Dinner at Vickery's

"Odd that," Padstowe gave a half-smile. "And yet I have never come across that mentality with any foreign soldiers I have met. I have come to believe it must be a peculiarity of our race."

"Cotton does try, but it cannot be easy to be an illiterate in a country where people do not speak your language. I daresay that most of the soldiery never realised the rest of the world does not speak English."

"I think the same can be said for some of the officers," Padstowe said, remembering a couple of young captains he'd seen the other day trying to ask the way of a very confused peddler.

"Maybe, but it is a little less understandable in officers. They are educated, after all, and should have a wider knowledge of the world than a man who can't read."

Padstowe took another mouthful from his glass.

"Theoretically anyway; though there are men who have been taught much but have learnt nothing - the wilfully ignorant of the world, but only considered better because they have money and can read and write."

Vickery shook his head. "I will never understand men like that. Men who have every advantage of life and yet are more ignorant of the world around them than an illiterate farm worker, or even a soldier, who they would sneer at if they met him in the street."

"Sad, but true," Padstowe said. "And then you have the men like Sharpe, who have every capability and distinction, yet are despised because they seem to lack 'education' and a good birth."

"Perhaps this is why I prefer the Rifles. Men are given the chance to do what they could not in a redcoat regiment. Rest assured, I shall not look down on Lieutenant Sharpe merely because of his birth."

He picked up the wine bottle. "Would you like some more wine?"

"If you please." Padstowe pushed his glass across the table. He would stay until they'd finshed this second bottle, then it would probably be time for him to excuse himself.

Vickery poured for both of them, and cast about for something else to say. "Do you know how it was that Lieutenant Sharpe won his commission?" he asked eventually. It wasn't something that occurred often, and although he had heard rumours, he wasn't sure he trusted them.

"He saved Sir Arthur's life," Padstowe said, waiting for Vickery to fill his glass, then taking a swig. He was sure he must have told the man before... but he could not remember clearly. "At Assaye. The General was unhorsed in the middle of the enemy and Sharpe protected him until help arrived."

He rubbed his neck distractedly.

"Fought like the devil by all accounts."

That sort of thing would get anyone a commission. And Sharpe and General Wellesley had a history, did they? Vikery and his men would have to watch themselves, then. If Sharpe spoke, especially about Rifles, the General would surely listen to him.

"He seems to have a habit of fighting like the Devil," Vickery said, holding his glass up to the light before taking a mouthful.

"Doesn't know how to do anything else."

The captain shrugged.

"I shouldn't let it bother you, though - they're too wary of each other and try to avoid meeting like the Plague, and Wellesley is determined not to show any favours unless Sharpe really deserves them."

"Interesting relationship, then," Vickery said, wondering why the General was wary of a Lieutenant. "I look forward to getting to know Sharpe, as I am sure I have said before."

"I guarantee that he shall leave a lasting impression," Padstowe said, smiling. His smile vanished though as a clock somewhere in the house struck the hour with ten chimes. He rose from the table.

"My apologies, captain, for my abruptness, but I made a meeting with an associate of mine for a quarter past the hour and must see him before tomorrow morning."

"Certainly. I wouldn't wish to detain you any longer than necessary." Vickery rose as well. "I am glad you came, and I hope to see you again."

"And I also," Padstowe said warmly, shaking Vickery's hand. "It has been a most pleasant evening, spent in the best of company."

"Thank you. If I can be of service to you in the future, please let me know." He opened the door. "I trust you can find your way, or shall I send Cotton with you?"

"No thank you, I shall find my own way admirably. Thank you again for the dinner."

Padstowe gave a final smile and then ducked out the door, down the stairs and into the street.

Once outside Padstowe inhaled deeply of the night air - cold and foul, but steadying after eating a hot meal in a small set of rooms. On the whole he felt remarkably content; a pleasant thin fog of happiness from the glasses of wine and the stew he had eaten. His arm was hardly troubling him and for the first time since they had returned from their disastrous mission to Óbidos he felt generally happy to be himself again.

Happy, it must be said. Happy to be alive, happy to have been in pleasant company, happy to be in a friendly city... Although unknown to him it had just become a little less friendly. Emerging from Vickery´s lodgings he had failed to notice the shadow that had detached itself from a doorway, which now hung back and followed him silently down the street.

Hakeswill had waited. He had waited for the right opportunity and tonight had presented itself.

He had learnt a lot about Captain Padstowe in the past two weeks - a process made much easier by the man´s sudden absence. Firstly he had learnt that he usually ate in the Mess or alone at home. Secondly, tha he was an officer highly valued by the General himself, though not noticable enough to warrant a special attention. Thirdly, that he was an Exploring Officer, for all he claimed to be of the 50th, liable to disappear for days or months ithout hardly a moment´s notice, but always took the precaution of paying his rent month in advance.

Fourthly, he was injured; something wrong with his shoulder which currently made his left arm useless. And Fifthly, but most importantly, he was in the habit of walking about the city at night alone.

It was a combination of these factors which meant Hakeswill was now carefully followling the Captain along the dark streets whilst he made his way home. He had already picked his site of ambush - a small alleyway about a hundred yards away, and with the chaos of setting out on the march tomorrow, no one would miss one captain who was prone to wandering off and had settled his rent in advance.

Padstowe smiled to himself, a satisfied smile, although he knew he would probably not see his bed until well into the small hours of the morning - if at all tonight. He needed to be out promptly tomorrow, as he was supposed to be riding out with the Staff - all the belongings he was planning to take were packed, along with arrangements made for Bethany to be saddled and ready for him when he reached Headquarters.

To be perfectly honest he was glad they were on the move again; all this waiting around had seemed to have brought nothing but misfortune - the attack on Sharpe, William's trial, the confusion over Óbidos... the sooner they left the better, and the dawn of tomorrow he would welcome with open arms.

He had walked a fair way back towards his lodgings when all of a sudden he felt a prickling sensation a the back of his neck; a sensation that he was being watched, and he turned his head to glance behind him, but then there was the scrape of a boot on the cobbles and he caught a glancing blow with something large and solid to the side of his head.

The impact sent him reeling, but before he could right himself another blow connected with the back of his head, his vision exploding into tiny flashes of light. He flailed at where he supposed his attacker to be, desperately seeking to hit or claw back, and he grabbed hold of a coat - what felt like a soldier's coat and clung on to it.

The bugger had managed to grab hold of him - whether in blind desperation or an attempt to fight back he did not know - and Hakeswill snarled, hitting Padstowe across the face again and gain, until his grip slacked, sprawling him on the floor.

He was hit again, the fist of his attacker smashing into his face and he let go his grip on the assailant, falling to the ground, hitting the hard cobbles, his senses confounded and blow after vicious blow landed about him; winding him, cutting him, breaking and bruising his bones, making what blurred images he could see through the lights spin away into darkness and pain.

God, but it had taken a long time to get the bastard down! An officer he might be, bu the captain was certainly tougher than he looked.

The sergeant freely took his frustration out on Padstowe now, giving im as good a beating as he could, kicking him sharply in the ribs, stomach, legs, groin, everywhere tha he could do the most damage, cackling as he listened to his victim's moans as he lay helpless on the cobbles.

"So sorry, sir!" he mocked. "Such a shame, sir! never strike an officer would I, sir! Never in life says I!"

He aimed an extra had kick into his stomach, forcing the captain to curl up double, a pitiful groan escaping his throat.

"Support a Welsh Davvie over a sergeant, would you?" Hakeswill spat on Padstowe. "Side with Sharpie the bastard grasshopper? It's officers like you what don't know their place what's taking this army to the dogs! Doing the General a favour, so I am, getting rid of a bastard like you - not that he knows any better hisself, him being bloody sotted with bloody Sharpie!"