Leaving the Officers' Mess

Williams tried to lunge forward out of the grip, but couldn't get a hand free to go for his bayonet. Officers. And who in God's name had grabbed him and was screaming at him?

Hakeswill kept a firm hold on the struggling Williams and turned to the officers, his face twitching, his alive alive with excitement.

"Caught 'im, sir!" he cried. "Saw 'im over the gentleman! Saw him attack 'im, plain with my own eyes! Truied to garotte 'im!"

"That's a bleeding lie!" Now he recognized the voice, even if he couldn't see the face.

"You're a damn liar, Hakeswill. I saw you running off before the young Private here was anywhere near me." A small lie couldn't hurt, and it would hardly help the Private were he to confess that he hadn't actually seen a damn thing. Besides, he knew the Sergeant and his penchant for picking on those who couldn't fight back. Hell, he had the scars on his back to prove that.

"That's so, Sir. I was at the end of the alley when you fired." Surely they must believe the officer, even if they took the word of a Sergeant over a Private.

"Just so, Sergeant."

He found he was still holding the garrotte and shoved it unobtrusively into a pocket.

"Let the lad go. Now."

Hakeswill looked shocked, surprised at the officers, but did not release Williams.

"Gentl'man's dazed, sir!" he said sympathetically. "Not yet recovered. I heard the shot, I did, an' came runnin' an' found this man a-kneelin over the officers, sirs! Dropped 'is garotte when I did nab 'im, sirs!"

Sharpe snorted. That would no doubt be the first and last time Hakeswill voluntarily called him a 'gentleman'.

"Sergeant Hakeswill. I assure you, my wits are not yet scattered to the four winds. Now let him go!"

Padstowe had caught the movement of Sharpe's hand as he stuffed something into his pocket, along with the tone of voice. Sharpe was lying. The look of brief surprise, then relief on the private's face confirmed as much.

"Be quiet, sergeant!" he snapped flatly. "Let him go."

When Hakeswill had released Williams he knelt down next to Sharpe.

"Are you all right, Richard?" he murmured quietly.

Williams turned round to face the Sergeant. It was the one from the bar, the one who had bothered Maria. "You bastard! I won't forget you now, don't you worry. There'll be time enough to repay this."

"I've had better days. And this would've been one of them if it weren't for that bloody bastard" (he indicated Hakeswill) "trying to choke me off. If it hadn't been for the Private here I reckon he'd have done it, too."

He noticed the disbelieving looks on the faces of the other officers.

"That's enough, private!" Padstowe barked. He turned back to Sharpe, his face deadly serious. "Richard, tell me truthfully now; are you sure the Sergeant attacked you? Did you actually see your assailant?"

Well, he hadn't done a lot, just run up after the trouble was all over. But he wasn't going to argue with the officer, not about that. And the other one, the redcoat officer, still seemed to have doubts.

If Padstowe thought he was going to change his story here and now, he had another think coming. He was not going to have the Private shot for assaulting an officer when he hadn't done anything of the sort. No matter what Hakeswill thought to the contrary.

"Yes, sir. I was attacked from behind, managed to fire my rifle and saw Hakeswill bugger off down an alley before the Private was anywhere near me. All he did was try to see if I was all right."

Hakeswill began to protest, but Padstowe cut him short again. He stared into Sharpe's unyielding eyes. He was still lying, and would continue lying to him. Although he was now nearly convinced that the private had just been unlucky enough to be in the vicinity he needed to know. He sighed. He hated to do this to a friend.

"Richard, please would you take out what you just put into your pocket?"

The hatred from the Sergeant was making his skin crawl, but he bit back any remark. Just look honest, that was best. An honest, helpful, Welsh Inniskilling. Well, there were stranger things.

But the request from the redcoat officer was worrying. Did they not believe the Rifleman? If not, that was serious trouble for him.

If Padstowe couldn't trust him to do the right thing and tell him the truth later, Sharpe almost gave up hope that the Private would see justice done. Almost, but there was a certain look in Padstowe's eyes. The Private would be fine. Sharpe hoped he knew that, but he couldn't say anything to him without setting off another torrent of false accusations by Hakeswill.

He pulled the garrotte out. "Sir."

[OOC: So I eat quickly...]

Padstowe carefully took the garrotte from Sharpe's hands, and there was a murmur from the other officers. The captain knew why Sharpe had taken it, to help clear the private, but it upset him that Sharpe had thought it necessary to do it. He held up the garrotte in plain view, a thin piece of cord. He then turned to Williams.

"Come here, and hold out your hands."

Sharpe breathed a sigh of relief. Padstowe believed him. That damn cord had cut into his fingers as much as into his throat.

"It'll be all right, lad," he said quietly, ignoring the look of hatred he was sure Hakeswill was sending in his direction.

Padstowe Sharpe him a sideways glance. Sympathy from Sharpe would not aide the private if the others suspected collusion against the sergeant.

"Hold them out, man," he said again.

Williams closed his eyes for a moment of prayer. A garotte, the Sergeant had said, and now they had the damned cord. And there wasn't a thing he could do to prove his innocence. He stared for a moment at the Rifleman, then fixed his eyes on the other one, the one who had the rank to decide.

At the man's request, he stepped forward and held out his hands. He stared down at them for some sign of what the purpose of this was. To see if he was trembling? Well, he was.

Vickery had come up and joined Padstowe in looking down at the Private's hands.

"Lieutenant?" he said.

Wordlessly, Sharpe held out his own hand. That damn garrotte had cut into it where he'd tried to keep it from choking him.

Padstowe inwardly let out of sigh of relief. Williams' hands were clear; no indent at all of the garrotte. He calmly laid the cord across the private's trembling hands and then turned to the other officers.

"There, gentlemen. If this soldier had been the assailant then his hands would have been as clearly marked as Lieutenant Sharpe's neck. I believe the private to be nothing more than an unfortunate bystander."

"That is inconclusive and you know it!" one of the other officers growled. "He could have been wearing gloves for all you know."

"That's not so! Would I use something like that? Not on my worst enemy. Not on him!" He jerked his head back towards the Sergeant.

Well, there was one way to prove who Sharpe's assailant was. If Sergeant Hakeswill's hands were as marked as Sharpe's own, they're have all the proof they needed.

"Sergeant. Come here," he said. Damn, but he had the shakes now. Not good, especially in front of Hakeswill and a bunch of officers he didn't know.