The day after

The relief showed on Padstowe's face. He'd spent all night convincing Williams to do the same, and had Sharpe stuck to his guns all his effort would be in vain.

"You'll get your chance, Richard; just not yet. As for Private Williams, he shan't get another chance if this fails, so we must concentrate our efforts on clearing Williams, not convicting Hakeswill. Fortunately a prosecuting officer has not been appointed yet, so for the timebeing we are ahead of the enemy, as you might say."

"Let's hope it's not that damn Major who was so keen to see Williams swing." Sharpe finished his tea, though it was sour in his mouth with the realisation Hakeswill would be free to continue causing mischief.

"I doubt it. Such a man as he would consider it beneath him to do so; though most likely be called as a witness."

He took another gulp of tea.

"Not that he'll cause me much trouble."

"Witness my arse. He didn't witness a damn thing." Sharpe played with his porridge. He'd lost his appetite somewhere between the bowl being placed on the table and finishing his tea. Although he'd better eat something, and it was a lot better than breakfast was most days. He fought with another mouthful.

"Which is why he won't be much of a problem," continued Padstowe calmly. He could see that Sharpe was fast becoming irritated, so he might as well admit to his nocturnal activities before his mood got any blacker.

"I went to headquarters last night after I delivered you back here. I saw the senior clerk and got myself appointed as defending officer for the case, then went to see Williams."

It was hardly surprising the man hadn't been to bed last night, then.

He tried to clear himself of the sour mood that was his usual morning emotion. "Won't the president of the court martial think you're prejudiced, if you're defending and a friend of the victim?" Well, intended victim. And he hoped he'd used the right word in the right way. Prejudiced. Sounded good, anyway.

"I doubt it. I am not trying to convict Hakeswill - which if I was biased is what the court would expect me to do - and nobody knows about your score with Hakeswill; it's all unofficial rumours from the ranks, which will not stand up as evidence in court. And who's to say Williams is your friend? He isn't, as far as I know. Is he?" He looked questioningly at Sharpe.

"No. Never saw him before last night. But I don't want an innocent man shot for trying to help an officer and getting caught up in something that goes back years. Hell, he was only trying to help, and I never even thanked him for it."

Mind you, it would probably seem more prejudiced if the friend of the victim was prosecuting officer. He wondered who was going to be doing that.

"Good. Anyway, they could hardly accuse you of friendship with ranker, you being an officer. It does not officially happen. At worse they could accuse you of sympathising with him having been a ranker yourself, but that won't cut much ice with the president. Anyway, Williams has agreed to not name Hakeswill so hopefully we stand a good chance of acquitting him."

Which 'him' did Padstowe mean, Sharpe wondered gloomily, trying to persuade himself that he could eat another spoonful of Harper's stirabout, which was actually quite good.

He fought his bad mood back fair enough to grin at Padstowe. "They don't know very much, then, do they," he said, gesturing at Harper with his spoon. "If I ain't friends with Pat Harper, here, I ain't friends with anybody."

"And I love you too, sir," said Harper, grinning sweetly and making Padstowe splutter into his tea from laughing, making him cough violently.

"Patrick Harper, now is not the time or place to declare your undying love." Though Sharpe was trying not to grin; Harper always knew just the right (or wrong) thing to say.

"Well, I'd hardly like to do it on parade, in front of the Chosen Men, sir."

"You do that and I'll have those stripes off your sleeve before you can blink."

Harper assumed a hurt expression and went back to his breakfast.

"Just remember to invite me to the wedding," Padstowe gasped, having finally got control back over himself. "But, yes, play our cards right and Williams may come out of this in one piece... Trouble is it's not just Williams and yourself that's on Hakeswill's agenda now."

That brought Sharpe up, well, sharp. "Who else? Or don't you know?"

Padstowe shook his head.

"Williams didn't tell me; but I suspect one of them to be Cotton, the young lad who ran into me the other day, and there is one other but I'm not at all sure who. It could have been another rifleman. There was a girl involved but Williams told her to get out of the city for the timebeing to stay with her mother, which she has, so we needn't worry for her welfare."

"It couldn't be one of our lads, could it?" Harper asked, looking horrified and protective all at once.

Sharpe was trying to work out who it could be, if it was one of theirs. "Cooper, no. Dan Hagman? Oh, God, not Dan."

The timeframe was right, and Dan had come back looking a bit shaken he other day, but Sharpe couldn't believe his best shot had had a run-in with Hakeswill.

"Might be another lad from the 60th, of course," Harper said, trying to sound like the voice of reason.

"Might be if he was hanging around with Cotton," said Padstowe, but even as he said it his mind went back to the rumoured shooting competition, and that it may well have been Hagman that Cotton beat.

"Best to have a word with Dan anyway, Harper," he said. "And all the other Chosen Men. Better to be safe than sorry."

"But he was. Well, it was some Rifleman of the 60th that beat him the other day, and I know they went for a drink afterwards. Well, I think they did, because he didn't come back from the direction of the field outside town where he headed to that morning."

Of all the soldiers in Lisbon, the bastard had to choose one of his to pick on.

"Then you had better definitely have that word with him." Padstowe sighed again. "Still, you all should be safe for a couple of days - the court martial's not till then."

"Well, thank Heaven for small mercies," Harper said, clearing away his and Padstowe's empty bowls. He looked down at Sharpe. "If you don't stop playing with it, it'll be cold before you've finished eating. Or are you finished already, now?"

"I'm finished, Pat. Thanks." Sharpe pushed the bowl away. He would have to have words with the Chosen Men. If he was after Sharpe, he'd try to get them, just to hurt him.

"Amen to that," Padstowe murmured through a yawn.

"Two days? And you've been up all night?" Sharpe said. "You need to get your head down. Use my bed, if you want. I know it ain't what you're used to, but it's better than nothing."

Padstowe considered the offer. Sitting down had been the mistake. He'd ben on his feet all night, and now with some porridge inside him he did not think he would make it back to his lodgings.

"You sure you don't want to use it?"

"I had some sleep last night, and you didn't. Besides, you're dead on your feet."

The captain wasn't going to argue. He crossed over to the bed and kicked off his boots.

"Thank you, Richard. You're too much of a gentleman to be an officer..."

And he lay down, not even bothering to take off his coat. He was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.