respectfully, 'if I could take another man with me. Deserters usually run in pairs, don't they? And if the man is the genuine article, a ranker, it'll be altogether more convincing.
'Makes sense, makes sense, Baird had put in encouragingly.
'You have a man-in mind? Wellesley had asked coldly.
'His name is Sharpe, sir, Lawford said. 'They're probably about to flog him.
'Then he'll be no damned use to you, Wellesley said in a tone which suggested the matter was now closed.
'I'll go with no one else, sir, Lawford retorted stubbornly, addressing himself to General Harris rather than to his Colonel, and Harris was pleased to see this evidence of backbone. The Lieutenant, it seemed, was not quite so diffident as he appeared.
'How many lashes is this fellow getting? Harris asked.
'Don't know, sir. He's standing trial now, sir, and if I wasn't here I'd be giving evidence on his behalf. I doubt his guilt.
The argument over whether to employ Sharpe had continued over a midday meal of rice and stewed goat. Wellesley was refusing to intervene in the court martial or its subsequent punishment, declaring that such an act would be prejudicial to discipline, but William Lawford stubbornly and respectfully refused to take any other man. It had, he said, to be a man he could trust. 'We could send another officer, Wellesley had suggested, but that idea had faltered when the difficulties of finding a reliable volunteer were explored. There were plenty of men who might go, but few were steady, and the steady ones would be too sensible to risk their precious commissions on what Wellesley scathingly called a fool's errand. 'So why are you willing to go? Harris had asked Lawford. 'You don't look like a fool.
'I trust I'm not, sir. But my uncle gave me the money to purchase my commission.
'Did he, by God! That's damned generous.
'And I hope I'm damned grateful, sir.
'Grateful enough to die for him? Wellesley put in sourly.
Lawford had coloured, but stuck to his guns. 'I suspect Private Sharpe is resourceful enough for both of us, sir.
The decision whether or not to employ Sharpe belonged, in the end, to General Harris who privately agreed with Wellesley that to spare a man his well-earned punishment was to display a dangerous laxity, but at last, persuaded that extraordinary measures were needed to save McCandless, the General surrendered to Baird's enthusiasm and so, with a heavy heart, Harris had ordered the unfortunate Sharpe fetched to the tent. Which was why, at long last, Private Richard Sharpe limped into the wan, yellow light cast through the tent's high canvas. He was dressed in a clean uniform, but everyone in the tent could see that he was still in dreadful pain. He moved stiffly, and the stifihess was not just caused by the yards of bandage that circled his torso, but by the agony of every movement of his body. He had tried to wash the blood out of his hair and had succeeded in taking out most of the powder as well so that when Colonel Wellesley told him to take off his shako he appeared with curiously mottled hair.
'I think you'd better sit, man, General Baird suggested, with a glance at Harris for his permission.
'Fetch that stool, Harris ordered Sharpe, then saw that the private could not bend down to pick it up.
Baird fetched the stool. 'Is it hurting? he asked sympathetically.
'Yes, sir.
'It's supposed to hurt, Wellesley said curdy. 'Pain is the point of punishment. He kept his back to Sharpe, pointedly demonstrating his disapproval. 'I do not like cancelling a flogging, Wellesley went on to no one in particular. 'It erodes good order. Once men think their sentences can be curtailed, then God only knows what roguery they'll be up to. He suddenly twisted in his chair and gave Sharpe an icy glare. 'If I had my way, Private Sharpe, I'd march you back to the triangle and finish the job.
'I doubt Private Sharpe even deserved the punishment, Lawford dared to intervene, blushing as he did.
'The time for that sentiment, Lieutenant, was during the court martial! Wellesley snapped, his tone suggesting that it would have been a wasted sentiment anyway. 'You've been lucky, Private Sharpe, Wellesley said with distaste. 'I shall announce that you've been spared the rest of your punishment as a reward for fighting well the other day. Did you fight well?
Sharpe nodded. 'Killed my share of the enemy, sir.
'So I'm commuting your sentence. And tonight, damn your eyes, you'll reward me by deserting.
Sharpe wondered if he had heard right, decided it was best not to ask, and so he looked away from the Colonel, composed his face, and stared fixedly at the wall of the tent.
'Have you ever thought about deserting, Sharpe? General Baird asked him.
'Me, sir? Sharpe managed to look surprised. 'Not me, sir, no, sir. Never crossed my mind, sir.
Baird smiled. 'We need a good liar for this particular service. So maybe you're an excellent choice, Sharpe. Besides, anyone who looks at your back will know why you wanted to desert. Baird liked that idea and his face betrayed a sudden enthusiasm. 'In fact if you hadn't already conveniently had yourself flogged, man, we might have had to give you a few lashes anyway! He smiled.
Sharpe did not smile back. Instead he looked warily from one officer to the other. He could see that Mister Lawford was nervous, Baird was doing his best to be friendly, General Harris's face was unreadable, while Colonel Wellesley had turned away in disgust. But Wellesley had always been a cold fish, so there was no point in trying to gain his approval. Baird was the man who had saved him, Sharpe guessed, and that fitted with Baird's reputation in the army. The Scotsman was a soldier's general, a brave man and well liked by the troops.
Baird smiled again, trying to put Sharpe at his ease. 'Let me explain why you're running, Sharpe. Three days ago we lost a good man, a Colonel McCandless. The Tippoo's forces captured him and, so far as we know, they took him back to Seringapatam. We want you to go to that city and be captured by the Tippoo's forces. Are you understanding me this far?
'Yes, sir, Sharpe said obediently.
'Good man. Now, when you reach Seringapatam the Tippoo will want you to join his army. He likes to have white men in his ranks, so you won't have any trouble taking his shilling. And once you're trusted your job is to find Colonel McCandless and bring him out alive. Are you still following me, now?
'Yes, sir, Sharpe said stoically, and wondered why they did not first ask him to hop over to London and steal the crown jewels. Bloody idiots! Put a bit of gold lace on a man's coat and his brain turned to mush! Still, they were doing what he wanted them to do, which was kicking him out of the army and so he sat very still, very quiet and very straight, not so much out of respect, but because his back hurt like the very devil every time he moved.
'You won't be going alone, Baird told Sharpe. 'Lieutenant Lawford volunteered your services and he's going as well. He'll pretend to be a private and a deserter, and your job is to look after him.
'Yes, sir, Sharpe said, and hid his dismay that perhaps things were not going to be quite so easy after all. He could not just run now, not with Lawford tied to his apron strings. He glanced at the Lieutenant, who gave him a reassuring smile.
'The thing is, Sharpe, Lawford said, still smiling, T'm not too certain I can pass myself off as a private. But they'll believe you, and you can say I'm a new recruit.
A new recruit! Sharpe almost laughed. You could no more pass the Lieutenant off as a new recruit than you could pass Sharpe off as an officer! He had an idea then, and the idea surprised him, not because it was a good idea, but because it implied he was suddenly trying to make this idiotic scheme work. 'Better if you said you was a company clerk, sir. He muttered the words too softly, made shy by the presence of so many senior officers.
'Speak up, man! Wellesley snarled.
'It would be better, sir, Sharpe said so loudly that he was verging on insolence, 'if the Lieutenant said he was a company clerk, sir.
'A clerk? Baird asked. 'Why?
'He's got soft hands, sir. Clean hands, sir. Clerks don't muck about in the dirt like the rest of us. And recruits, sir, they're usually just as filthy-handed as the rest of us. But not clerks, sir. Harris, who had been writing, looked up with a faint expression of admiration. 'Put some ink on his hands, sir, Sharpe still spoke to Baird, 'and he won't look wrong.
'I like it, Sharpe, indeed I do! Baird said. 'Well done.
