Lisbon Harbour

Oh God...

Why did Sir Arthur always look at him as though he were something the cat dragged in? He wanted the General to like him, even a little bit, but they were far too far apart in their backgrounds. Everything he'd done in the Army, he was startled to realise, he'd done because he wanted the General's respect.

"They are, sir," he managed finally. "Got cut off during the retreat, sir, me and some of the lads. Managed to find our way here, sir."

And oh, bother it. He should've said 'My Lord' somewhere in there. Even once would've been good.

Sir Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"And what have you been doing since? Skulking?"

(OOC: Sorry. Had to get it in.)

"Certainly not, my lord." As if Sir Arthur Wellesley could believe Richard Sharpe would ever skulk...

Wellesley could see he had ruffed Sharpe's feathers, and he had to suppress a smirk, instead concentrating on fixing the rifleman with a cold stare.

"Then perhaps you might wish to explain to me what you are doing here today. I do not recall resquesting that you be present."

"No, sir. Beg pardon, sir. I have been in temporary command of thirty-seven Riflemen, who got cut off with me. You had requested to see officers who had been posted here with their men, and I thought my men and myself might slip through the net if I didn't show up here."

Temporary command was right, and how it rankled. Also, how the devil did Sir Arthur intend requesting someone attend if he thought that person was in England, or anywhere but Lisbon?

It was easier to slip back into the role of Sergeant, and answer exactly as he would if he were still of that rank.

The General arched an eyebrow. He had requested to see a certain list of named officers who would be able to give him comprehensive and useful information on the situation in the Peninsula, which he very much doubted Sharpe would. He let the detail slide though.

"Thirty-seven," he repeated evenly.

"Sir. Brought them down from Galicia, sir."

All the way across country in the middle of winter, no doubt, Wellesley reflected as he stared at Sharpe, careful to keep his face impassive. An impressive feat - but by now he had come to expect the impressive from Sharpe. It was probably harder for the man to be mundane. But before he could reply the Engineer - a major - cleared his throat.

"With respect, Sir Arthur, I invited Lieutenant Sharpe to be here."

The General turned to glare angrily at the man.

"You?"

"Yes, sir."

"And who might you be?"

"Major Michael Hogan of the Royal Engineers, sir," said Hogan, bowing his head respectfully. "It has been part of my duties to better map the surrounding countryside, and in that Mister Sharpe and his men have been of great use to me as an escort."

Sir Arthur frowned. So that was it - Hogan had acquired Sharpe and his men as something of a personal bodyguard, probably along with doing a bit of fetching and carrying. But that could not be all, and Wellesley decided that he must later grill Hogan on the matter. When Sharpe was not around.

It was at this point that Padstowe decided to stick up for his friend.

"With respect, sir," he said quietly. "Major Hogan has also been crucial in compiling several of the notes that I wrote you regarding our position and the position of the enemy here. Lieutenant Sharpe has been instrumental in the collating of this information."

Sir Arthur raised a quizzical eyebrow as he deciphered the meaning of what Padstowe had said. In other words Hogan was an intelligence agent - a rather crucial agent by the expression on Padstowe's face - like the captain, and that Sharpe had been aiding him, even ifthe man was not fully aware of the fact. He turned back to Sharpe.

"Well, Sharpe, it seems that you have not idled your time away here."

Sharpe was grateful to the other two for sticking up for him, but hoped they had not carried it too far. He hadn't moved and was still staring into the middle distance, focussing on a point somewhere over Wellesley's left ear.

"Yes, sir," he said, woodenly, though he was starting to enjoy this.

Sir Arthur let a smile quirk at his lips at Sharpe's instinctive adoption of the Sergeant's Attitude. So many memories of their years in india were brought to mind... but there would be time to reflect later.

"Well then," he said softly. "I shall not detain you any further, seeing as you are such a busy man. I shall look forward to continuing our conversation later."

"Sir. Yes, sir." Somehow, it was very easy to play Sergeant with Sir Arthur... but then he had been a Sergeant once, when Sir Arthur was the commanding officer of his regiment.

He hoped the interview (only the General would call it a 'conversation') wouldn't be too painful...

Wellesley smiled again. Sharpe would not be looking forward to it; of that much he was certain.

"Till later then, Mister Sharpe."

He then turned to the other officers, adopting his mask of professional coldness.

"Gentlemen, if we may go directly at Headquarters? I am anxious for full report of our situation here."

With that he swept off in the direction of the town, Hill, Crauford and Henry by his side and the other officers struggling to keep up with their commander's long strides, leaving Hogan, Sharpe and Padstowe alone on the quayside.

Sharpe sighed with relief... and hoped the others hadn't heard him do so. "He scares the life out of me, he does."

"I don't understand why," Padstowe said simply.

Sharpe could not explain to Padstowe that, no matter what he did, he'd never match up to Wellesley's expectations, simply because he was a gutter-born bastard. Wellesley looked down at him, had ever since India, and he couldn't explain that to an officer who was a gentleman born.

"It's 'cause I come from the gutter," he said simply, hoping that that would explain everything he couldn't put into words.

Padstowe frowned.

"Surely not," he said. "I don't look down on you, and neither does Major Hogan. Besides, you've never let officers sneering at you intimidate you before. No that I've seen anyway. You practically cut down that fop Gattling last week."

"With respect, you and Major Hogan didn't know me when I was in the ranks. And nor did that idiot (the tone of his voice suggested he wanted to use a far stronger word) who calls himself a gentleman. Sir Arthur did. I'm sure you can appreciate the difference."

"Yes, I believe I can."

Padstowe understood well enough now. All these fresh fops who had not the least idea about Sharpe's past judged him on the here and now, and Sharpe was always proud to prove them wrong. But Sir Arthur, it seemed, knew about soldiering, and knew about Sharpe; which was something that Sharpe was uncomfortable with.

It also explained why Wellesley was one of the few officers who had Sharpe's respect. He was a professional, and probably the only man Sharpe ever felt capable of judging his own professionalism. Though the captain would never dare say such a thing to Sharpe. Well, he might try later when Hogan was not around.

Hogan was listening to the conversation with interest. "What the lad won't tell you, Johnathan, me boy, is that you haven't judged him like the others do. You've taken the time to get to know him, which they won't. To them, he'll always be the intruder, the one in the Mess who shouldn't be there, and he has to fight every day to prove his right to be there."

Sharpe scowled a little at the Major, but didn't offer to correct his words. "They ain't soldiers," he said instead. "Ain't got the guts for a proper fight."

"Yes, well," Padstowe said awkwardly and hung his head, gazing at the cobbles thoughtfully. "I've never seen the point of judging a man before getting to know him; that sort of behaviour only leads to misunderstandings and a lot of unpleasantries later on. And you're right; money can't buy experience on the battlefield, nor does it make you a good soldier."

He paused and gave a wry smile.

"Though I'm one to talk."

"There are some things you can't buy, however much money you've got. But some officers won't bother learnin' that."

He looked thoughtfully at Padstowe. "You've got learnin', and you've got money, but you've got what it takes to be a good officer. And you don't need to work at it like I do, 'cause the men and officers will accept you because you've got the money and the learnin'."

He stopped there, felling a bit clumsy and not at all sure that he'd said what he meant to say, or how either Padstowe or Hogan would take it. He wasn't used to thinking about why he resented those officers who could buy their commissions, or what made one of them an officer that the men would willingly follow, and he felt awkward discussing it. But he was glad that both of these men would let him discuss it, that what he thought counted for something with them.

Padstowe cleared his throat uncomfortably. Had that just been a compliment that Richard had paid him? If it had been then it was a very huge one indeed, as Lord knew Sharpe was very sparing with his compliments. Practically a miser.

"Quite," he said carefully. Then to Hogan. "I think that we should best follow on, sir, before the Beau wonders where we have got to."

He turned back to Sharpe.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go, Richard. Will you be able to meet later?"

Sharpe glanced at the sun... He had to leave himself as he had picquets to set.

"I'll be in the Mess for dinner, if you'll be there." If not, he'd fend for himself, or see what the Chosen Men had managed to 'acquire'. "Wouldn't want you being late for Nosey, would we now?"