6th night, 95th camp

[Continued from here]


"You still got something in the pot, Cooper?" Perkins asked as he approached the fire. "Harris and Mícheál are on their way too. They're with the surgeon looking at the prisoner. Mmm, thanks. What's this?"

"Rabbit stew."

"How is the prisoner? You ain't killed him, I hope?"

Sharpe had finished his own meal and handed the plate back to Hagman. "That were a right good stew, lads. Thank you."

Morning, he thought. Morning would be early enough to send Hagman out with a couple of other lads to scout after the French. Though he should have done it straight after the fighting was over, but he knew that if he'd done that, he'd still be in the wrong. You couldn't win either way in this Army, and it was something he'd got resigned to years ago.

"Killed him? No, I'll leave that to the surgeon," Perkins replied with a laugh. "But you'll have to ask Harris. I didn't take a good look at him, except the back of his head which was bloody. I mean, with blood on it."

"So long as he's still alive, you ain't done too much damage, then." He leaned back, accepting a cup of tea from someone. "You make sure you leave some grub in there for Harris and Carty, all right, lad?"

Carty walked back with Harris, deep in thought, occasionally glancing over his shoulder at the surgeon's tent. It had been a difficult day, a long day, and now he was looking forward to forgetting about it all, and eating some hot stew with his friends around their campfire.

"Oh I am, Mister Sharpe." He took a quick glance at the pot to reassure himself, and when he looked back there were Harris and Carty approaching. "Saved you some!" he called.

"Good lad," Sharpe said, sipping his tea. It was hot and strong and bitter, the way he liked it. Well, the way he was used to it, which was not necessarily the same thing, he supposed.

Carty waved at Perkins, and ran on ahead to the fire, pulling to a stop when he saw Lieutenant Sharpe sitting there with them. "Mister Sharpe, sir..." Looking around, it seemed to be Chosen Men; he smiled at Ben and indicated that he would go to a different fire.

"Mr Sharpe," Harris followed Carty and caught the boy by the arm to prevent his running away. "I think Carty deserves tea - he did well today."

"Oh, come on over, Mícheál. Cooper's saved you some stew." Not the best rabbit stew he had ever eaten, but at least it was hot and filling.

Sharpe saw the motion the Irish lad made and smiled through the darkness at him. "No, it's all right, Carty. You can stay here. Unless you'd rather get away from me." It was entirely up to the lad what he wanted to do, but as far as Sharpe was concerned, any of his men could sit at any fire. And one day, Carty would come to the fire where the Chosen Men were as a matter of right. He was determined that one day the Irish lad would wear the white stripe of a Chosen Man of the 95th.

It might not be soon, but it would happen. He just wanted the lad to be ready for it, and he was working hard at learning English, as well as all the other things a Chosen Man needed. One day, he'd be ready.

Carty went bright red at Harris' praise, and flashed an embarrassed grin. "Th-Thanks, Harris." His grin widened when he saw Ben indicating the pot of stew. "Thanks, Mister Sharpe."

Perkins made room for Carty next to the fire. "So did you finally get to hand off your Frenchie? I mean, are you finished with him?"

"We left him with the surgeon, in leg-irons," Harris shrugged. "I don't think he'll try to escape, he's rather nervous about the two men they had as prisoners. He thinks they'll be looking for revenge, and has some strange ideas about the way we behave to prisoners." He looked at the Lieutenant. "I had hoped to use that to persuade him to tell us about where they were based and how many there were. But he didn't fall for it. I'm not sure how much he knows anyway. He did say something about their taking prisoners - sailors, marines and Germans. He thought the sailors and marines were stupid, and the Germans not much better."

Perkins tried to hide a smile while he took renewed interest in his stew.

"Everyone knows sailors and Marines are stupid," Sharpe said. "Though the Germans are usually fairly clever, as a rule."

Harris' praise of Carty had not escaped Sharpe's attention. He glanced over at the Irish rifleman. "You still listenin' to what Harris has to teach you, lad?"

Carty looked up, spilling a little of the freshly-ladled stew on his trousers. "Harris, sir, yes, sir. Harris teaching me."

He grinned at the lad. "Good lad. You just keep learnin', and you'll be a Chosen Man one day."

Carty beamed, his eyebrows high with surprise and joy. "Chosen Man, sir? Yes, yes, I be learning! Making English good, and making rifle good - learning all, sir!"

"He's a very good shot," confirmed Harris. "Took two of them down this afternoon. I can't teach him much about that."

"Two? That was very well done indeed. I don't think I got any." Carty's skill with a rifle was in no doubt in Sharpe's mind. It was things like tracking that he needed - but after the first experience he had, he might be a little reluctant to go back out there. Well, he needed to learn that as much as anything.

"And that prisoner? Did you take him down too?" Perkins asked.

"Prisoner? Um..." Carty looked down, as though inspecting the flint on his rifle. The prisoner troubled his heart, and he did not want to dwell on the subject. "Man next to prisoner, I shoot man, and prisoner falls to hill."

"Well that counts," Perkins said with a grin. "Another notch for you."

"'Counts'? I dun'..." Carty placed his rifle on the ground again, and picked up his spoon. "What is notch?"