With the Guard

"And my friends, Sir. The ones in the bar. They need to know too. If it's about Hakeswill. Because you're right, they have to watch their backs, and they know it already. He'll go for them, and they need all the information they can get." Cotton the Sergeant already knew about, and had begun to work on him. Hagman might take a bit longer to track down, and was older and much more wary. But would that be enough?

"But apart from that, Sir, I agree."

"Very well."

He sighed, running his fingers through his short mousey hair.

"What you should know about Sergeant Hakeswill is not just that he is a bastard, but a vindictive bastard with a taste for personal vendettas. His attack of Mister Sharpe tonight was not at random for the sake of robbing an officer, but because Hakeswill and he have a history."

This was going to be the interesting part.

"What you should know, and probably will hear from other sources within time, is that Mister Sharpe is an officer raised from the ranks. Years ago out in India he saved Sir Arthur Wellesley's life and was awarded a field commission. What you will not hear from anyone else is that whilst in the ranks Sharpe was under the command of Hakeswill, and in that time Hakeswill had him flogged."

Well, that explained why the Lieutenant had taken any interest in the fate of an unknown private from a different regiment. He'd been there himself. But flogged? And then promoted?

"And Hakeswill is the one who bears the grudge? Sir? Now I could understand it if the Lieutenant wanted Hakeswill to suffer the same... "

Should he renew his offer? It would save him, save Cotton and Hagman, give the Lieutenant his revenge: a good solution for a small manipulation of the truth, not even a lie, really, because it had been Hakeswill, that much he knew for sure.

"I should say the lieutenant wants to see Hakeswill six foot under at the crossroads with a stake through his heart," Padstowe said firmly. Dear God, lad, don't go changing your statement now! "As would I, and a lot of men; but not in this case. There is not enough evidence to convict Hakeswill; lieutenant Sharpe's statement is unsound, as he was half-dazed at the time and his attacker came at him from behind - which leaves only Hakeswill's words against yours, and you know who they'll chose to believe in that circumstance, don't you?"

"Same as always, Sir. Don't know why they bother the officers with it, and all the evidence. So he wins, because, Sir, I don't think you're going to buy him off, not if it's like you said, and Mr Sharpe won't - can't swear it was him. And if he wins, I think I lose."

"So we make sure neither of you win," the captain explained. "What I intend to do is to persuade the court that there is no case to answer. The sergeant said last night that he saw you kneeling over the officer with a piece of cord in your hands - and he can't change his story because he has several witnesses in the form of officers, including his precious major, to account for it. And you have the advantage that although Mister Sharpe did not see his assailant, he saw you at the end of the street seconds before he was attacked." He gave a small smile. "I have yet to know of a man who can be in two places at once."

"Well..." Was it as easy at that? Damn it, if it was as easy at that, why was he locked up here? Hope they didn't test it out with a parade of redcoats at that distance - "And you can swear that Private Williams was the man you saw?" But the Captain looked hopeful, and seemed to be on his side.

"What other chance have I got, Sir? If they believe him - Mr Sharpe that is... Which they should, because it's the truth..." He rubbed his hand across his mouth. "You think the court'll accept it?" And Hakeswill went free too, that was a drawback.

"I'll make every concerted effort towards them doing so," said Padstowe, matching the confidence of his expression to his words. "And as for Hakeswill; let us just say that moves are being made to deal with him. I would advise you not to try and deal with him yourselves, he is more dangerous than he looks."

The officer looked confident - it's what they're trained for from birth - and probably would do his best. As for Hakeswill, they'd have to see. If he came after him - at least, once he was back with the Inniskillings, he'd probably be safe. He'd have to try to contact Hagman about taking care...

"And I thought it was just the Frogs and the officers that I had to worry about! All right, Sir, we'll try it your way. I won't swear it was Hakeswill, and your Mr Sharpe will swear he saw me where I couldn't have attacked him. And let's hope it all works out for the best, shall we?" There was some anger still left there, he realized. They could play their games, 'make their moves', and 'make concerted efforts', but when it came down to it, he was the one in the cell.

"I'm glad to hear it," Padstowe said, and genuinely meaning it. He picked himself up off the floor, along with his hat and the lantern and turned to go and then paused.

"Just one other thing your should know," he said, facing Williams again. "I was never made aware of the particular circumstances, but Hakeswill had Sharpe sentanced to two thousand lashes. It would have killed him, but by some great good fortune the drummers stopped at two hundred, and Sharpe survived. Hakeswill has never forgiven Sharpe giving him the slip, and now ten years later the Sergeant is still determined to end his life."

He smiled grimly in the lantern light.

"Think on that for a vindictive character, if you will."

Williams stood up as the officer rose. He was going to take the light, but at least he was leaving him some hope. Then he heard the man's remarks about Sharpe.

"Two thousand? God, I'd rather have the firing squad! I'll remember that, Sir. Don't you worry." What the hell had Sharpe done to deserve that, because however much the Sergeant twisted it, two thousand lashes were not handed down like reprimands.

"Good night, Sir. And thank you."

"I shall come and see you again before the court is assembled," he went to the door and thumped on it three times. "Good night, Williams."

The sound of Captain Padstowe knocking on the door made Cotton jump.

"Coming, sir!" he called, and fumbled at the lock before pushing the door open.

"Everythin' all right, sir?" he asked.

"As well as it can be," he said, stepping out into the comparative light. Then quieter. "And get someone to bring that man some water, and perhaps something to eat; he's finished the cup you gave him."

He would have liked to leave the light, but so much of this was irregular to begin with that he daren't risk leaving him the lantern.

Cotton's eyes widened. The captain had noticed the cup and, far from reprimanding him, was actually telling him to give him more? And some food?

"Sir. Yes, sir."

He turned to Sanders. "Go on, lad, you heard the officer. See if you can scuff up some food from somewheres."

The cell door was still open. "Taffy, pass us that mug, would you?"

Taffy! At least from Cotton it was kindly meant, but why did everyone outside Wales think that was what he wanted to be called. At least in the Inniskillings he had managed to persuade them to stick to Williams - and without a number attached.

He picked up the mug, and brought it over, glancing at the officer. "Thank you kindly, Sir, and I wouldn't mind a bite. But have you ever tried eating in the pitch dark, when God knows what you might pick up instead of a piece of bread?" And then, in a soft whisper, meant only for Cotton's ears. "That bastard Sergeant's a real vindictive bastard, and you need to watch yourself. I'll tell you later."

Cotton took the mug and refilled it before giving it back to Williams. He whispered in reply, "Cheers, mate."

Williams leaned against the jamb, savouring the first drink of clean water, enjoying the fresher air, and the light. He could see how long they let him stand here. And whether the Captain would give him back the lantern.

Padstowe saw and heard the exchange between the two and realised that one of the 'friends' Williams mentioned must be Cotton. Which, and if the timing was right, meant that the other friend might be... He cut short his train of thought there and then. He had other things to do tonight - this morning, he corrected, as he heard the bell of the cathedral strike one.

"Shall leave you to it," he said to Cotton, ignoring William's overblown hint about the light. "I shall bid you both goodnight."

With that he turned and made his way back up the steps, up into more light and away from the dank smell of the cellar.

"So what was that all about?" Cotton asked, in no real hurry to sentence Williams to the dark again, but mindful that the Sergeant might take it into his head to check on the prisoners.

"Just -" He looked at the cell beyond his. "Not here. But take care. Don't take chances, all right. Not with him." They couldn't talk this close to the man's cell, not unless Cotton came in to his and they sat in the dark and whispered. Which really would bring the wrath of the NCOs down on his head. So he gripped Cotton's arm firmly and muttered: "He takes vengeance more seriously even than those Ities do. And you know he has it in for us. God willing, I'll get to explain it all away from here. God willing."

Cotton shivered, recalling the look of madness in the Sergeant's baby blue eyes and the hoarse threat "You is next."

"Oh God. Can't a body do any good these days without risking the lash, or worse?"

"Never could, lad. I was thinking that earlier. But.." He thought of the Captain's words. This just wasn't the time or the place. "Stick with your mates. Keep out of dark places. All that. And to think we're not even facing the enemy yet."

"It'd be nice if you knew you could trust everyone in a red coat - or a green one - to do the right thing by you," Cotton said bitterly.

Footsteps on the stairs made him turn his head, but it was only Sanders with a tin plate of bread and meat.

"Here, let me get you some more water, then I've got to lock you in again. The guard'll change soon, and he won't need to worry about me if this door ain't locked."

He took the cup as he spoke, refilled it and passed it and the plate to the redcoat. "All right? Good night, then."

"Good night, Cotton. Give us as long as you can, to get this down me. And - I'll see you later. Just knock any time. I'll probably be free."

He took the plate and mug and went to sit down in the wash of light from the open door, before wrapping the meat into the bread. Soon, the door closed and was locked, and the sound of the guard changing told him that Cotton was no longer there.