently stepped up to the triangular face of the tripod. Two corporals knelt at his feet and lashed his ankles to the halberds, then stood and pushed his arms over the crosswise halberd. They pulled his hands
