With the Guard

It was the officer who had taken most of the decisions - up to the time the Major had intervened. Well, now, what did that mean?

"Sir. Not a very good evening, I'd say. I've had better."

Cotton wanted to hear what was going on, but didn't want to be caught listening at the keyhole, as it were. He contented himself with moving away a couple of paces and studying his hands, ignoring the frown Sanders threw at him.

Padstowe lifted his eyebrows slightly.

"Yes, I can believe that."

He paused whilst he gauged the Welshman's mood. It seemed a good enough time to speak to him.

"We have met before, but I doubt you know who I am. I am Captain Padstowe of the 50th Foot, friend of the officer who was assaulted this evening, whose name is Lieutenant Richard Sharpe."

He paused again to let this sink in.

"I have also been appointed your defending officer for your court martial."

Williams bit his lip. Normally it would be one of your own officers, who would do as much as he thought you were worth. This one might be prepared to fight for him - if his interests didn't conflict with those of the man's friend, Mr Sharpe. Now, the question was, did they? And the next question was: what could he do about it if the two of them had decided to stitch him up? Answer: nothing.

"That's very nice of you, Sir, or nice of someone. I appreciate it. And how is Mr Sharpe, Sir? That was a nasty thing to happen."

"The lieutenant is as well as can be expected in the circumstances," said Padstowe. "A little shaken perhaps, but I saw him to his rooms. He should bounce back."

He lifted his gaze to Williams, scrutinishing him closely.

"The question is, how are you, Williams?"

Williams looked round the small cell. In the lantern light everything looked even worse.

"Me, Sir? Looking forward to getting out of here, that first off. And not just to a yard out the back." Calm, he said to himself. He's here to help - or at least, the only help you're going to get.

"I'd like to get this sorted out, Sir. The lieutenant knows it wasn't me that tried to scrag him."

Probably the best frame of mind to be in, then. Padstowe's hope rose. This could possibly work.

"Then, Williams, I hope that you will allow me to help you as muchas my capabilities allow; and for that I need you to talk to me and answer my questions truthfully and without reserve. Are you willing to do that, Williams?"

Trust an officer to help him? Within limits, since the alternative probably was that yard out the back, and Cotton, or someone else.

"Yes, Sir. As best as I can." And what the Hell were the man's capabilities?

"That's settled then."

Padstowe cast of the severe hauteur he had used to get himself through the guards and indicated to the floor.

"Take a seat, Williams," he said before doing so himself against the opposite wall, setting the lantern down and removing his hat. He endeavoured to make himself as comfortable as possible on the dirty straw, crossing his long legs and taking out a notebook and pencil from beneath his cloak.

Williams relaxed, and grinned at the sight of the officer sitting on the filthy floor.

"You should have asked them to bring you in a chair - that's only proper for officers. But the floor's been good enough for me, often enough. But I'd sack the cleaning staff, me." That was hope talking, he thought.

He sat down, taking the chance to nudge Cotton's mug out of sight.

Padstowe caught the motion of the mug but decided to ignore it. It was a blessing the man had decided to talk to him, so pulling him up on spirits would be a fool's reaction. He smiled at the Welshman.

"I shall have a word with the housemaid at the next convenient moment. Now, Williams, I should like you to relate to me again what happened from your point of view - and tell me the truth this time. Ignore what Mister Sharpe or the Sergeant said, forget they ever said it, and tell me what happened in your eyes."

The man seemed sincere, and perhaps it wasn't the best start to tell your defending officer that you'd be prepared to lie on oath if it saw that mad bastard from the 33rd swing. Although his friend ought to be grateful.

"The truth, is it? Well, it was like I said earlier. I was making my way back to the billet. I know Lisbon, we were here before, see, so I take the short cuts. The streets were pretty empty, but it's a friendly place, Lisbon." Throw in a Sir, occasionally: they like that. "And that's when I see the lieutenant, Sir. Only I didn't know he was an officer, though I thought I saw a rifle on his shoulder. And I - I watched him dodge into the lane." He brought the picture back into his mind. "It was dark up the street, and lighter where I was, so I stepped into the shadows myself - to see what was going on."

He stopped, and looked at the Captain, licking his lips. He could have done with some more water: the brandy had merely left a sour taste in his mouth, and a sense that he could talk himself into trouble. They hadn't yet got to the bit where he had to decide what to say about the Sergeant. That came next.

"Go on," Padstowe encouraged gently. His pencil had been flitting across the page in his own shorthand he had invented, careful to note Williams word for word.

Right - no clue there. So what should he do? Make the offer, only in words he could deny later. The bastard was taking down what he said.

"I still couldn't see well, but I could hear, and I heard noise of fighting. No, not fighting, Sir. A scragging. Choking and scrabbling, Sir. And then the rifle went off. I was already on my way up the street. And ..." He frowned at Captain Padstowe. "And I saw the officer on the ground, kneeling, and the other man running away. I went after him, but he dodged into one of the lanes, and I couldn't see him. I went back to the officer. Sir."

A good, vague statement, and along the lines of what he wanted to hear. But perhaps a little too vague. He looked directly into the private's eyes.

"And did you recognise or in anyway clearly see the face of the attacker?"

Williams stared at the pencil. He wasn't worried about his immortal soul at the moment, just his mortal body. But offering to commit perjury, even in a good cause, was presumably a crime in itself. And he only had this man's word that he was his defence officer. Would a definite answer be the way to clear himself? No, not unless the Rifles officer backed him up.

"I might have done. It was dark, and I only got a glimpse. It could be hard to swear to it, Sir, in a court of law."

Padstowe kept his gaze fixed with that of Williams, before giving an infinitesimal nod and returning his attention to the page.

"I'll take that as a general 'no' then."

Which could be twisted into a definite 'no' later.

"And what happened after you went back to assist Mister Sharpe?"

Williams relaxed slightly. A bit of guidance, that's what he needed.

"He was still kneeling down, Sir - I hadn't been gone above a few seconds. And choking. There was a string round his neck. I couldn't see it clearly, but he was unwinding it. I bent down, to help him..." He looked up again, and said rather desperately. "That was all I wanted, Sir, to know if he needed help. I wasn't going to rob him. I didn't do more than touch his arm. Then that lying bastard came and grabbed me. I knew who he was then." He paused, breathing in. "And then you and the other officers turned up, and you know the rest."

"And which, if I may backtrack a bit," said Padstowe evenly, side-stepping Williams' pleading for the timebeing. "'lying bastard' are you referring to?"

"Hakeswill. Him in the other cell. If they haven't let him out, the smarmy bullying bastard. And he was lying. He can't have seen me attack Mr Sharpe. Isn't that evidence enough for you, Sir?"

"On that front, yes," said Padstowe, closing his notebook and looking Williams in the eye again. "But now I want you to tell me what your disagreement with Sergeant Hakeswill is."

"That he said I attacked the Lieutenant. Isn't that disagreement enough for you?" He caught the Captain's eye.

"It wasn't anything. I was in a bar, up near the Cathedral, and he came in. He tried to get my girl - talked to her like she was a whore - and I told him she was with me. He wasn' t happy, him being a Sergeant and all, but fair's fair, and I got there first. So he went off to find another girl - though I'm sorry for her if he did. No disagreement, not really. He just said he'd go elsewhere. But I wasn't easy about him."

Padstowe nodded. Sounded about right, based on what Sharpe had told him about Hakeswill's grudges.

"Was there anybody else involved in the incident apart from Hakeswill, the girl and yourself?"

Williams stared down at his hands for a moment. Don't drop your friends in it. But was that a problem here? And if he left it as it was, it made Hakeswill sound like a decent bloke who'd given up following a friendly request from a private. And it hadn't been like that. He'd been scared that the man was going to explode into violence, against him, against Maria. If it hadn't been for the rifles...

"I was with a couple of friends. I think they helped convince him he wasn't welcome. Just numbers, you know. I got the impression he wouldn't have gone just because I asked. And that he didn't like the Welsh - but you get that from all sorts these days." Like that bloody Major - not trust the word of a Welshman, wouldn't he?

Then Williams was not the only one in danger from Hakeswill once this was over.

"In that case once this is over you had best tell your friends to mind their backs," he said quietly. "Because I am going to tell you something about Sergeant Hakeswill, Williams, and what I tell you is between you, myself and these walls. Understand?"